‘You hungry, baby?’ James asked in a low voice. ‘Mmmmm. Starving,’ I answered. I was leaning against him, hardly supporting my own weight and in a flash he scooped me up, carried me across the airy living room and deposited me on the island in the kitchen. ‘What’ll it be, then? Spaghetti? Soup? Something quick and easy so you can give me the grand tour of your parents’ pad, starting with the hot tub?’ I was supposed to be answering a question, but the fire-fighter style transportation had awakened a different kind of hunger. I weaved my fingers around James’ belt loops and pulled him close to me, my knees on either side of his hips. ‘Sure, soup,’ I said as I pulled off my T-shirt. ‘As long as you don’t mind putting it on low heat so we can get a little bit naked first.’ ‘Screw the soup.’ I was pleased to feel his interest rising as James gazed at my exposed upper body and ran his hands up my thighs under my skirt. James tugged at my underwear and I shifted my weight, allowing him. I felt like my head was slurry, wet and sloshy with cytoplasm. I lay in bed, supine, awake to the night, reading my phone in the dark, my room black as marble.A story popped up on my phone, a local news story of three people drowning to death in a manure pit. A maintenance worker, trying to fix a septic tank, had plunged in, and two others rushed to help him, and they too were swallowed into the pit of shit.Reading it provided me a guilty bit of schadenfreude. Despite my current woes of ghosts, insomnia, and filthy air, there was really nothing I could imagine worse than drowning, suffocating in a pool of shit. That being how one leaves the Earth. What a horrific fate.Perhaps a “ghost of shit,” a violent, vengeful janitor’s ghost sucked them in. What a bilious, malicious spirit that must be...Then another story popped up. An anonymous news article from tomorrow, written in the future tense, saying there’s going to be a dreadful traffic accident. The article didn’t mention ghosts, but.
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