“Yes,” I said, “That sounds good…I don’t think…”
“What is it?”
I watched the way Sailor swayed a little, standing in front of the sink, filling a kettle with water. There was a hollow rushing sound. I could see the way the incandescent kitchen light caught the leaves of the vine growing in the dark window. The bright light had been momentary, a flash. It was night again. There was only one light on, a small overhead bulb.
I sat down near the small wooden table.
“I don’t think I’ve had tea in a long time.”
“You’re not a tea drinker.”
“I’m a fuckin’ addict, is what I am. Tea doesn’t make for much of an addiction.”
“I never really got it, the addiction thing.”
“Have you ever sat up alone at night in your own apartment, here, where you feel comfortable?”
“Maybe once.”
“But felt there was something missing?”
“Well, maybe.”
“I have that all the time. And once I try to start filling that, I can’t shut if off. I just can’t. I wake up hollow. And all I want to do is fill it. Anything else is a fucking lie.”
We were still rushing along, as if we were inside of a train.
Narc in the Maze 