The sun got up slowly in Barcelona city. The old rooftops pushed into the rainy dawn. While he slept, Johnny fought the bedside lamp, and the lamp won.
Shit, there was broken glass on the floor. His knuckles on his left hand had ripped skin, a deep gash. There was blood on the pillow. Yeah, he’d been at it again.
Back when he and Vivi were in bed together every night, she’d wake him up, yelling at him to stop hitting her, as he pounded her back, the back of her head (when her thick hair, back when she had hair, protected her from his sleep pummelling), and he’d be in a battle royal with some sleep enemy, some REM nemesis when he went nine rounds with Vivi’s spine.
The bedside water glass was way across the room, under the little high window, where the roof profile of Santa Maria del
