About
It's Sunday, she realizes, cracking her neck as she slides out of the bajillionth musty hotel bed she'd been in that crazy year. Her hand is sore. Musta' been writing notes in my sleep again. Jiji lays undisturbed, brown eyelashes fluttering as he dreams. let's hope it's a good one for once, she thinks, rummaging through the bullethole-riddled red backpack. Several coins and errant notes scatter across the table as she pulls out her usual Libertines, plucking a cig from the pack and lighting it with her old silver lighter, the words Lone Star etched onto the side. She lingers a moment, savoring the budding high, then digs some more for the shitty little portable stove she had Jiji buy a couple weeks ago. It had damn near caused a whole motel to catch fire the last time they attempted to use it, but hell, it got the job done. She hesitates at the outlet, plug in hand. The damn thing is scorched black from Jiji ramming a fork into it yesterday. "I used to do this all the time at Krauss's place," He had said, then poking the fork into the hole and spasming about on the floor for several minutes. Nona was left to wonder how the fuck he's lived this long.
She scratches a cheek idly, wondering whether or not to risk blowing up the ratty motel they're in when she inadvertantly cuts open a pimple with her nail. "Shit!" she curses, holding the side of her face affected. She had started breaking out massively ever since escaping from Pakapont. Stress pimples, I guess, she thinks, grabbing a fluffy white hand towel and pressing it to her cheek. She places the cigarette she's holding with her other hand in her mouth and plugs the stove in. Jiji is waking up now, head lolling a little as he sits up. Nona fishes out a couple banknotes and snaps her fingers at the boy a couple times. "Jingo! go get some instant noodles from the pharmacy next door, we're all out." Jiji groans and takes the bills, rubbing an eye as he walks toward the door. "Wait," he mumbles. "We still got some sausage?" Nona nods and then pushes him out the door, ready to get dressed. Maybe rob sm'more scrotes blind, she decides.
