The Wallcreeper

by Nell Zink

Young men unlikely to be in the possession of Swiss passports danced with eyes half-closed, snapping their fingers, while women in various states of disrepair jockeyed into their axes of attention. Lumpy, lantern-jawed, pockmarked, bucktoothed, short, tall, or simply drunken women, here to pick up devil-may-care subaltern gigolos for a night of horror.

Stephen led me to the floor and yelled, “I’m going to dance a little bit!” He then proceeded to dance as if he had never seen me, or any other human being, before in his life.

I caught the bus from the airport with a young woman whose hair was lacquered into a ponytail as hard and shiny as a shrimp.

For months I lay like a windfall peach contemplating its own bitter almond.