Happiness & Homicide Preview 2

I'm laying on top of the piano tinkering with the keys when Nick comes into the sun room. "Wil?" I ignore him and begin to slowly play the Jaws theme tune. "Wil? I know you can hear me. You can't ignore me forever." "Well, that's not exactly true, now is it, Nick?" I stop playing and turn over to face him. "What the hell are you doing in here?" "Brooding about the beauty of demise and the disgust that flows through my loins whenever I think about most states of being." "So pretending that you're still 15 years old, laying in a darkened room avoiding responsibility." "If that's what you take me for." "What's this now?" He walks over and sits on the bench. "What's wrong now?"  I sigh. "Nick, these conversations with you make my arsehole throb." "It sounds like you need to see a doctor about that problem." "What? My arsehole or my existential problem?" "Um, both?" "Why do I need to go see two different people when I have you?

Nick pulls back. "I, not going anywhere near your asshole." I begin to hum Pop Goes the Weasel at him while he stares at me. "Wil, if you're not going to take this seriously, then I can't help you." I put my finger inside my mouth then pull it out to make a loud popping sound. "You were saying something?" "You said that you were having a crisis, what's wrong?" He leans in closer to me. "Oh, Jesus, what is that smell?!" "That may or may not be the clothes that I've been wearing the past four days while you were out with Annie on your little getaway, leaving me here to moulder into my piano." "That's a little dra-did you just say you laid here for four days?!" I hand my lower leg  over the side of the piano. "What of it?" "First off, you bleedin' stink. Second where did you-?" His voice trains off and his eyes dart over to the tall potted plants that adorn either side of the balcony doors. "Did you, you know?" He can't even bring himself to say it. "No, I didn't dookie in your plants, Nick." He looks torn between distress and laughter. "I'm relieved to hear that." "But I did urinate in them." "Charming. Charming as ever."

"Why did you lay here for four days? Didn't you have to go to work?" "Work, work, whatever for, Nickie?" "I don't know, this crazy little thing called money? You know the thing you were using to snort lines with last week. It's got some really old, ugly broad on it?" I semi sit up. "She's not that old on the banknotes. I'd still give it to her, right in the bumhole. She looks the type to like that. What you reckon?" "I can't believe what I'm hearing." "I bet Prince Charles does that, uses is tongue though. He doesn't seem the sort to want to share his toy....though he did with that horse faced whore." I light a cigarette. "Try saying that five times fast. Horse faced whore, horse faced whore, whorese faced whore." "Sometimes I don't even know what planet your on. Come to think of it, I don't think you even know what planet you're on half the time."

I trace the outline of the wisdom tooth on my wrist with my finger. "Money enslaves us all, Nick." I won't be a slave. A decaying cog in a society that neither notices or values me. My entire purpose in the eye of society is to be demoralised, dehumanised and spat out only after my creatives juices have been forcibly extracted from me." "You just compared the work force to rape, didn't you?" I bang my head against the back of the keys. "No, but that's a wonderful metaphor for it all." "Well, if you don't want to talk about, maybe I can cheer you up a bit?" "How?" "Tell me about some of your new art pieces? You were rather busy at your easel the past week before I left. Last you were painting something in a Middle Ages style?" My ears perk up. "You were in my studio?" "No! No, I mean I did bring you your tea in there, remember? And you yelled at me that the ravioli was undercooked in Gordon Ramsay's voice." "Oh. Was it the day when you tried to make my meatball ravioli?" "I didn't try, I made it and it-" "Was shite. But yeah, I vaguely remember you coming in there. You remember what I was working on?" 

"I think it was the one of you as the baby Jesus with cherub angels above you. They looked like Marilyn Manson and Ville Valo." "You can't argue with that kind of beauty, Nickie." He rolls his eyes. "No, I guess you can't. Did you ever finish that one of Stevie Nicks as the Holy Mother? As a Catholic, I have to frown at it, but as an art lover, I have to admire it." I scratch my head. "I think I did. I'd like to hang it in the dining chamber. You know, get a nice golden frame for the thing." "Dining chamber? Do you mean the fucking dining room?" "If you insist on calling it that." "Calling it what it is?! You know what? I'm not going to let you sucker me into something. Not again, Wil. Not again. Now, why don't you come down off there and we get you washed and fed?" "You wanna wash me?" I smirk at him. "That's not what I meant!" "If you wanted to do that, all you had to do was ask. And if you want to wash me so bad, why don't you just give me a sponge bath?" "I don't want to! I'm just sick of smelling your stench!" I hop off the piano. "Why didn't you just say that?" Nick mouths at me like an angry fish out of water. "I did! I told you that you stank!" I sniff my armpit. "Well, maybe a tad ripe." 

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Photos: Credits to all owners, they are not my own.
Photo location: Ploskovice Castle
 Ploskovice 1, 411 42 Ploskovice, Czechia
(outside Prauge)
http://www.czechtourism.com/c/ploskovice-chateau/