Chapter 6: Sausage Pizza
Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5.

     Elizabeth’s body was warm and firm, like a ripe eggplant left overnight on the smoldering coals of a campfire. My body, conversely, I liken to a pink plastic garbage bag loaded with cottage cheese and Boone’s Farm wine, usually strawberry.
     We made love for the better part of three hours, first on the troutskin sofa held together by blackberry brambles and then on the kitchen table. When Elizabeth suggested that we fuck in the water, I was hesitant. Her vomiting had turned the stream into what looked like a jacuzzi for a couple of swinging sausage pizzas. “Maybe we should wait awhile,” I said, “and give the water some time to clean itself up. It’s still a little messy in there.”
     “Oh yeah,” she frowned, rubbing her naked belly in slow circles.
     I tried to smile. “Don’t worry about it,” I told her. I took her by the hand and led her down the hall, over the little footbridge and into the bathroom on the left. She sat on the toilet nude and urinated while I filled the bathtub with cold water.
     “Perfect,” she smiled.
     “No.” I said. Not quite.”
     I opened the medicine cabinet and took out a handful of stones and an empty Pepsi can and dumped everything into the tub. Then I broke off some blackberry brambles and wrapped them around us.
     Elizabeth eyed me hopefully. She looked both beautiful and vulnerable then, a college-educated mermaid embarrassingly entwined in an industrial fishing net.
     And I was her Greenpeace.
     “There,” I said. “Now.”
     “Perfect…?” she said.

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Chapter 7

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