I’m following a friend down elongated corridors of what feels like a tenement building; door after door after door stretches on forever, set into stone walls, the atmosphere all grey with no hope.
My friend is chatting muffled sounds into a mobile phone emphatically, eventually hanging up and turning back to me as we keep walking, telling me we’ve got to head back to the flat from before. He’s warning me that the night will likely be back and forth runs throughout the building, but that another one of our friends won’t stop ringing him asking how long he’ll be.
‘It’s fucking disrespectful.’
I realise he’s my boss when he hands me bags filled with fun, giving me a list of letters and numbers that I’ve got to deliver them to. The building is inhabited exclusively by friends and their friends and some scattered acquaintances, all waiting on me and some friendlier than others.
During the fifth delivery, a familiar face grabs me and pushes me into an adjoining room no bigger than a closet, the other people focused on nothing but the bags. She starts to rub against me and probe me with her hands and mouth as I cringe with guilt. ‘It’s okay. You’re doing nothing wrong. You’re doing nothing wrong.’ She keeps chanting at me in breathless whisper while kissing further down my torso.
Once she hits my crotch I push her away and apologise; she stands in front of me for a while with a blank face but before she can respond, she and the door behind her melt into wisps slowly and begin to fall away from me. I’m alone in darkness but then I close and open my eyes. I wake up on the floor of my bosses living room, any exposed skin chilled against the grey stone that made up the walls of the tenement building. When I look closer, I realise that there are small holes all over the floor, each one with a metal spike that occasionally pokes me, enough to cover my entire body.
As I flinch around the floor trying to find comfort, the familiar face is projected onto the ceiling, the same blank face from before.
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