“If a gerbil sneezed in your ass, do you think you’d be able to feel it?”
She stopped. I’d sort of meant for this to be a walk and talk kind of conversation.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Her inflection was a little non-specific so I chose to interpret that to mean that she hadn’t heard me and would really appreciate if I repeated myself. Still, I chose to also add a clarification.
“You know how people put gerbils in their ass? Like for sex? Well, gerbils sneeze, right? They do a little ‘cheh’ thing.” I curled my hands up near my chin for effect. “Do you think, if a gerbil was in your ass, that you’d be able to feel the sneeze?”
She had started walking again before the explanation was over, and she was shaking her head now.
“I just don’t think it’s such a stupid question. I mean, okay, your ass doesn’t have super sensitive nerve endings or anything, but you can sort of feel shit moving around in there. Like poop shit, I mean. And I guess dicks. I don’t know, though. I mean, a finger is like… that’s mostly your sphincter that’s feeling it, right? Or your anus? One of those.”
People always look at you when you say words on the street you’re not supposed to say on the street. Anus was probably pretty high up. I think I do it too. Or at least you raise your eyebrows. Maybe it’s something to do with wanting to hear the rest of the conversation. But usually it’s in a judgey way, not a wanting to take part kind of way. That’s a sad thought. You could probably make a lot of friends if you just sort of hopped into those kinds of conversations. Unless it turns out to be about a medical condition. Not worth the risk.
I caught up to Marine and was walking beside her, looking at her.
“I don’t know.”
“About the gerbil thing?”
“You could probably feel the whole thing moving around.” She put her hands up to her chin, gerbil-like, and stared off like she was doing some pretty complicated math. “I don’t think it’d be enough movement.”
“Right?” We walked a bit. “Did you eat anything?”
“No, there’s a place I’m headed. They have food.”
It wasn’t entirely beyond me that a place with food was unlikely to help us break into a major conglomerate to re-steal whatever it was they’d taken, but I was already sort of walking toward the place so it didn’t feel like complaining was apt to bring about a ton of change. Took us maybe fifteen minutes to get there. A little burger joint. Pretty ratty, honestly. I’d never been to it but it’s those hole in the wall places that really give you the good stuff and Marine liked it, so I decided a cautious optimism was probably in order. The door wasn’t the typical glass sort, I noticed as it was pushed open. And there were no windows. Maybe it used to be a bar. Bars can’t have windows for some reason. Weirdly, I don’t think that applies to poncey shit like microbrew tasting houses. I guess being proud of your ability to sip beer some guy made in his garage faggishly from a tiny glass is worthy of showing other people. Maybe it’s their way of saying “It’s not alcoholism if I wear a sweater vest.”
The smell inside the place was burgerful. That was a positive note. About the only one I could find. The business was clearly not meeting health codes. And probably not meating health codes, either. Eh? No? Fine. There was a bar across the room, confirming that at least, with a surly looking tubby girl behind it. Her hair was destroyed from years of dyeing and it looked like she’d tried to curl it but got confused and gave up halfway through. She waved us to a table as if her hand weighed as much as the rest of her so we moved over and took a seat in a rundown booth. Marine slid in on her side and I did—
Son of a bitch. The seat’s warm. I gagged a little, but I hid it okay, I think. Why is it warm? Oh god, is it sweaty too? It’s fine. It’s not. I just have to believe it’s not. If it is, it’s ass sweat and I have to cover myself in gasoline. So it can’t be wet, because I have so much to live for.
Tubba the Surly Waitress came over and dropped the menus on the table. She was chewing gum like some kind of sassy movie waitress without the quality control of a Hollywood production team. I mean it was sort of crazy. She was really doing it.
“Drinks?” Really she said it like this: “Dranksuh?” And then gave a fat little sigh like this was ruining her day.
“What kind of gum is that?”
Marine looked across at me. I’ll assume it was disapproving.
Waitress rolled her eyes over to me. “Whut?”
How the fuck did she make everything seem like work? I swear to god. Enunciation was right out with this girl, looking was a chore, menuing was a chore.
“The gum. Is it… like… what kind? Flavor? How long have you been chewing it?”
She sighed and made a disgusted looking face. Not a disgusting looking face. I just want to make it clear that’s not an error. I mean… forget it.
“You guysuh want dranks er nat?”
“Water.” Marine answered before I could have any more fun.
I was going to order a Diet Coke, but the burger cow started to leave before I could.
“Diet Coke for me.”
She flipped me off.
I looked at Marine and hunched down to the table, covering my mouth on the waitressy side to whisper. “I’m seriously giving this place like
