Friday, May 16, 2014

The Streak - 97

They each have one of my arms. We go down a flight of stairs and bang through double doors, down a hallway, bang through double doors again, and we’re in a kitchen with hundreds of people making food, enormous trays of food arrayed on shiny tables and stacked in carts. Napoleons and chocolate eclairs and something red. I’m pretty sure I’ve been here before. Maybe in a dream. Then we burst out another door and down a little set of stairs and out another door and we’re outside now, outside the casino, in a strange space you never see in Vegas: a loading area, strictly utilitarian, with chipped and faded yellow paint on the curbs and walls. Letters and numbers stenciled on the pavement, communicating something ordinary people aren’t meant to understand.

There’s an SUV parked on the other side of the lot and that’s where we’re going now. Joe and Matt push me into the back seat, close the door, climb in front. We’re driving now and I look up from where I’m lying and I can see out the window, the tops of the neon signs and the immaculate palm trees.

“Guys, guys! Where we going guys?” I ask them in a shaky voice.

“Need you to lie low awhile,” one of them says, which one is which I don’t know. “Just until the operation is complete.”

“The operation?”

“You know, this.”

“This?!”

“What’s happening now,” the other one says. “Try to stay focused on what’s happening now.”

“I’m in the back seat of a car,” I find myself saying.

“Good. And?”

“I’m lying down, looking up through the window.”

“Go on.”

“I can see the sky upside-down.”

“Good.”

I feel a warm feeling. A good, warm feeling, suddenly.

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