Attention. Deficit. Disorder.. Brad Listi
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“Come in,” she said.
“No, no. I’m going to stay out here. You go ahead.”
“Come in. Is good.”
“I’ll be here when you get out.”
“Come in, Wayne.”
I stuck my head in the door. Pamela was on other side of the glass, naked under the showerhead. She looked at me and motioned with her forefinger.
“Come in,” she said.
“I’m not getting in.”
“You need bath.”
“Tomorrow morning. Mañana.”
Pamela made a face. “¿Qué es la problema?” she said. “You no like?”
“No, no. Not at all. I like just fine.”
“Come in.” She smiled at me and motioned again.
I looked at myself in the mirror above the sink. I looked pretty ravaged.
“Look,” said Pamela. She was pointing at my feet.
I looked down. My feet were dirty. I’d been wearing flip-flops, wandering the streets and clubs of Havana for fourteen solid hours.
I looked at myself in the mirror again. “Shit,” I said.
I stripped and got into the shower. Pamela giggled and stepped to the side. I stood under the water and let it run over my head, my body. Pamela started soaping my back. I lifted my hands to my face, wiped the water away from my eyes, and turned around to face her. She pressed up against me and gave me a kiss. It tasted like soap and cigarettes.
Pamela and I were kissing. We had been kissing for a couple of minutes when I suddenly experienced a moment of realization. I had a drastic change of heart and pulled away in a rapid burst of motion. My feet squeaked on the floor of the tub, and I nearly slipped and fell. I grabbed hold of the handrail and attempted to gather myself. I was standing there, naked, wet, and erect. I started rambling to Pamela.
I told her that I wanted her to know that she was a fine human being. I told her that I didn’t consider her a subhuman because she was a hooker and that I didn’t want to harm her. I told her that she was subjecting herself to grave danger, night in and night out, and I wanted to do whatever I could to help her. I was slurring.
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