He plucks the mushroom from its perch and brings it to his face, inhaling its spores.He frowns as he tosses it in the bin before he showers. Advertisements
When he first noticed the mushroom, it was perched on his windowsill like a gargoyle sprouting from the small crack in the weathered wood.
Two plops and an angry fizz bring relief for the nausea but never the shame. The wrinkled cash on the dresser for cab fare makes her retch.
Flat champagne and cracked mirrors. Bite marks and bruises. Another blurry night, but in the day’s new light a smile bubbles up to her lips.
He slinks out the back door, tasting bile in his mouth. He’s foiled, but he’s an optimist. The night is still young. The hunter still lurks.
“I saw what you did. You leave or I break your face.” He’s angry. He wants to smash the glass in the man’s face, but everyone’s staring.
She’s watching a couple stagger out, looking so beatific he almost feels bad. He’s about to speak when he’s shoved. “Don’t.” A man’s shout.