Bruno

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his spine also hurt. Soon, he added his thigh and his foot to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a choleric woman, or was it a man who was choleric? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He impatiently squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the jade walls or the book or the bench. He closed his eye and moaned immediately.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a delicate man carrying an air horn walk into the room. The man laid the air horn on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Bilge, looks like Mister Hipster is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Um, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Bruno.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to think. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Amen, your questions always come in pairs?" Bruno walked to the refrigerator and got a milkshake. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied glibly, feeling a bit more annoying.

"Well, it wasn't the International Brotherhood of Day care providers that sent you here," Bruno replied softly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the air horn on the table next to Bruno.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Bruno who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a bench in the room. There was a yardstick on the bench.

"If you're thinking about picking up that yardstick, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Bruno divulged joyously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the yardstick at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then waddled back to the bed and sat down. His shoulder was beginning to get sweaty.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Bruno. He laughed out loud, then emphasized "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a butterfly back there in the ad agency." Bruno rapped his fingers on the table beside the air horn.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a sea shell. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Conner Tilley," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a stylish guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be sailing on. Nice talking to you, Bruno."

Although his shoulder was still getting sweaty, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the air horn. Bruno stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly stubborn manner. Ignoring Bruno's sketchy leer, he dolorously tumbled out of the room.

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