In the Paper

 

Tabloid newspapers have a number of uses.

In many countries they are the perfect size for lining the litter box, a makeshift hat in a sudden downpour and for wrapping fish and chips at the Pub. I have always found tabloid newspapers are a good source of information, mapping the local crackpots and low life scum, which can be optimal sources for the comings and goings of those bent on mischief. No matter the language, it seems that tabloid journalist cultivated the same sources, in the same seedy places, around the globe. It really made my job very elemental.

Once in a raging snow storm in Siberia, I learned to drink vodka by the thimbles full,
play a game using spoons and knives and learned to appreciate the feeling of a mink, worn by a woman, who favored bikinis and shearling boots.

A stint in Thailand taught me a skill or two and I saw an eyeful in the various establishments. Sadly the only thing I learned to say in Thai, was a hushed and fierce, "Don't turn around," as I pressed my knife against the throats of countless Mafia underlings and other deviants. It is amazing to me, how quickly the tough ones tumble, when the tables are turned and they are forced to confront the razor's edge of their own brutal mortality. How quickly the rage turns to melting, mushy candy, drooling out of their mouths, as the knife point makes a delicate prick against the smooth sweat soaked skin, of their necks.

Throwing up her hands, as I read from the paper, she pouts, saying "Don't tell me
anything then. It is not as if it would be the truth anyway." I'd give her a full recap, all the details omitted from the discarded pages, but then she'd only harp on and on, wanting more and more. Better to play it close, pull her close and make the kind of music, which causes you to forget the knife at the throat, the warm blood which never really washes from your hands, for one more night.

 

You can go to Elisa Phillips' blog at: www.elisaphilips.blogspot.com