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           Please,IaskthemanagerofthePressmanHotel, givemethemoney.AndIgiggle,again. 

           Andpleasedon’thitme,again. 

           Please. 

           Youhavesomuch,andIhavenothing. AndIstarttoclimbmybloodupthepinstripedlegsofthemanagerofthePressmanHotel whoisleaningback,hard,withhishandsonthewindowsillbehindhim andevenhisthinlipsretreatingfromhisteeth. 

           Themonsterhooksitsbloodyclawinthewaistbandofthemanager’spants,andpullsitselfuptoclutchthewhitestarchedshirt,and 

           Iwrapmybloodyhandsaroundthemanager’ssmoothwrists. 

           Please.Ismilebigenoughtosplitmylips. 

           There’sastruggleasthemanagerscreamsandtriestogethishandsawayfromme andmybloodandmycrushednose,thefilthstickinginthebloodonbothofus, andrightthenatourmostexcellentmoment,thesecurityguardsdecidetowalkin.