Page of Pentacles [Reversed]

A Flophouse—DAY

By the time I hoof it back to the Flophouse I really have to make a bowel movement and am afraid I might soil myself if I am a moment late, but there is no way I am using the public restroom in the lobby. So I sprint up the flights of stairs, down the hall, fling up my door with a jangle of keys and run to the bathroom.

As I sit on the toilet the door pops open. I kick it shut it and lock it. But it is the Sailor who is pressing against it. As I try to hold the door back, it bulges out until he completely rips it off the hinges. He is angrily smashing and breaking things in my room. I am not sure what he is on about but now I am mad too because of the privacy I expect in my room.

“Get the hell out of the bathroom!” I yell, “At least while I finish my business.” I have taken this place in order to disappear, not have uninvited guests stopping by and barging in.

When I am done, I find he has quieted and has made himself at home. I also find he has brought a stunning red velvet footstool that kinda matches my lazy boy.

He jokes “Now that we have such a comfortable thing to sit on, I shouldn’t have to hide girls in my room anymore. I can bring them into the open.” I see now. The Sailor needs a place to bring his extramarital dates.

“This is my room, not yours.” I tell him “The stool won’t change me wanting privacy,” and he begins to spout nonsense about furniture, faithfulness and flatulence as he tears up the room again.

“Don’t go there!” I yell back, “In a battle of facts I will win!”

It is no use arguing. He eventually calms down again. He has also brought some fish he caught in the canal, and has invited some of the Chinese cooks over from downstairs to prepare it for him.

Soon there is a crowd that has made a mess of fish parts and dishes and is eating the fish that the Sailor caught. I stand at the stove stirring some leftover vegetable soup, trying to get each type evenly mixed.

Soup. This is as best as I eat nowadays. I cannot keep anything else down. The fish sickens me. The Sailor jokingly needles me as to why I won’t join them.

I don’t want to admit either being ill or hating fish, so I say “Someone has to finish the soup.”