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What's the obsession with potatoes?

I called her Potato Face when she was a kid.

What does she look like now?

Jenny was no looker at that age…

… But she matured. Bloomed.

Juliana... Never the same twice.

I scratch at my beard. I’ve never liked facial hair in hot climates, but I don’t have a choice right now. Even so, the flourishing colony of lice that has stowed aboard adds an extra edge of irritation.

Lice…

Where the fuck did they come from?

Can rat lice live on humans?

Having a fucking good go at it…

I catch one, squeezing the revolting thing between my fingernails. It bursts with a Pop!

Only another 999 to go…

*****

The boredom’s the worst. Endless hours. Endless days and nights. I’ve no idea how long.

The only breaks in the monotony are Juliana’s visits: just long enough to sit, eat something at me, toss a potato at me.

No, not Juliana: Solana.

Why's she so obsessed with the name?

How many names have I used over the years? Worn like a suit of clothes to be discarded when the weather changes and something different is needed.

I’ve never been defined by my name.

But she sees it differently…

Something skritches and I jerk a look sidelong

It’s a rat…

Just a rat…

down gunmen, soldiers,

It’s just a rat…

scratching. And a

an abyss, the abyss will gaze back at

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

abyss comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle

*****

do you know what Stockholm

her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her

kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment to the

“You saying you're getting

mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called

“So?”

I your only

a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the

do you keep coming

in her chewing, mouth hanging a little

do you keep coming? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk

me to feed you? We can always change that you

could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once

swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that

“So, you're

a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same heartless bastard that shipped me out to dig up potatoes for the rest of my life. Along with all the others you did the same to.

her arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am

eyes, I keep my voice mild. “Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have

“Solana…” she hisses.

the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour has changed. White-faced, white-lipped, scarlet spots at

on her heel, she stalks

as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat

adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly

meat-and-veg-stuffed delicacy is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from

not eaten anything like

For how long?

sense of

I had a

empanada, then another,

and

meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated

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