"You can't just sit in your apartment and brood." She proselytized. "Idle hands are the devils playground." She said, showing the whites of her eyes. Just then, Mr. Plunkett came alive and farting loudly said. "Especially the right one. Hahahaha!" Mrs. Plunkett went right on, seeming not to notice that her husband, sitting fatly in his worn and grimy arm chair, in his lucky undershirt with stains of undetermined origin, and boxer shorts that gaped open widely in the front, was making lewd comments. He was a morally detestable and crude old man who didn't ever seem to shave, although his white stubble apparently never grew beyond a certain point of stubble-ness. I had never seen him anywhere except sitting in that chair. He was an incessant smoker, and their apartment reeked foully of tobacco. I would have to go back to my apartment to shower and change clothes, even my socks, just to get all of the cigarette smell out of my hair and off of my body. Not only was he crude to a fault, but he was also a proud bigot. I thought they made a nice couple.
Mrs. Plunkett had invited me in for a bite to eat. She did this by grabbing me in the hall as I passed her doorway, and wrestling me into her apartment, where she promptly sat me down and handed me something to eat that looked strangely like a Chia Pet. As she stood there expectantly, I just sat there trying to figure out exactly what the heck it was, and whether I should eat it, or water it? I finally thanked her, deciding to just chuck it somewhere when the opportunity presented itself. She smiled contentedly, and continued her dialog as she walked about the tiny apartment making nice nice, adjusting nick knacks and flicking invisible dust balls away with a little artists paint brush that she always carried.
"I drink my pee pee." She announced senilely, in her eerie little girls voice. Her husband made a disagreeable noise, pretending to drink from a tea cup with his nicotine stained fingers placed daintily, the pinky finger sticking up at a proper angle, his right eye winking at me incessantly. "It's not like I drink straight urine." She said in her defense, becoming a little whiny. "I put ten drops in a eight ounce glass of water or my favorite juice. It is a time honored custom in China. It recirculates the friendly little soldier bacteria which fortifies ones immune system. More than three million Chinese drink their own urine." She said, a bit tearfully. "That still doesn't explain why their breath smells like shit!" Mr. Plunkett added, laughing with his gravelly voice, coughing up an unmentionable. I could tell he had said this before. I slipped the chia pet into my pants pocket at an opportune time, and made my excuses. I chastised myself for being so absent minded! I never could seem to remember to use the exit at the other end of the hall, until it was too late.
While I was waiting for Kronos to resurface, I had tried to access the void. The first twenty times or so were unsuccessful. And then, like magic, there I was! After that it became easier and easier. Meanwhile, life goes on. I often wondered if anybody else has as weird a life as I have. For example, Mallard the janitor was in love with Gina the prostitute, who lived on the next floor up. Next to me, she was the youngest person in the building. I placed her at forty something. Although she was a bit over weight, she was about as sexy as they come. The extra weight must have been estrogen impacted fat, because I swear that she got wet just talking to me.
Mallard was not the most desirable guy in the world. He looked a bit like Ichabod Crane, although that by itself was not such a date deterrent. It was his teeth! They were very long, smelly and strangely discolored, displaying various shades of green, black and brown in distinct patterns, kind of like camouflage. It looked like he probably took them out at night, and then stuck them all back in the next morning. They actually waved around when he talked. They were so long that he could never fully close his mouth, which was watering constantly. They drove me crazy and all I could do was stare at them, strangely unable to move, when he wanted to talk to me. I had dreamt about them at night, thinking I had mistaken them for pretzels or something. There I was nonchalantly crunching away on them, when all of a sudden I would realize what they were. That's when I would wake up in a sweat, thanking God that it was just a dream!
I had an irresistible urge just to reach out and pull them one by one from their loose smelly moorings, or perhaps snatch them all in one grab, running and screaming, throwing them away where he could never find them again. I have a poor sense of smell because of allergies, but his breath instantly cured all of that. When he cornered me to speak of Gina, he would compulsively get within eight to ten inches from my face. I always felt violated and a bit ill after his encounters. He was a likeable guy, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that Gina couldn't stand him either, and that no amount of money was going to change her mind.
"Curtis." He lisped, watering more than usual, three inches from my face, teeth wagging and almost visible breath strangling me till I wanted to scream, but instead, I just cringed there whimpering. Mallard continued. "I am so horny that I can hardly walk. She reeks of sex. She is driving me mad! What should I do Curtis? I mean she is a prostitute, right? Why won't she take my money? Or maybe come to my apartment for coffee or something?" It came to me in a flash. "She is a Dyke!" I ejaculated, hoping this would end the conversation. "What's a Dyke?" He asked innocently. "I don't know." I lied. I could see he was desperate. "You know Mallard, your not a bad looking guy in a sort of strange way. I'll bet she would gladly hop right into bed with you if you went to a dentist." I said, taking a chance. "I am going to a dentist. He wants thousands of dollars to fix my teeth. I just can't afford it on janitors pay." He confessed honestly. "Why don't you just have them all pulled out, and worry about dentures later? In fact, I could probably pull them out for you." We could have them later with guacamole I thought, sinking further and further into the pit. "But then I wouldn't have any teeth. I am afraid that people would think I looked goofy."
Later that day, Gina cornered me in my apartment, Mrs. Peele liked her a lot, and loved to curl up on her enormous breasts. Vodka and ice filled glass in hand, swaying in her red flowered muumuu. She had lots of clanking gold bracelets, and rings on almost every finger, and giant hoop earrings. Thanks to the Tanning Solon down the street, her tan was ultra dark all year around, which contrasted with her bleached blond hair. She drank vodka because she thought no one could smell it. I always got a bit swacked just talking with her. "Curtis, she complained, what am I going to do with that "Phantom of the Opera" looking geek? He just doesn't take no for an answer. He follows me around like a dog. I swear, if he so much as touches me, I will shoot his nuts off! And his breath! It's enough to gag a maggot!" She said disgusted.
I don't know why, but people were always asking my advice about one thing or another. I think Gina like me in a non-professional way. She was always hanging out in my apartment. You could tell that she had been pretty at one time, long ago. The ravages of her profession had taken its toll on her both physically and mentally. I think she liked me because I didn't want anything from her. I caught her checking out my package a couple of times, and figured I could probably get a freebie, but I mean, she was a prostitute! No telling who she had just slept with, or what they had! She had even napped with me a couple of times, putting her head on my chest like a little girl. She desperately needed love, like so many people. She finally quieted down and was curious about what I had taken out of my pants pocket.
"Hey look! A Chia Pet! She laughed, her whiskey voice sounding strangely familiar. She was genuinely excited. "I haven't seen one of those in years!"