"I sooooo love redheads like you, honey."

Blondie said in the blandest tone humanly possible. She stressed the last few words while caressing just the edge of her dress, simply too short for such cold weather. He said nothing, but couldn't help to imagine her wrapped in pink sheets. Or maybe white ones, they’re farther but it is cheaper by the hour.

She got in the passenger seat, and he drove downtown. They started to discuss what's what and how much for the trouble. She ended up being worth the money (a mere two digits), and he chose the white motel, if only because he was feeling stingy. A decision he would soon regret as the streets were empty that night, and they could've done the deed in one of many dark alleyways.

He already imagined his Saturday night, spent quickly between the passions of the flesh and the booms of cheap liquor, and perhaps some other incentive he started including in his routine. A small hit of something grey and powdery to make the encounter less forgettable.

When their transaction ended, he came out feeling truly satisfied like few times in his life. She had the experience but had enough shit for brains not to charge extra. Getting to the parking lot, he was greeted by a petite, overdressed lady. Clearly young and foreign to this side of town.

He was jaded and a little drowsy, thanks to the scum he put in his system moments prior. He couldn't quite catch all her words as they bounced into the air, but he swore he heard something about elves and a fantastic island.

"Great, another fucking journalist," he thought.

Even after many years, he couldn't outrun those wacky tales, the ones his old man favored to the detriment of his own son. He always hated that about his father, how he and little his group of weirdos would reject reality in favor of magic swords and ogres; that's why when the news came of his departure, he couldn't be less fazed by it.

He was ready to rehash the same statement he gave to all the other reporters, that he knew nothing about his father's last book (nor his will), and how little he cared; but when he opened his mouth words didn't come out, but the remains of his last supper. A half-digested quarter pounder and fries crashed into the pavement as he tried and failed to block his mouth-hole with both hands.

"Oh my God! He is too far gone to keep up with this charade, can't we just take him in?" She said.

Almost immediately three broad figures appeared and shoved him into his own car, while the lady sat in the driver seat and started the engine.

In his intoxicated state, he was positive that he could somehow overpower the three men and jump out of the moving vehicle, but decided against that to instead have a good night's sleep. He had a long day of debauchery anyways. As he dozed off, he could barely make out what the men beside him were saying. They reveled at how happy they were to use their smartphones again and how much they missed running water.

Why is it that everyone is traveling nowadays? Why can't anyone enjoy the simpler things in life just like him? As they drove out, he saw blondie taking greens from someone else, but obviously not a client. Which was very strange considering how he left her in the motel room before heading out: wrapped in white sheets, now crimson with blood.

"Hey, she DID say she liked redheads! HA!." And with that thought, he finally succumbed to his slumber.

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