Fukbubble.

"You are exactly what we are looking for, my boy!" He smiled, looking at me with yellow eyes of rancid puss and hep C, face red and shiny in a thin film of grease. His wrinkled white cotton suit gave off the smell of chlorinated bath houses and unwashed genitals.

I sat slumped in the green leather office chair - his talking came to me in waves, fading in and out like Muslim mutterings - my fingers numb and I had a slight headache. He pushed the contract across the brown wooden desk towards me - it faded, snapped back into focus. The whiteness of the paper glowed in the dim light of the mahogany office.

"Now, as you realise your reports must be exact - written in painful detail, I believe are the words you have so often long windedly used. Leave out nothing - all the horror, pain, dread, and of course the random morbidity - Control needs to know all the details no matter how sordid. Do you understand, Mr. Blasini?"

A long pause and I lift my head up and look at him. I croak almost drunkenly. "Yes, of course." I take the green marbled pen in my hand and sign on the dotted line. "I won't let you down."

His face goes livid scarlet and animated, "What are you doing? You signed it with a pen - a pen?!!! Fuck that shit!! Blood, Agent Blasini!! Control needs it signed in blood. Your blood, you stupid little faggot!" He leaps across the desk grabs my limp hand and whips out a scalpel - I sit there motionless - face as blank as a card dealers - as he slices a small incision into my index finger. He milks out a few drops - masturbatingly slow and obscene - he presses my red dripping finger towards the contract and begins to coo orgasmically, "Yes, Mr. Blasini - oh, dear yes my baby - right there. Do it for papa."

Sloppily I smear my initials onto the onion paper - now yellow from time and use - he snatches the paper up, folds it neatly and slides it into his coat pocket. Standing behind me now, his withered hands on my shoulder, "You did the right thing, Agent Blasini - damn good thing. Don't look so glum. It will be all right. You are, as I said previously, the right man for the job. Cold. Calculating. Alone. Heartless. Sexually deviant and - uh - narcotico. Heh. heh. heh." He walks to the far wall looks askance over his shoulder at me - big insane grin of long yellow horse teeth, "Welp, kiddo - ya ready?"

"I - I'm not sure." I whimper. A small pain in my stomach. "Can't I think this over?"

"Don't be such a pansy!! Let's go!!" He points with his two index fingers into the air and traces the outline of an invisible door onto the wall. A door appears and he pushes it open, gesturing to the empty space beyond with an upturned palm. "Let's go, kiddo - no time to dawdle."

My eyes grow wet and I am overcome with waves of depressed sadness, I look up at him, "How long will this go on? When can I stop?"

He looks down at me and states solemnly, "You can never stop, Luis. You will never stop."

I wearily pull myself up from the chair and shuffle towards The Portal. "But, what if..."

He grabs me by the shoulder and shoves me in, "Welp, adios!!"

Instant cold. Darkest of dark. Flashbulb of images - crack addict missing the bus - cute boy serving coffee in Yuma doughnut shop giving a coy smile that melts my crotch - long waits in Phoenix - cigarette cigarette cigarette - man sets next to me, "Just do the right thing, make a difference in your life." Was that an angel's advice? - dropping through gravity darkness - I step out of The Portal into the lobby of The Gateway Hotel. The Gateway! That's in El Paso, Texas! I walk out into the crumbling cold dusty streets - I am in El Paso, Texas. I walk back into the lobby and rent a room. After snacking on trail mix and water I doze into a restless, tormented sleep.

I am back in El Paso.