Listen to Audiobook
Listen with Closed Caption
Paperback – Hardcover – Kindle – NOOK – Audible
Read Literature
[9 | Vestibule- 12:03 am] Download or Read PDF
J.F. found his new place earlier, after getting the keys from Elevyn, and fell right asleep on the premade bed she had done up for him. He was exhausted from his travels and was in desperate need of a good rest. When he lay down, it was daylight, and the blinds were pulled up, but it is dark when he wakes.
After taking a quick trip to the bathroom, he decides to tour his tiny little condo. He takes eight steps across the layout and says out loud, “And that’s it, folks. I hope you enjoyed the tour. We’ll be here all week!”
Another step forward, and he makes it to the kitchen area.
Once in the small workspace, he searches about to see if there is anything in it. He opens all the cabinets and drawers to find they are empty, except when he makes it to the cabinet above the fridge. At first glance, it appears vacant, but when he pushes himself up higher on his toes, he finds a bottle of 18-year-old scotch rolled off to the back. (The previous tenant must have missed this when packing. My lucky day! Or night, I should say. Hooray!)
Scotch had been his preferred drink in the past, but he had switched to Gin for the botanicals' healing properties. Also, any time he ingests dark spirits, his brain tends to go haywire and bad things happen. Normally, he wouldn’t risk a brown liquor, but considering the liquor stores are now closed, he takes the risk.
When he sees the rocking chair next to the window, he says, “Now only if I had a glass.” and looks to the counter to see a tall tumbler sitting in the sink. “If you ask, you shall receive.”
He pours a finger's worth, grabs the neck of the bottle, and shifts to the rocking chair.
Within a few hours, he drank half the bottle of scotch, launching him into a blackout state. The potent alcohol soaks his brain like a sponge and wipes the day clean. Before forgetting who and where he is, his last thoughts are of Ella and the two of them making eye contact for the first time.
J.F. is no longer present, and he now refers to himself as James—his pristine Scotch drinking name. He even carries himself differently, as if he has a fine suit on and is heading to the country club. His ethanol-soaked brain has taken over. One second he was rocking in the chair, planning to head back to bed, and the next, he is heading to the lobby in search of deliberation. In his highly energetic state of inebriation, he thinks, for some reason, he will find people to talk to in the lobby at 2:00 am in the morning.
[9.1 | Lobby]
J.F. walks about exploring the place. He paces around the lobby going in and out of the mailroom halls, inspecting the mirrors and the empty clubroom. He goes back into the center of the lobby and looks out the front doors into the vestibule.
In the vestibule, a man sits on the ground with his legs stretched out like scissors. In between his legs is a mound of city-street grown mushrooms. The man is eating something, taking twisted, deranged bites while trying to keep his hands straight as he holds what looks like a hamburger. He moves his hand upward to his mouth, but it seems limp, like he has no bones in it, and almost drops it when he uses half of his mouth to barely bight off a piece of lettuce. The lettuce then dangles off his lip and cheek. He attempts to pull it back with his tongue, while moving his head, as if the tilt of his neck will help give him better reach.
(I know that limp aimless hand. He is in the midst of a hallucinogenic trip. Probably why he collected all of them mushrooms. The pile of mushrooms has become a center of worship for him. Good Times.)
J.F. takes a step back and stands still, wondering if what he is witnessing is actually happening. Then, without notice, the man jumps straight up from his plopped p
