25th
My Account
A week ago Anna and I checked into the Fane Hotel in Harlem as our apartment was being fumigated and was generally unlivable. The room we got was shabby and, from what I could gather, covered in blood stains. Naturally, this didn’t bother me in the least as I had grown accustomed to blood and seamen stains during my time spent in juvenile hall, but Anna didn’t care for it. She demanded the owner, a fat Greek whom the full-time residents called Toilet, move us to a suite but he simply laughed and blew smoke in her face. Anna threatened under her breath that should would “tink” him if he didn’t comply but I calmed her down. Every Greek I have known has possessed a dark and violent soul capable of doing things Anna could barely conceive. To assuage his anger at Anna’s affront I invited him up to our room for a game of Speed Scrabble and beers. He reluctantly accepted and a date was set. Sadly, however, the “night of fun” as Anna called it, never arrived. A disgruntled employee showed up early the next morning and blew the Greeks head off with a shotgun. If you have every seen what a shotgun can do to a human head, you will understand that this is no exaggeration. The ex-employ then exited the hotel, went to Popeye’s and slit her throat.
