June 23, 2004

All of Friday was an intense build-up to our late-night ritual. The morning chats with Zorianna, the lovely breakfast on a patio, the abortive attempts to contact Martha, all linked together like glass beads in a necklace to create poetry.

On our march towards evening, Zorianna and I armed ourselves with used books and toothbrushes (I was too shy to use Trevor’s in the morning). I also put on a wife beater for the first time in my life, and suddenly I became aware of shoulders, and how lovely and exposed they are in the wind. For most of the morning I wanted to kiss Zorianna’s shoulder blades.

With my wife beater, my sunglasses, and my heavy accent, I was a perfect piece of Eurotrash by the time we found Martha late in the evening. If she didn’t show up when she did, I would have also discovered my latent infatuation with techno.

“I’m trying to live up to my inheritance,” I explained, lifting her in my arms. I wanted to tell her about the fragments of poetry resounding in my head. But instead I gave her a flower and decided to push boundaries.

“Let’s go to an all-you-can-eat meat buffet,” I said, drooling on her shoulder, fully aware that Martha is a vegan. She smiled, and together we walked towards a palace of flesh so she could watch Zorianna and I gorge ourselves with meat.

The meat buffet had grills like altars in the middle of each white table, and everywhere there was flesh and pools of blood. The overhead lights made the people look like mad, carnivorous angels, and we sat amongst them to begin our feast.

Because Martha didn’t order anything, she officiated over the ceremonies. In her white blouse, with her marvellous hair and dark eyes, she looked like a priestess about to offer sacrifice. The meat sizzled on the grill, and she smiled serenely, with the overhead light pouring over her head. Deep and marvellous were her movements and eyes as she watched us eat her offering.

She used her priestly power to make gongs resound in the room at the end of our meal, and by the end of the ritual I was grateful and satiated. Our communion of flesh transformed us, and we walked back towards Trevor’s apartment to sprawl on his floor and talk until two in the morning.

Trevor was fatherly and told us stories before we all drifted to sleep. And that was the third day, and it was good.