The Next Chapter
You can’t talk with her at all. Sometimes she’ll say a word or two like: ‘I had it here.’ And that’s it. She won’t say anything else; she just sits there and drinks the beer I bought her. So she came to the Chinese bar in those same sweats as always. Her butt was dry, so she hadn’t sat down on any wet bench or sill along the way.
‘Marek will pay,’ she said.
‘No need,’ I answered, so as to calm her down, because it seemed to me as if she was upset.
‘Marek will pay, for sure.’
‘Beer taste good?’
‘Marek will pay,’ she said again.
‘Why do you keep repeating that?’
‘Because I don’t want to talk. I want to… But nobody wants to touch me. I don’t want to touch myself either. Grosses me out when I touch myself. I’m ugly and I don’t want to touch myself. It’s not nice when I
