Burn and Berlin...

Burn will tell you there was something wrong with me and maybe that's true. I don't know what to say about that, am in no mood to attempt a defense. I didn't want to talk about it, couldn't much talk about it with Burn, what is going on because even I don't know or can't describe it. Things will always hurt and I'm just trying to get through it and respect it fucking respect it but keep moving.

We were out on the town and there was one glaring problem with all of the beauties we ran across. Germans are fucking schooled in language, meaning that they know mine too well and last night, I didn't want them to. There's a body sleeping in my bed. I don't even know where I am right now. There's a computer in the room that I'm using that I must have ordered at some point last night when I got home. I'm still drunk so I feel okay and she's naked so I must've fucked her quite a bit because I feel like that's the mood I must've been in last night. No, I remember...

She didn't speak a lick of English. When me and Burn parted ways, I was approaching girls on the street, as long as they were pretty enough and I was asking them if they didn't know English. They all did, all so fucking educated make me feel like such a goddam peasant. But sometime around four, I found a girl. She didn't understand a fucking word I was saying so I took her hand and dragged her back here...checking the note pad on my desk - the Hilton in Mitte, and we fucked and fucked and fucked. I don't know what I said to her and I'm not sure if I care to know, but I can tell you that it was a lot, likely, because I had some stuff I needed to get out. I'm sure I fucked her for hours, talking the entire time, my lips and mouth and words moving out of me...about my life, about my hurt, about my fallen girl. I wonder what she was thinking as I was fucking her - my never shutting up, maybe crying a little bit - whatever it was she handled it because she's still here, her bare ass staring at me from on top of the covers.

I think I should order her breakfast - at least feed her before she leaves, which she has to do almost immediately. I have much to do but mostly just compose myself before I see my friend again, because we have business, much business.

Every now and again, I see them laying there and motionless and I get scared, fucking scared. Is she dead? Did I kill this woman? Intentionally or unintentionally? I usually then do what I am about to do now, like take this pen off the desk...and throw it at her. Missed. I take this bag of nuts...and throw it and hit her in her bare ass.

She stirs.

She is alive.

Now I can move on.