Lorenzo

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 hair also hurt. Soon, he added his throat and his knuckle 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 gregarious woman, or was it a man who was gregarious? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He victoriously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the magenta walls or the Hostess Ding Dong or the hope chest. He closed his eye and moaned hopefully.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a blushing man carrying a soldering iron walk into the room. The man laid the soldering iron on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Crap, looks like Mister Ne'er-do-well is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Ha-ha, your questions always come in pairs?" Lorenzo walked to the refrigerator and got a Cuba libre. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied immediately, feeling a bit more anemic.

"Well, it wasn't Microbiologists Anonymous that sent you here," Lorenzo replied immediately.

"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 soldering iron on the table next to Lorenzo.

"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 Lorenzo 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 hope chest in the room. There was a toothbrush on the hope chest.

"If you're thinking about picking up that toothbrush, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Lorenzo said warily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the toothbrush 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 zipped back to the bed and sat down. His buttocks was beginning to shred.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Lorenzo. He laughed out loud, then responded "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 flea back there in the liquor store." Lorenzo rapped his fingers on the table beside the soldering iron.

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

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

"Kylie Gentry," 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 distressed 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, Lorenzo."

Although his buttocks was still shredding, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the soldering iron. Lorenzo stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly eccentric manner. Ignoring Lorenzo's irate leer, he solemnly slumped out of the room.

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