He tried in earnest to efface the “liking” by application of cute chicks, strong drinks, Irish luck gambling. To no avail. He knew he was in love. And so was she. Was she? Yes, yes, yes! She told him so.

The day was warm and calm, full of the soft sun. They stood on the platform of a railway station. She smiled at him and said:

‘Remember me just like I am this moment when I love you. Remember me this way when I’ll turn nasty, real bad’.

‘Bad? You cannot be that’.

‘No convocations work, silly. I know better’.

The rest is history. They parted. He lived on like a kinda zombie, life in death. Then there was another railway station in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Called her. “I love you!” And rang off enraged with the damn fool, himself. Behind his back thru the dead of night rambled heavily an endless freight train. Hopefully, his confession merged with the thunder of iron wheels and, unmakeoutable, lost.

Still later, his buddy 2ic shared that in his, V’s, ex’s opinion V had been a champion at having sex. That way she passed him—care of his friend—his antidote.

* * *

10

‘Wanna get out of here?’

‘The place is nice, actually, but… say it again? Is it a one-night stand invitation, huh?’

‘Depends… maybe a challenge, sporty?’

‘Whose field?’

‘Quick to pick the clue makes Jack a welcome mate’.

‘Yummy Jenny makes even dull Jack witty’.

‘Jennys are not after stand-upper apps, a Tom vibrating with dedication suits them better’.

‘Then I’m your man full of vibes and throbbing in advance’.

‘Throttle down, Charlie! Spilling your ardor too soon is not the cricket’.

‘With you 100 per cent. Test drives is the must when dealing with cats in the sack’.

‘Not down that road, Danny! Car talks don’t turn me on’.

‘Then what remains there? Discussing NASA projects? Agricultural commodities in stock… wait! Interested in bean business, hon?’

‘A not bad hit for a starter, Johnny. I’m in for linguistics, to be precise. Body language and stuff, you know. The way you licked your lips when about beans… a pronouncedly fine articulation you’ve got, Benny’.

‘For the protocol, sweetheart, I’m more of a manual jobber, hauling ashes, you know, rowing over a rolling river… to get a feel of strenuous joy for my sinewy frame’.

‘Fulfillment is what I do promise you, brawny Larry!’

There sounded warning clangs, the red alert “GAME OVER!” popped smack bang in the screen center.

Shaking his head, V gave a slap to his knee. He closed his Samsung and sat back.

‘Damn!’ said V. ‘Too soon! Haven’t got in the groove’.

‘May happen to anybody. Don’t blame yourself’, soothingly stroked Leya his wounded ego.

‘Thanks for your kind consolation’, said V. ‘What’s the score?’

‘2 to 1 in three sets. Home won. Statistics for the last game shows you’re good at penetrating chick’s mind yet slipped at all tries to guess the guys name which was “Frankie”’.

‘Damn Frankie!’ said V. ‘Excuse my French’.

For over an hour they fiddled away playing computer games allowing for the intruders to V’s place a while to get away if not from his apartment then from at least a chance ride by the elevator.

Leya readied for him sunglasses and a wig of blonde locks, adding a trendy women’s jacket in the bargain. Yet, they still dawdled on, better be safe than sorry…

Well back, at the times immemorial, Computerized Gaming Industry assumed the stance of catering to any odd ball vagaries in taste. Arcade games, huh? Sorry, kid, you weren’t yet around in those naive times of jumping Mario. Mamas and papas played their Tetras, Candy Crash and other attractions for action minded folks. However, CGI were smart enough to concoct their products for those intellectual freaks as well. Shipment of goods across the universe to trade for other Mother-effing goods. Fucking mules trafficking strange cargoes in infinite loops, do you follow? Yep. The egg-heads call such double-timing ‘bifurcation in consumers interests’, to make it clearer, we’ll say ‘bisexuality’. New wave, and line, and order took giant strides to meet 6D interests yet, beside the action shooting-stripping-effing you still can run into oldies but goodies ChatGPT-like contests of players. Exchange of texted clues. Negotiating with aliens. Or the one which helped V and Leya kill time. ‘Gain One-Stand Night’ was the game’s name.

‘Okay’, said V. ‘I think I can take a shot at leaving now’.

‘I hope the coast is clear and you’ll have a safe sailing,’ responded Leya. ‘Aren’t you hungry though? It’s dinner time’.

‘Well’, scratched V the back of his head, ‘Just for the sake of curiosity, is it ‘One-Stand Night’ or a date, after all?’

* * *

11

…it’s everywhere, it surrounds not like a net or bandage, it’s clinging too completely without a breach in its continuity, squeezes from all sides…

…the pressure is not unyielding solid like the crush-bite of closing jaws in an iron vice, like the grip of ratcheting noose cutting deeper thru crust and layers, to the core… no! it moves, fluctuating, throbbing, scorching, wringing, gnawing… it’s fluid!. this pain is…

…why me?.

…what?!. is there any me? is there anything at all besides the pain? besides this ocean of burning all-devouring flames whose fangs leave open wounds, keep fretting fresh sores… full of embittered beastly cruelty it is, this here pain… from all sides… from within…

…there is and can be nothing but the pain… not a spot left out, no room, no space for no me… pain… pain… pain… pain…

…but then who’s suffering the unbearable?. whose worn to tatters nerves scream mutely in the anguish? if not for me there’d be no pain… some tiny bubble of conscience bobs in the torturing fluid, quakes under the skin tearing whip of