One of the young women gave him one of those “Aw, poor guy” looks. Aw, but warm, three thumbs-up. Pure Spain, pure emotion in common in the shadows so sharp of the long knives.
He felt a surge, like his inner need-choir had rushed the notes to his wrist bone. He scribbled names: November Octopus. Novoctopus. Novepus, Novopus, Novempus. Cabeza. Cerebropus. Brainiac. Brainopus. Pinkopus. Stellopus. Stellantis. Cerebellum Tremendum. Cerebellopus. Ocho, Nueve, Nerve-o-pus. Hello?
The octopus zoomed to the edge of his cortado saucer.
“You said the plane would have beds and we’d have pistachio ice cream. You made me sit in a sick seat. A man vomited on me. A dog died with the luggage. He had the brachy-brachy nose, they can’t breathe. You put a dog in the overhead. He was a dead dog when th
