What was that like?
Alex wakes up in the whore house, his head a poundin. He’s blown about eleven years of the average non-criminal man’s wages, in the one night.
Many a times this would have landed him in jail, on a so-called bed, but a cot is not a bed, because a cot is not sumptuous. A cot doesn’t smell or feel like a good woman. A cot feels like a medieval rack.
Alex isn’t going to puke. He isn’t going to fuck, either.
The Madame is there. She directs her staff, which includes — yes it does– maids. To send up some melon for Alex. There are black, black, black seeds in this melon, which is also water, for Alex is, among other things, dehydrated. The dear Madame has directed the watermelon be cubed. Plus, she’s dictated tooth picks be placed, spearing, into each watermelon cube.
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