31
Bunkmates
Ja. Squeak. Ja. Squeak. Oh ja. Squeak. Squeak. Oh ja. Squeakity-squeak. Oh mein Gott, ja!
Oh. Mein. Gott. No.
There were people under my bed. Having s*x.
I must have slept through the foreplay, because I woke up smack in the middle, the room warm as a sauna, honking of stale booze and sweat and fresh out of the oven farts, the springs straining as they tried to make a s*x dent in the bed beneath my bunk. They did know I was here, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, didn’t they?
The way I saw it, there were two possible scenarios.
Scenario A: they knew full well I was there, but were doing the nasty anyway – the shameless, thoughtless freakshows.
Scenario B: they’d stumbled in the darkened room in a drunken, clothing-ripping frenzy and hadn’t noticed the girl-shaped lump
