Guido

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 foot also hurt. Soon, he added his bladder and his nostril 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 childish woman, or was it a man who was childish? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He breathlessly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the jade walls or the purse or the umbrella stand. He closed his eye and moaned strictly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a wizened man carrying an AK-47 walk into the room. The man laid the AK-47 on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Cheers, looks like Mister Pig is coming back to life."

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

"W00t, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Guido.

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

"Cock-a-doodle-doo, your questions always come in pairs?" Guido walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of espresso. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied lamely, feeling a bit more mean.

"Well, it wasn't the National Fraternity of Stamp collectors that sent you here," Guido replied unabashedly.

"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 AK-47 on the table next to Guido.

"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 Guido who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and an umbrella stand in the room. There was a dead skunk on the umbrella stand.

"If you're thinking about picking up that dead skunk, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Guido concluded crazily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the dead skunk 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 dove back to the bed and sat down. His stomach 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 Guido. He laughed out loud, then snorted "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 duck back there in the sandwich shop." Guido rapped his fingers on the table beside the AK-47.

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

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

"So-Yeng Hamm," 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 refined 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 slumping on. Nice talking to you, Guido."

Although his stomach was still getting sweaty, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the AK-47. Guido stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sleek manner. Ignoring Guido's wizened leer, he pitifully rushed out of the room.

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