Archive for February, 2009

Zero One

28/02/2009

cuts1

<Rutluck: Your trippin,> abruptly stated a new box, announced by a barely-audible swishing sound.
<Rutluck: What do I tell dicks? he knows your not sick.>

<Ashesto: Dixie can fuck off. Hes got my quota til thursday.> She breathed in sharply, annoyed by the admonishment but relieved to chat to someone she actually knew in reality.

<Rutluck: cmon girl, you still gotta DO the hours. NEway at least set your status offline so he doesnt know your up three days in a row doin shit that aint work.>

“Fucking hell,” she snapped out loud, to the empty room, simultaneously clicking into her status protocols and offlining them all, except for a few private IRCs that her closest confidantes lurked.

<Rutluck: Its cool, ill cover 4 you :)>

<Ashesto: thanks love>

<Rutluck: you OK?>

<Ashesto: meh. kinda fucked tbh>

<Rutluck: shit girl, come t the octopus. Me n marie helene are goin to see the Mundane in an hour.>

The mention of clubs and times sent Ash’s jittery gaze to the bold, luminous grin of the clock in the corner. 23h46. Not as late as she figured it was, though she wasn’t really sure what time it should be. She reflexively decided she wasn’t going to meet up with Rudy, though she had wanted to see the Mundane. She clicked on the clock, which expanded into an automatically annotated calendar of her work schedule and listings from various music and culture mags. Saturday, May 31. Rent tomorrow. Well, Monday.

<Ashesto: Marie who?>

<Rutluck: lacroisseuse>

<Ashesto: Oh. K maybe. See ya in a bit>

She rose and blearily approached the stainless steel mass that served as her kitchen counter, her wash basin and her shower. She splashed metallic-tasting yellow-tinged water against her face. Its vindictive coolness jarred her from her trance. She stripped out of her grimy jeans and black cotton tank top, cranked the protruding nozzle that crowned the rectangular hunk of metal in the corner, and strode into the chamber. The cold water naturally repelled her despite her sweatiness, but she grit her jaw and enjoyed the refreshing sting like she would a snifter of cognac. She then slowly warmed the water until the heat of the summer was no longer a disturbance, but a cleansing comfort, as if to reacclimatize herself to her world after an alien evening of grease and digitalism. As she did this, she noticed her reflection. It was elongated and warped, imperfectly miming her form in the steel wall. The tiny head, disproportionately huge hands, googly breasts and asymmetrical thighs seemed to represent either her nemesis or her id. Which one it was would depend on what part of her affected psyche was peering out from within her rattled skull. Somehow neither thought was particularly disturbing in that moment.

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