NO EXIT

“…at seven, can you believe it?”

Noah stared. He had never seen this woman. Or the bedroom he was stepping into. He looked back. He was definitely in his own bathroom. Chipped sink, counter, pink bathtub, cheap curtain. But he looked back at this woman. Those pendulous breasts, curved back. Not his wife. He didn’t have a wife.

“Are you even listening? Stuart??”

The woman turned and met Noah’s eyes and for a second everything was silent. Then she screamed.

“AAAAAAA”

then

“Who the FUCK are you?”

She threw a flat iron at Noah, who dodged, then fled the room continuing a scream that forced Noah back into his bathroom, door slamming behind him. He found himself in the tub, hyperventilating.

This was HIS TUB. Those were HIS HAIRS around the edge. The vent was making its NORMAL RATTLE.

Noah felt sick. He listened, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. He stood again, looked into his mirror, and saw his own face.

That was normal. Things were normal in here. He checked his cabinets. Normal. Sanitary products, drugs. His breathing slowed.

Noah walked to the bathroom door and pressed his ear against it. Nothing.

He called out “Hello?”

No response.

Noah cracked the bathroom door. He was hit with a wave of damp and mildew smell. Everything was dark except for a bright moon above him peering through the slats of a broken roof. He looked behind himself. The bathroom remained the same. Cautiously, Noah stepped forward. The floor creaked, damp wood. He stepped his second foot into this busted attic and looked up at the sky through the slats of wood, and the floor cracked beneath him. As he fell everything became bright. He tumbled down a ladder onto his back, staring up at an attic door snapping shut.

Noah laid a minute. He was in pain. He couldn’t breathe. He moaned. He forced a gasp. He sat up. Looking around he was in an office. Some kind of clinic back office. Rubbing his back he stood. No windows. Attic door, office door. Desk, chair, file cabinets. Pictures of a wife. A child.

“What.”

Noah had no clue what was happening. He had only needed to shit. He had washed his hands, opened a door, and been confronted with strange breasts and violence. This had not been the plan. He’d had a date.

“What the.”

Noah collapsed into the office chair and held his head in his hands.

“This is a hallucination.”

Noah looked at a digital clock on the desk. He had heard one way to tell if you’re in a lucid dream is to peer at a digital clock. If the numbers are nonsense, it’s a dream.

The numbers were quite clear. 6:16 PM. Maybe he could still get to his date. Sam was very pretty after all. The sex was mediocre but that’s something that improves after a few dates. But why is he thinking about that. Where the hell is he?

“Where the hell am I?”

Noah stood again and checked a book. Another trick he remembered about hallucinations and dreams is that reading books manufactures nonsense: the brain just makes up words and phrases, autosupplying the activity of reading without any of the meaning of it. Perfect. A Bible. Perfect. KJV, even better.

Noah flipped the book to a chapter he knew well. He scanned the text.

“There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after.”

Ecclesiastes 1:11. Right where it should be, making perfect sense.

“What.”

He closed the Bible and walked to the office door. Opening it he found himself looking over an aquarium of substantial size. Enormous fish were boiling underneath, waiting for food. Noah scowled and closed the door, then sat back at the desk and began to hyperventilate. After two minutes of panic, he checked all the drawers in the room, found a bottle of cheap scotch, and pulled directly from it. This settled him. There was a phone on the desk. He decided to try it.

After a couple minutes of poking, he managed to dial out to Sam, the girl he was supposed to pick up in, well, now just a little under an hour and a half. It went to the machine. He dialed again. She picked up.

“…Hello?”

“Oh!” Noah was relieved “Hey, Sam, sorry. I’m having a really weird day.”

“Noah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you calling me from Albuquerque?”

“…Albuquerque?”

“Are you pulling some shit on me?”

“No, Sam, look. I have no idea what’s going on. I opened my door and suddenly I was in a strange house.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know I’m right, what shit are you trying to pull on me?”

“I’m not trying to pull any shit on you, Sam, I’m fucking confused.”

“… do you need help?”

“I think I do.”

“Look I don’t know what I can do for you. I don’t know why you’re in fucking New Mexico. Do you expect me to buy a flight? This is idiotic. If you wanted to cancel the fucking date you could’ve just told me like an adult.”

“I… look, Sam, I like you, it’s why I called you, I have no idea what’s going on and-“

“You’re a fucking asshole, Noah. If you need help, call the cops. I’m going out whether you take me or not. And if you’re not taking me out tonight, don’t call me again.”

The line cut.

Noah stared at the phone. His guts sank. “Bitch.”

He slammed the phone on the receiver and rubbed his face.

He couldn’t call the police, he was technically trespassing. He couldn’t call anyone, they’d all respond like Sam.

Noah whimpered, then took another pull on the bottle. Gripping its neck, he rose to his feet. Once more he walked to the office door, reached out, twisted the knob. Pulled.

On the other side was an extremely long hallway, lit with bland fluorescents, blue and buzzing. White walls, rows of doors on either side, each with a plaque. He could not see the hall’s end.

Noah stood at the doorway, staring.

Noah took one step through. Then another. He let go of the door behind him and it snapped shut. He shuddered.

He turned around and tried the door he’d just come out of. The plaque on this door read “EXIT” and had a stairwell symbol next to it. Opening it he found a walk-in freezer. He closed the door again and choked back a sob. He opened the door again. A bar opened before him. About 30 patrons. Dingy. The bartender saw him, saw the bottle in his hand and that Noah wasn’t wearing pants. The bartender started to yell. Noah closed the door and slouched against it.

Noah was going insane. Certainly that was the case. None of this could be real. None of it was real. Noah slammed his head against the wall, hard. It felt real. He stood and began to open all the doors in the hall, closing them in rapid succession. Opera house, bank vault, hospital, McDonald’s, family home, slaughterhouse, factory floor, movie theater. No consistency. Different languages, different smells, all. It didn’t make any sense. He hit his head against a door again and again and ended up stunning himself such that he passed out, drunk and mildly concussed, under the buzzing fluorescents of the long hall.

***

When Noah woke again nothing had changed save a headache and some blood crusted to his forehead. He rose and moaned. Then he remembered where he was. He was slightly hungover. The scotch was still half-full. He gripped it, then said aloud
“No way.”

There was no way. No way his prior night was real. The lights’ hum was dizzying. Noah had no clue how long he’d been out. He keeled over, vomited hard, wiped his mouth, and reoriented.

Noah approached a door. This one had “Supply F” written on it. His hand shook. The hand gripped its doorknob. Turned the doorknob. Eased open the door. And found a department store before him. He walked in, and the door slammed shut behind him. Leaving the dressing room area, a clerk spotted him.

“Oh, uh, sir-“

Noah blinked, “Yeah?”

“Sir… I think you left your uh, pants, in the dressing room.”

He looked down at his boxers. He wasn’t even wearing his good boxers, they were the embarrassing ones with dogs doing tricks that opened in front too easily.

“Oh, haha, yeah. Um.”

The clerk looked nervous. She eyed the bottle of J&B he was gripping.

“Sir, I didn’t let you into one of these rooms. We ask that you let us help you into the dressing rooms. I can go back to the room and get your pants for you, they lock automatically.”

“Ah! Please!”

She disappeared behind him and Noah walked straight into the Macy’s, ducking between the racks of clothes until he could find a good section of men’s pants. Leafing through jeans on a rack, he found his size and pulled it out, revealing the face of a hiding child. The child put his index finger to his lips, and whispered an urgent “Shhhh!!”

Noah looked at the child and solemnly nodded, put the jeans on, tore the tags away, and made the exact same gesture to the child. “Shhhh!!”

The child nodded solemnly, and Noah pulled the surrounding jeans back over the kid to cover the hole he’d made with his theft.

Better-oriented, slightly dignified, Noah set out to find shoes. He pulled socks straight off a rack, popped them on his feet. He found some running shoes. He found a backpack, slipped the whiskey in it. Then he wandered into the larger mall area.

People were all around him, swarming. He had no idea what state he was in, if he was in America still. The storefronts were familiar but could have been from anywhere in the world. The language was still English. He wandered forward. He needed water.

Finding bathrooms, he sipped from a fountain then realized he had to urinate. He absently pushed into a men’s room door and found himself in a Japanese metro station. Surprised he let go of the door and it slammed shut behind him. Noah yelled in anger. No one looked up. He pulled the scotch from his backpack, took a slug, and replaced it. A train arrived. The door opened, a crowd pushed past him. Faces and limbs, no one looking. But Noah could see into the train. It looked like a train, a normal door. He became excited. He pushed onto the train. But he was in a bathroom. A very nice bathroom. But not the train. He screamed. But at least he could piss. He found his way to the toilet, urinated, washed his hands, regarded himself in the mirror. He looked bad.

Noah showered. Luxuriated in the scent of expensive soap, steamed out, washed the bit of blood from his face. Toweled off lavishly. Redressed himself. Filled a bottle with water. Put it in his backpack. Braced himself. Opened the bathroom door. Found himself in a greenhouse. Grimaced. Walked forward.

***

Noah was in a palace. Noah had been in this palace for 3 days, but could not explore the palace. He knew it was a palace because he could see out the windows. He was on one of the upper floors of a lived-in portion. Nobles still occasionally live in their palaces it turns out, just not all the time.

Noah was living out of his backpack. Using a hotplate, he cooked stolen food while lounging on the enormous four poster and watching cable television. He didn’t know anyone still had cable television, but it made sense that if anyone did it would be a noble who lived in a musty palace.

Noah had not talked to or seen anyone in five days. He had not bathed in six. He had been shitting in bags and throwing them through an open door into random rooms all over the world. He felt feral. But he lay in the lap of luxury. The threadcount was remarkable. This room had tapestries. He would look from the television to the tapestries and think.

The tapestries were a series, he supposed, on what is best in life. In one, a man sat on a throne with his family surrounding him. In another, the same family ate voraciously. In another the father and mother drank together with friends. In another, the father and mother seduced one another. Noah supposed the threadcount on the tapestries was also remarkable.

Noah had found an excellent bottle of cognac on the first night and worked his way through it assiduously. He took down the tapestry about drinking. He wrapped himself in it, and put himself into a stupor. He sang, and screamed, and danced. He woke up naked with a headache. He often woke up naked with a headache.

The second day he spent pulling the fanciest clothes from the nobles’ closet with a long stick, terrified that walking into the closet would force him into a new location. He tried on robes and tuxedoes and dresses and jewels. He got drunk in a tiara and hosiery, draped in diamonds and wearing garters. He masturbated vigorously into the exceptional fabrics and huffed the sheets deeply, relishing in how he stained such beautiful things with alcoholic sweat.

On the third day he attempted to write letters. There were gorgeous fountain pens and stationary. He ruined several nibs before figuring out how to write with them, then couldn’t think of anything to write. He stained his skin with the ink, finished the cognac, and watched terrible movies laying in bed.

Four nights in he was running out of food. He had to move on. Noah laid in bed and wept for 30 minutes. He passed out heaving, woke up with his eyelids stuck together. Then he got dressed, packed his things, lit the family tapestry on fire, and walked out the door.

***

Noah hadn’t found a reasonable place to sit in days. He was on a losing streak. Every time he opened a door it was to some literal garbage room, places where garbage was held before it was taken out. It got to a point where he believed the rules of whatever the universe was doing to him had changed. Maybe he was meant to live in garbage, with garbage, as garbage.

This can’t have gone on for more than five days, however it felt like a week. He had little way of keeping track of time. He’d briefly stolen a phone, but left it in another country. The time zones shifted relentlessly, and Noah never saw the light of day in this period. There weren’t windows in these garbage pits.

He slept on garbage bags, they were much softer than the ground. Eventually he got used to the smell. Many don’t realize this, but garbage is actually warm. Put your hand into a pretty-full trash can next time you can, and feel the difference in air temperature between whatever room you’re in and the space just over the garbage in a can. You’re feeling an exothermic reaction, the garbage is decaying in the can, and generating heat.

Noah, approximating he was in some late-autumn month, started to feel this was nice. Finding a heavier trash bag with more biomatter in it than the others, and more structural integrity, became a bit of a treasure hunt.

Further, piles of garbage are infinitely malleable. You can make a bed shaped to whatever position you want to.

When he tired of wandering into trash compactors, trash storage rooms, trash burning rooms, sewers, and falling into garbage cans, he would construct himself a throne, head upright, arms sprawled out, legs sprawled out. A recliner-throne situation. Then he would sleep or sit in such repose, and wait.

At one point Noah would enter new trash rooms just to find new garbage bags to shape into thrones. He became very picky, would enter a new space, make a perfect throne over hours, then leave it just to do it again in another.

It got to a point where he opened a door one day and saw a swimming pool, then immediately closed the door, disappointed. He opened the door again, found a bathroom, sighed, and walked through it.

***

Noah was in a restaurant. It was a nice restaurant. Noah was wearing a cream turtleneck, black jeans, and Chuck Taylors. He was eating a steak. He was staring at the bartender. The bartender was staring at him. A waitress appeared.

“Do you need anything, sir?”

Noah cleared his throat.

“Tell your bartender to fuck himself.”

“…Sir?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not telling him to go fuck himself.”

“Well fuck you.”

“Sir, you need to pay your check.”

“You need to shut the fuck up.”

The waitress paused, blinked, then walked away. Noah took another bite of his steak.

The waitress returned with a large man in a suit jacket with a nametag on it. The nametag read “BARTHOLOMEW”.

“Sir, we would like you to pay and leave.”

Noah bunched a portion of tablecloth up in his hand and wiped his mouth on it. He turned and fixed BARTHOLOMEW with a level gaze.

“Why?”

“You’re abusing our staff and have been eating this one steak for over 4 hours besides.”

“Is it a crime to take a long time to eat a steak?”
“No, b-“

“And I thought this was America. I thought we had free speech.”

“Behavior doesn’t have to be criminal to be offensive or abusive.”

Noah and BARTHOLOMEW stared each other down.

“Fuck you.”

“Sir, p-“

“No, fuck you. And fuck her.”

The waitress cowered behind her manager.

“Sir, pay and leave. We’re calling the police.”

“Call the fucking cops, I don’t care. They can’t do anything to me.”

Noah rose. BARTHOLOMEW was a big dude. probably had 4 inches on Noah, 40 pounds. Still, when Noah advanced, BARTHOLOMEW retreated, and the waitress behind him.

“Sir, please.”

“Please what.”

“There’s no reason to-“

“You literally can’t understand my reasons. I have to show you my reasons.”

“What does that mean? What are you even saying?”

They were at the front door of the restaurant. People were staring. BARTHOLOMEW stood with his back to the door. Noah smiled.

“I’ll be leaving now.”

“Wai-“

Noah opened the door. BARTHOLOMEW lunged for his wrist. It threw BARTHOLOMEW off balance, and Noah pulled the extended limb toward him as he fell backward, holding onto the unfortunate manager. The two fell through the door together into a drab room, slamming into a wall. Someone was screaming in Norwegian.

BARTHOLOMEW pushed Noah hard, and Noah flew into a table, flinging coffee and documents everywhere. The Norwegian screaming increased in volume. Noah lay on his back for a good 10 seconds breathing as BARTHOLOMEW struggled to his feet. A man now soaked in coffee stood about 5 feet back from him behind an upended table, eyes wide, speaking in a language only he knew.

BARTHOLOMEW looked around.

“Where the fuck are we?”

Noah grinned.

“I have absolutely no clue.”

The Norwegian man began to gesture toward the door. BARTHOLOMEW opened it. A sheet of pure disorienting white stretched out to the horizon. It was bitterly cold and very bright. He closed the door again, then opened it again. Then closed it. He looked at Noah.

“What. What?”

The Norwegian man attempted English. “Americans?”

Noah sat up.

“Yeah.”

“Why here?”

“I’m really not sure.”

BARTHOLOMEW opened and closed the door again.

“Where are we?”

“This is Troll. Your station far, far away. How you get here?”

“We’re not sure. Sorry about the trouble. Bart, don’t go outside.”

BARTHOLOMEW stared.

“What?”

“See the map?” Noah indicated a large map of Antarctica on the wall.

“Yeah?”

“We’re probably right about here.”

“… o-oh?”

The Norwegian man agreed.

“Oh.”

“I can get us out of this, Bart.”

“What do you mean? What did you get me into?”

“Nothing serious. I just wanted to see if I could do it.”

“Do what?”
“Take a person with me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“Hold my hand.”

BARTHOLOMEW recoiled.

“This is bullshit. You’re lying to me. I have no idea what’s going on but none of it makes any sense. YOU,” he pointed at the Norwegian, “are LYING TOO. You’re working together.”

Noah looked at the Norwegian, who looked at him, and both looked back to BARTHOLOMEW.

“Bart, you really need to calm down.”

“FUCK you, what’s going ON?”

“If you don’t calm down you’re not getting back home, period.”

“What does that MEAN?”

The Norwegian man disappeared into the cabin, and after 20 seconds of continued shouting returned with a shotgun aimed at BARTHOLOMEW.

“Be calm.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You both leave now.”

“Okay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, it’s fine. We’re leaving.”

“OUT THERE??”

“Kind of. I’ll show you.”

Noah grabbed BARTHOLOMEW’s hand, opened the door, and saw inside of an ER. He closed the door, opened it again, and found himself at a train station in what looked Germany. They exited. The door banged shut behind them.

BARTHOLOMEW threw up.

“Oh, come on, control yourself.”

People in the terminal backed up around them. An attendant sighed.

“Let’s go.”

The two sat on a bench.

“How the hell did I end up in… Germany? Wait, where were we just now?”

“We were in Troll research station in Antarctica. Now we’re in… I think Frankfurt.”

“H-how?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

The two sat in silence for a minute, staring at a scowling janitor mopping BARTHOLOMEW’s puke.

“Why did you… drag me into whatever this is.”

“Honestly, just to see if I could.”

“Oh.”

More silence.

Noah stood.

“Alright, you should be able to get to the airport easily from here. Do you have cell service?”

“… it’s fucking international roaming but sure.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty set. See you.”

“Okay.”

Noah walked to the terminal door, opened it, and stepped through.

***

Noah sat on benches at metros, in restaurants, in malls, in museums, and stared at streams of people as they went by until he could not tell one face from another. The world stretched before him, an infinite hallway through which he walked with no recognition. One door led to another and another. There was no destination. Each room was a temporary stop, something to peer into, maybe stay a night, then leave. Home was whatever he could fold himself into for a few hours before it unfolded and spilled him out.

Noah would sleep in piles of clothes, in magnificent beds, under newspaper and garbage. Noah would eat caviar and truffles and bags of stale buns and half eaten takeout from a garbage bag. There was no constance in circumstance. The clothes he wore changed with mood and availability. He did not recognize himself looking into a mirror. Nothing about him reminded Noah of himself. He memorized the colors in his eyes, the shapes of his finger prints, the ridges in his cheeks.

The world morphed around him and within him.

Noah thought about cutting off his fingertips, wearing colored contacts, beating his face against a wall until the shape changed. Noah wondered if any person was real, if he was real, if his name was Noah, who had named him Noah? A dead woman who signed his name into some government vault 10,000 miles away.

Noah sipped coffee. Everyone here was Cambodian. He was in Cambodia. Completely unintelligible language. Easy to point and grunt though. Don’t have to convert to local currency if you overpay 10x in foreign currency. Coffee is everywhere. Money is everywhere. People are paying for coffee everywhere. Sitting and drinking it everywhere.

Noah walked into a hotel room and found a man laying on his bed fully clothed, asleep. Noah sat next to him, and stared at the television. A string of ads mixed with the movies. He couldn’t really tell them apart. Noah raided the minibar and got drunk. He pissed in the corner. He opened the bathroom door, walked through, and found himself in an identical hotel room, only with no man on the bed. He heard a door slam through the wall. Seconds later a man yelled. The he yelled again. Then he made a phone call to reception. Furious. Something about intruders, urine. Noah grinned. He locked his door, opened the minibar. Maybe he did exist.

Noah passed out, woke up with a headache to pounding on the door.

Noah walked to the bathroom door, opened it, and stepped through.

***

Noah was bored. He stared down from the fourth floor of a mall and thought about jumping. Nobody would care. He wouldn’t care. He stared. He was tired. It would be easy enough. He’d just land on his neck, or his back. He could land on his ass too, he’d seen a video of a fall where that was enough, it snapped the spine in multiple places.

Noah lifted his left foot and tested out the flexibility of his pants. They were pretty good. He could hoist himself over the handrail easily, hold on, adjust his position, and probably land exactly how he wanted to. He took off his backpack and placed it against a nearby bench. He braced himself, grabbed the handrail tightly. Bent his arms to test a hoisting motion. Suddenly, a hand touched his arm.

“So what are you trying to do here?”

A woman’s voice.

Noah stared blankly ahead.

“I don’t really know.”

“Why don’t you sit with me for a second.”

“… Okay.”

Noah sat next to the woman on the bench. There was a potted fern next to his right. He reached out to fondle a leaf.

The woman asked, “What were you thinking about just then?”

Noah thought a moment, then responded “Literally nothing. Nothing was happening in my head. I kind of wanted to extend that feeling.”

Both were quiet for a minute. Then, “Were you going to jump?”

“I don’t think so. I think I was just testing it out.”

“Okay.”

More silence. People passed.

“Why would you want to jump?”

Noah pushed air through his nose.

“Eh, it wouldn’t make any difference. It was just something to try. Never done it before. I’m actually really, really, really bored.”

“…you wanted to jump because you’re bored?”

“I’m just looking for a shakeup. Or something to stop the tedium.”

“There’s no reason for someone your age to be that kind of bored.”

“Yeah. I mean. I’ve been to literally every continent multiple times. You know? I’ve seen everything. I’ve seen most faces in most places. I walk, and I walk, and I walk. I’ve seen so, so much.”

“So… you travel?”

Noah laughed.

“Constantly. Constantly. You know what’s surprising about total, unending novelty is the crushing boredom. You need some stability to appreciate change over time. You need to be seen and known by people around you. Otherwise everything kind of blends into an endless dream. Things don’t carry meaning.”

“Well, why do you travel so much?”

“I don’t really know. But I can show you if you want.”

“What does that mean?”

“Follow me.”

Noah stood, replaced his backpack. The woman stood too, nervously. They walked together to a bathroom door. The woman asked “So? What were you going to show me?”

Noah smiled.

“I’m going to go through that door and I will disappear. You will never see me again.”

“What?”

“When I walk through that door, I will be immediately transported to some other room, anywhere in the world. When that door closes, I will be gone. You won’t be able to see where I’m going, but I promise that’s what will happen.”

“… o-oh. Huh. I don’t think that’s going to happen. Do you want to go somewhere else? Maybe we should call your family?”

“If you wanted, I could take you with me. That might solve some of the boredom.”

The woman backed away.

“No, I think I’ll stay here. Why don’t you go into that bathroom.”

“I suppose I will. One last thing though.”

“What?”

“Thank you. I probably would’ve jumped. You probably just saved my life.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

Noah stepped forward and hugged the woman tightly. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged back, tentative at first, then with her soul. The hug lasted two minutes. Noah cried silently. The woman just hugged. Both of their minds blanked.

Eventually Noah released the hug, then the woman.

Noah wiped his eyes.

“Thanks.”

Noah walked to the bathroom door, opened it, and stepped through.

***

Noah stared at the dog. The dog stared at Noah. Shitzu. Waggly. No barking, huge eyes. Adorable.

Noah approached the dog, checked the collar. Lala. A shitzu named Lala. Alternating brown-cream and white hair. Tufts of hair, well-groomed. Adorable.

Noah picked up the dog. She still didn’t bark. The tail kept wagging. Noah nuzzled the dog and cooed.

“Ooooh Lala Lala! Oooh Lala! Whosa goodgirl?? Whoooosa good girl!!!”

Lala responded favorably to this, licking Noah’s face. This pleased Noah.

Noah realized this was the best he’d felt in a month. At least. Maybe many months. This gave him an idea.

“How would you like to live with me, Lala?”

Lala continued to lick his face. Noah put her down and started looking for things. A leash was on the counter. Dog food in a cabinet. Treats. Excellent.

Noah packed his backpack with everything Lala would need, then leashed the dog. In the near distance, he heard a car pull into the driveway. Noah picked Lala up, walked to the garage door, opened it, and stepped through.

***

Life with Lala started off brilliantly. The dog was easy to love, and loved him back with the absolute adoration of a very stupid shitzu. He managed to keep her well-groomed for a while, although the hair grew out with fair speed, and he had no skill with scissors, so it lost that show-animal luster and texture. Still, they did everything together. They slept together, ate together. They went to the bathroom together, although Noah had to teach the dog to urinate indoors.

It was good to have a companion. It was good to have an animal to take care of. Noah had known how lonely he was, but hadn’t realized how much care he had to give. Lala depended on him, and in a sense he depended on her. She oriented him. The dog remembered he was around, remembered little commands, showed loyalty, understood his moods. He’d felt so misunderstood for so long. An alien figure.

He didn’t have to tell the same stories to Lala again and again and again. He didn’t have to make shit up about his life to appease Lala, get into or out of situations. He loved Lala, and Lala loved him.

Lala loved tins of fish. Lala loved being spanked a little. Lala loved a silly sound Noah made with his mouth, where he pursed his lips and whistled while humming. She’d cock her head and make a little bark, run in circles. He would chase her.

They lived together for two months, wandering the planet. Eventually, though, she became less healthy. Noah didn’t know why. The dog became lethargic, began losing weight. Her hair became patchy. She would whimper, something Noah had never heard. Noah stopped sleeping. Noah stopped eating. He was despondent.

Noah opened doors until he found a veterinarian. He walked in, face wet with tears, and asked if his Lala could be seen. They had an opening in two hours. Noah hugged Lala with deep feeling, trying to press every ounce of love he could into the dog. He tried to impress a spiritual fullness into her, a certainty of joy and affection that would last a lifetime. Then her name was called. He kissed her on the head one last time. He asked the vet to carry her into his office. The vet picked her up, opened the office door, went in, and beckoned Noah follow.

Noah walked to the office door, made eye contact with Lala, and stepped through.

***

Noah was in a house. It was an new house. The sofa was nice. Everything was nice. It was covered with sleeping 20-somethings. Open concept, few doors. Noah went to the kitchen to fix himself a drink. There was a girl in there. She was 20-something. She was fixing herself a drink. She looked up.

“Oh, hey. I’m always the last one awake, I thought I was alone.”

Noah smiled.

“Me too.”

She passed the vodka to Noah who poured it into a red solo cup, shot it, then took a second pour to mix. The girl laughed.

“Didn’t get enough earlier?”

“I was holding off for bed.”

“Isn’t that a waste?”

“Nah, you want to get nice and drunk to be able to sleep on the floor.”

She looked at him coyly.

“Not enough game to score a bed?”

Noah grinned.

“I hadn’t met anyone here I particularly wanted to go to bed with.”

The girl sipped her drink.

“Well, why didn’t we meet earlier?”

“To be honest I don’t know anyone here. I just walked in through an upstairs office and came down to see what was going on.”

“… You live here?”

“Oh, no. I kind of do this weird thing.”

The girl frowned.

“No, not that kind of weird.”

“What kind of weird.”

“I walk through a door, and I can end up literally anywhere in the world. Once the door closes behind me, I can’t go back to the room I was in.”

She smiled again.

“Stop fucking with me. You’re Sean’s friend, right?”

Noah started. He looked around.

“… actually, where are we right now?”

“… seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Like, Sean’s house? The kitchen?”
“No, no. State and city. And what’s Sean’s last name?”

“You’re fucking with me right.”

“Not at all.”

“We’re in Dallas.”

“Texas?”

“Texas.”

“Sean Haney?”

“Sean Haney.”

“Holy shit yeah I know Sean Haney. I’m Sean’s friend.”

“Duh. Why else would you be here.”

“Oh god, do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, this is his house. He fucking left, dude where were you all night?”

“I was in Taipei.”

“Bullshit.”

“I swear to you I-“

“Prove it, show me pics.”

“I uh, don’t have a phone.”

“You’re so full of SHIT!”

“No for real! Wait, I do have something…”

Noah pulled out a half-drunk bottle of kaoliang and some treats.

“You can buy any kind of liquor anywhere online.”

“Yeah but I stole this from a bar in Taipei.”

The girl eyed him and finished her drink.

Noah extended a hand.

“I’m Noah.”

She put down her drink.

“I’m Esme.”

She grabbed his hand and shook it.

“You want to try the stolen booze?”

“… yeah.”

Noah poured a knuckle of kaoliang into each cup. They cheers’d and drank. Both grimaced.

Esme coughed.

“This shit sucks.”

Noah nodded.

“Yup.”

“Couldn’t you’ve stolen something tastier?”

“Probably, but the tasty shit I’d tried is boring. I wanted something local.”

“Well next time I get to choose the drink.”

“Next time?”

She grinned.

“Why don’t you take me to Taipei and I’ll buy you something so you don’t have to steal it.”

“Well, I uh, I can’t control where we end up. We could end up anywhere.”

“Literally anywhere?”

“Yeah, but it can’t be anywhere outside. We’ll end up in a room somewhere.”

“That sounds fun.”

“I’ve been calling it a curse.”

“Well, why don’t you show me.”

“I’m calling it a curse, this is some heavy shit. I literally can’t go back to living a normal life. I haven’t seen anyone since I started wandering. I’ve been terribly, terribly alone.”

“Oh yeah, then how did you end up at Sean’s house tonight?”

“Literally chance. Or like, whatever entity put this curse on me has a sense of humor or fate or something. I have no clue.”

“Cute.”

“You’re kinda making me mad.”

“You’re a little cuter when you’re mad.”

“Okay.”

Noah frowned and took another pull from the kaoliang. Esme pouted.

“Are you actually mad at me?”

“A little.”

“Are you actually serious right now?”

“Yeah, my life is absolute chaos. Nothing makes any sense. Nothing has made sense for a couple years now. I’m literally here by chance, and I can’t even see Sean.”

“Alright. Well, show me the curse is real.”

“Look, to show you I’d have to take you somewhere pretty random, and there’s no guarantee you’d be able to make it back. You might have to buy a plane ticket at some point or something. Like, we may not have power for a few days. Once I ended up just getting sheds over and over an-“

“Yeah, I mean it. Take me. I’m bored.”

“Well. I know how terrible boredom can be.”

“I’m fucking desperate.”

“And who am I to refuse a desperate woman?”

Noah took a look around the kitchen and sighed. He went to the fridge and emptied a bunch of cold cuts and fruit into his backpack. Then he grabbed two beers, tossed one to Esme, and grabbed a bottle of Tito’s from the counter.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah I’m ready.”

“You’re not fucking ready.”

“I’m so fucking ready.”

The two approached the front door of the house. Noah stowed the vodka in a backpack sidepocket, then grabbed Esme’s hand.

“You’re awfully forward.”

“This is how it works.”

Noah crushed the beer, then tossed the can on the floor. He grabbed the doorknob, twisted, and pushed through.

***

Esme screamed.

Noah laughed.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING.”

“Well, it looks like we’re in a shed. I told you, fate’s been fucking with me lately, and watch.”

Noah grabbed her had again and opened the door, stepping through. The door slammed shut behind them.

“ANOTHER SHED!!! Aahahaha!”

Esme wrenched her hand from Noah’s and wrenched her phone from her pocket, turning on the light. They were, in fact, in a dark shed.

“I fuckin’ told you.”

Noah slouched against the wall and took another slug from his bottle. Esme started to hyperventilate. Noah sighed, stood and said, “Hey, calm down, have another dr-“

Esme yelled “I THOUGHT YOU WERE FULL OF SHIT!”

Noah grimaced, “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Esme calmed.

“Alright. Can you take me back?”

“No, I sa-“

Esme checked her cell signal. Zero. She approached the shed door, opened it and peaked out. It was bright outside. White moonlight washed over the landscape, a set of hills speckled with haystacks. She wandered out and looked around. It was a gorgeous night. Noah remained in the shed.

“We really are in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Yeah. That happens. I can change locations infinitely, but i’m at the complete whim of whatever’s guiding me.”

“Sure. Full moon. Huh.”

Esme returned to the shed and slouched next to Noah.

“This is fucking weird.”

“I know.”

The two sat in silence for a minute. Esme grabbed the vodka from Noah’s backpack and took a swig.

“Alright, well. Is this where we’re sleeping for the night?”

“Not necessarily. We can just keep opening the door until a better spot shows up.”

“But it’s possible that it will just continue to be sheds for a long time. Or sewers. Or literally anything else.”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t so bad.”

“It’s really not.”

“And I’m pretty drunk.”

“Me too.

“Let’s stay here tonight.”

“Alright.”

***

Esme stared at Noah. Sun filtered through gaps in the shed roof and painted his face with early morning light. She thought he looked like a portrait. She admired his nose.

Esme began to rummage through Noah’s backpack, found a bottle of water, and drank about a quarter liter. Her head didn’t hurt but she wasn’t completely free of last night’s debauch. She checked her phone. No bars. 38% battery. Not great. No clue where she was. She sighed, stood up, and opened the shed door.

The countryside was gorgeous. She assumed somewhere in Appalachia. She’d been out here when she was a child and remembered the trees. Autumn was approaching. Most were still deep green, but bright patches of orange and gold heralded change. The air smelled gorgeous.

It was 10:28 AM. She hated her job anyway.

She looked back into the shed. Noah was looking at her. The sun was streaming down on him. She returned.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“Weird night.”

“Pretty normal for me.”

“You’re pretty used to taking strange women through random portals and stranding them around the world?”
“I wouldn’t say used to.”

“But you do this.”

“Not really. This is kind of a first for both of us. I have dragged a man with me once. That was a test though.”

“So why am I special?”

“You were adamant.”

Esme regarded the man as he dug through his backpack, pulling lukewarm deli slices from plastic bags.

“You want some?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Your loss.”

He ate aggressively and swigged at his water. She reconsidered. She approached Noah, put out her hand, and he found an unopened bag to press into it.

“Soppressata?”

“It’s better than these dry chicken slices.”

She sat next to him and started to work on the meat. The fat had warmed. The soppressata tasted good.

“This is my first picnic in a decade.”

“You deserve it.”

Noah swallowed and looked at Esmy, thoughtful.

She swallowed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not what that look means.”

“Alright. You’re awfully calm all things considered.”

“Well, I’ve had a bit of time to think. Going crazy right now could get me killed. I mean, maybe I’m just acting calm to assuage until I get back to a place with cell phone signal.”

“Possible.”

More silent eating. Then

“I’ve been really lonely.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Really, really lonely.”

“It looked like you have a bunch of friends.”

“I have some. I never really see them. I’ve been catching up, but I don’t live around any of them.”

“Oh.”

“I moved away for work, but then I got a new job I could do anywhere. Then I lost that job. Now I just move around.”

“You don’t have a job?”

“Well, not after today.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

The two sat and passed water between them, watching wind carry over the grass through the trees.

“You know, I haven’t seen the sun with my naked eyes in months.”

“No?”

“Nah, when I open a door I don’t see what’s on the other side.”

“Weird.”

“When you do I can see the hills, and the sun, whatever. But the moment I step through the door everything changes.”

“…Will you show me again?”

Noah looked at Esme.

“Are you sure? I mean we’d have to again to figure out where to drop you off, it could take a few days or minutes depending on luck.”

“Yeah, I don’t care. I think I’d rather see what you’ve been up to.”

“…Okay.”

The two stood, brushed off their clothes. Noah took Esme’s hand.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

The pair walked to the shed door, smelled the air, and stepped through.

***

Noah stared at Esme. It was strange sleeping near someone again.

He had slept in public places over the last year or so, sure, but not next to any one person consistently.

They were in a schoolbus in a depot. It was 70 F and breezy with the windows opened.

It’s not like two days had changed his life. It’s not as though two days were a marriage or even a relationship. He didn’t know what was happening really. It couldn’t last. But she was with him. She had been with him for two fragmented days and three nights. She was gorgeous in the sun. He kind of ached.

Noah opened his water and drank. He opened a book but his eyes just passed over the words. His mind was spinning.

Esme stirred. Noah focused on the book. She looked up at him. He looked up at her.

She sighed “Morning!” and stretched.

“Morning. Water?”

“Yeah.”

He tossed her a bottle.

“You know we don’t have to steal everything, I have money.”

“So do I.”

“Money that you stole.”

“Sure but a man walks into a bank vault, all that money’s insured. It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not just from bank vaults.”

“Well. Yeah. I’m just not in the habit of thinking of other people as real anymore.”

“Okay, Noah.”

They sat in silence.

“Why didn’t we stay in that empty house?”

“It was creepy.”

“Okay, Noah.”

She smiled at him. He smiled at her. She sat up, vaulted over to his seat, and pushed against him. His heart jumped. She looked at him hard.

“Why haven’t you made a move on me yet?”

“I um, thought this situation was odd enough to begin with. I didn’t want to put any pressur-“

Esme kissed Noah on the mouth, hard. His mind went blank. It was a long kiss. She pulled away, they looked at each other, and went back for another. Tongues touched. Lips traced. Bodies pressed. Then she pulled away, wry grin fixed.

Noah stammered “T-thanks.”

Esme laughed.

“You’re a fucking nerd. Let’s get some food.”

The two got up, straightened their clothes, walked to the front of the bus. Esme pulled the knob opening the door, then grabbed Noah’s hand. They walked to the door, and saw a zoo enclosure. A lion approached. Male. Huge.

“You know, no one’s ever come through one of these doors without me touching them. I don’t know if it’s possible. You want to see?”

“Oh god, Noah, no fucking stop.”

“You sure?”

The lion trotted toward them, accelerating.

“Noah PLEASE.”

“Please what.”

Esme pulled the lever and closed the bus door, frowning at Noah.

“I take back the kiss.”

“Naw, no you don’t.”

“Yeah, I take it back. We can have a first kiss some other time. But I take that one ba-“

He kissed her. They melted onto a bus seat. Clothes were lost. Hands found their way. The sex was good, and good again. The cuddling awkward on a bus seat.

“When I was a kid,” remarked Noah, “and horny, I would imagine a girl and I getting to third in the back of the bus. If only I could tell that kid th-“

Esme hit his chest.

“Shut up. That kid couldn’t get it, he wouldn’t care.”

Noah sighed.

“Maybe not.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Well put on your clothes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Well let’s hang out.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Alright. I’ll put on your clothes.”

“Yes.”

Esme lifted her legs and pointed her toes. Noah slid her panties on, admiring the legs as he went. Long, soft. Esme watched, lifted her ass, and wiggled with him to get them on. The pants went next, reluctantly. Socks. Shoes. Shirt.

“I want a shower too.”

“We’ll get you a shower.”

“Alright.”

Noah dressed himself, Esme watched. She grabbed his hand again. Noah pulled the lever. The bus door opened. The two looked at each other, looked ahead, then stepped through.

***

Esme frowned at Noah.

“You know a phone would change your whole life. You don’t have to be this amount of alone.”

Noah balked.

“I don’t want people knowing where I am. Plus, no one’s going to come out to see me. Plus, I don’t want anyone to come out to see me. Imagine if I started to track myself. I steal shit to live. I trespass as a lifestyle. Sure, they couldn’t drag me into a jail cell, but who knows what they’d try to do. Maybe they’d just try to shoot me.”

“They absolutely wouldn’t.”

“You don’t think so? Imagine the government finds out a man with evidently supernatural powers has been behind an international crime wave ongoing for over a year, busting into people’s houses at dinner, into their bedrooms while they’re out, sleeping in their garbage and borrowing their money and shampoo. I’m pretty sure I burnt a castle down.”

“That was you?”

“Why, did it make the news?”

“No, Noah, no one CARES.”

“Well, I was pretty crazy at the time.”

“Oh yeah, you’re insane.”

Noah slid the garlic over and grabbed an onion.

“We’re going to smell awful.”

“Yeah, but if we both do it won’t matter.”

“Eh.”

Esme tossed the diced garlic into a heated pan and watched Noah slice his onion.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

Noah smiled and grabbed a pepper.

“In another life I worked in a kitchen.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I worked a lot of jobs.”

“What were you working when you got cursed?”

“Midlevel corporate marketing gig.”

“Sounds okay.”

“It was okay.”

“Were you happy?”

“I don’t really know. Probably not.”

“Are you happy now?”

Noah looked up. Pushed over the remains of an onion, two bell peppers, a jalapeño.

“Well, when I started skipping around I was horrified, honestly. Then for a while I wanted to die.”

Esmy dumped all the onion into the pan.

“Makes sense.”

“Sure. But when I got a dog it kind of went away.”

“Where’s your dog now?”

“I don’t know, I had to leave her with a vet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Esmy dumped the peppers into the pan.

“What about now? Are you happy now?”

“Well, I think I’ve been happy for the last week.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Probably happier than before this whole thing started.”

“Huh.”

“You?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

The pan sizzled, Noah touched Esme’s shoulder, watched her cook. Suddenly the kitchen door busted open, a light flipped on.

“AY!”

Esme shrieked and Noah giggled. He grabbed her wrist.

“Fuck dinner, come on!”

They grabbed their backpacks and ran for the exit, followed by screaming Spanish.

“HIJOS DE PUTA VETE A LA MIERDA A MI CO-“

They burst through the door into an emergency clinic in, evidently, Rome.

“They probably have food here.”

“We’re not eating at the hospital, I’d rather go back and hold down that asshole who chased us while I finished the stir fry.”

“Too late, here.”

The two ducked through the front door into an opera box. A woman onstage was belting at the top of her vocal range. She was fat. Noah noted this might be the end. A man in the box started and began stammering in German. Esme whispered back “Verzeihung! Verzeihung!” and the two pressed through the door again into some kind of villa. Very fancy.

“Well well well.”

“Right?”

“How many nights do you think we could get out of this one?”

“Depends on what the fridge looks like and if people actually live here.”

“Seems empty.”

“Yeah”

“Fridge too.”

“Yeah.”

“Freezer is very full.”
“Fantastic.”

“How about Totinos?”

“We will never shit again.”

“We will if we have enough beer.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“It’s hard for me not to be.”

The two sat on an enormous sofa in the middle of an enormous room overlooking a beach from a valley.

“So we missed a stir fry.”

“Yeah.”

“But life could be worse.”

“Yeah.”

Esme cuddled up to Noah.

“You stink.”

“I can bathe in the sink. Open kitchen.”

“I’ll get you the soap. OOH! I’m washing your hair!”

The day continued.

***

Esme frowned at Noah.

“I need to sleep in a bed tonight.”

“Okay. You don’t have to stay with me. You can find a bed in the city.”

“Hotels here don’t take cash. I’m tired of this apartment. It smells like cabbage.”

“I know.”

“Why did we choose the one apartment without a bed again?”

“We spent like 4 hours rioting between doors remember? We got in no less than three footchases.”

“Yeah, haha. Our cardio is pretty good now.”

“Yeah.”

The pair gazed into the television. Absolute garbage ran over the screen. Staticky, oversaturated sound flooded the apartment.

“Can you make out what they’re saying?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s in Vietnamese.”

“Do we have any booze left?”

“Yeah, hold on.”

Noah withdrew a bottle of Ardbeg from his backpack and handed it to Esme.

“Go easy on it, this shit is strong.”

“I know, Jesus.”

Noah watched her drink. Two long gulps.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Noah, I’m fine. If I wasn’t fine I’d fucking tell you.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing too. I’m here because I want to be. If I didn’t I’d be gone, okay?”

“Okay.”

The TV continued to blare. The noise felt like a blanket, pressing over them. Esme’s eyes glazed. Noah looked at her, concerned. She looked over.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“LIKE THAT, why do you look so sad?”

“I don’t feel sad. I just wish you felt happier.”

“That’s not going to make it happen, Noah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Esme stood up and went into the hall.

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where you can’t look at me right now.”

“Okay.”

Esme closed the door. Noah picked up the bottle, took a pull. Then another. An hour passed. Noah looked out the window. The street was packed, streams of people going by. No face distinct from any other. He started to panic.

What had he done? He just let her walk out the door? What if she got in trouble? He literally could not go after her. He was stuck, absolutely bound to this room. If he left, she would never be able to find him again. He would never be able to find her again. He didn’t even have a phone. It seemed irresponsible, insane.

Noah grabbed the Ardbeg and had another drink.

The peat and the alcohol blew through his sinuses. His head cleared a little. She would come back. Esme is smart. She’ll come back.

She could just leave though. She could just go to the airport. He had no idea if she was coming back. What if this was it? What if that was the last time he saw her?

How long had it been? Two months? Three?

Days didn’t make any sense as a way to measure time. At least without Esme’s phone. There was no meaningful demarkation between day and night for his purposes, every door yielded a different timezone. He couldn’t remember how long they’d been together. Just that there was life before her, and life after her. And he couldn’t go back to life without her.

The sun started going down. Noah was drunk, laying on the couch, staring at the television. People danced in colorful outfits. He couldn’t tell if it was an ad or a show. The music was nonspecific, something local he guessed. A man smiled, a woman grabbed his hand. They whirled. They moved as one. Noah began to cry.

Maybe she was smart not to come back.

Maybe she shouldn’t come back.

Maybe if she came back he should chase her off.

Maybe he’s no good for her.

Maybe it’s impossible for him to be good for her.

Maybe it’s impossible for him to be good.

Mayb-

The door opened and closed. Noah rolled over and looked up. Esme stood, staring down at him, lit only by the glow of the television. It had become dark.

“Are you… crying?”

“Ah, uh. Yes.”

“Oh, Noah.”

Esme sat on the couch with him, laid in front of him, hugged him.

“I didn’t know if you were coming back.”

“I won’t just disappear on you Noah.”

“You won’t?”

“No.”

“Why not.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay.”

Esme felt his breathing calm and kissed a tearstain on his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I brought you a bánh mì.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want it now?”

“No.”

“Why were you crying?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“You will.”

“Why would you say that?”

“The whole world does. There’s nothing here for me. It all goes away. It runs away. It runs away from me.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re my whole world. You’re everything.”

Esme hugged him until he fell asleep on the sofa, face wet. She stood up and stared at Noah. Then she went into the bedroom to sleep on a pile of laundry.

***

Esme watched Noah. He looked at the still life. Dead birds.

“Do they look sad?”

Esme checked the painting’s name. Dead Birds. No hints.

“I guess. They look like they’re asleep.”

“Yeah but the faces are emotional. They look sad.”

“I don’t know. I never much liked still lives.”

“They’re not really my thing either. But I like Goya.”

They moved to the next painting. A pile of dead fish.

“Don’t they look like they’re horrified?”

Esme checked the painting’s name. Still Life with Golden Bream. No hints.

“I guess.”

Noah stared. The fish stared back.

“You’re bored, huh.”

“I just didn’t sleep well.”

“I’m sorry.”

They moved on, walking through the rest of the display.

“It’s incredible luck we’re here.”

“Oh?”

“It’s weird. Walking through here I see paintings I’ve seen my whole life. When I was young I used to study art.”

“At university?”

“Not really. I took drawing classes. But in high school I had an art history class. I got lucky, my school district was well-funded. I carried the habit with me. I used to have art books. I would just sit with them and look over paintings for hours.”

“Huh.”

Noah stared around.

“This is the most familiar room I’ve been to in ages. Since I left my bathroom. And I’ve never been here. And soon I’ll never come back.”

Noah sat on a bench. Esme sat next to him. She sighed. Noah looked at her.

“What’s wrong?”

Esme looked dead ahead for a long time. Then she spoke.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Noah.”

Noah felt physical pain. He sat in silence and stared ahead. Prometheus Bound. Rubens.

“I. I kinda knew.”

“This doesn’t feel like a life.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence. An eagle pressed its talon into Prometheus’s face. Prometheus screamed as the eagle dug and tore.

“I need a life. I can’t wait for you. I can’t wait on you.”

“I’m selfish. I know.”

Esme was deadpan.

“This could never end. There’s no reason for it to end. It just keeps happening. You’re great. I love hanging out with you. But I think I need a family. Neither one of us are stable. And while I’m with you, there’s no planning for the future. It’s literally impossible to plan. We’re homeless, Noah. We’re absolutely homeless. I have a bank account. I have parents. I want kids someday.”

Noah felt numb.

“Can we, can we just go somewhere else?”

Esme looked at Noah. He was grey. She sighed.

“Yeah.”

They stood, filtering through the great hall. crowds stood and moved around them, everyone’s attention on the walls. Millenia of masterpieces stared down at them, safe in their homes. Esme and Noah filtered out in anonymity, Noah holding desperately onto a hand that wanted to let go.

Esme paused, opened the door, then turned around. She looked at Noah. She dropped his hand. She said “I’m sorry.” She walked out the door. She closed the door behind her. They stared at each other through the glass. Noah saw his reflection over her face. It was crying. Then she turned around and passed into the crowd. Noah shouted, flung open the door, and threw himself into a janitor’s closet. He screamed. The closet door opened. A man looked in and shouted. Noah punched him in the face and closed the door. Then he opened the door again and walked through it.

***

Noah stopped eating. It wasn’t a goal of his, he wasn’t making a statement. He just forgot to eat. When he ate, it didn’t taste like anything.

He did manage to drink though.

The first 24 hours of his separation from Esme were spent laying in one room, occasionally opening a door and screaming at whoever was on the other side. This included an audience of students in lecture, the Prime Minister of Bhutan, and, most offensively, a man going down on a woman in the comfort of their own nuptial bed. The man screamed back, and bounded toward Noah, half an erection in tow. Noah realized he had never seen an erection running at him before and found it threatening. He closed the door immediately, slumped down, and lay on his side. When he could no longer lay, he stood and paced, aggressively, until his feet hurt and his achilles tendon was tight. Then he lay again, and he drank. And he drank. And he drank.

Two days into this cycle he stuporously wandered through the door and found himself on a brewery floor at night. Enormous vats loomed over him. After a bit of engineering, he managed to open a valve at the bottom of a vat, releasing beer all over the floor. Excited, he lay on his back beneath it and tried to drown himself, but found it too uncomfortable. Beer up his nose, in his ears. Noah coughed, hacked, pushed himself to the side, and panted until he could stand up and leave the brewery. He found himself in a dirt-floor schoolroom, 21 kids looking at him expecting their teacher. Noah looked around, vomited on the floor. Two kids screamed. Five laughed. Noah retreated through the door again and immediately fell down stairs into a cellar. he crawled to a hard corner and passed out, waking with a horrible headache. He looked around, found himself in a wine cellar. He got to his feet. Looked at a bottle. Looked expensive. Looked around. No corkscrew. He smashed the neck on a wall, then poured the contents down his throat. Ascended the stairs, exited. Found himself on a casino floor. The colors were magnificent. Noah staggered toward a slot machine and took a seat. He had no money. He was covered in wine and beer. A large man picked him up and dragged him to a door. Threw him through it. Noah landed in a heap next to a bed. He attempted to stand and collapsed again. A scream. He looked over. A child hid beneath his Mickey Mouse blanket. Another scream. Pounding feet. Father bursts into room. Noah apologizes. Unfamiliar language. Father punches him in face. Noah flies back. Father picks up Noah. Punches him again. Throws him out bedroom door into a tunnel. It was very dark. Noah tried to reopen tunnel door. It was locked. Noah walked in darkness. He could not see. He tripped. He collapsed. He stood up again. He fell down again. He ran his hands along the wall, leaned against it, and walked. And walked. And walked.

His hands met a door. He tried the knob. It was open. He opened the door and walked through. He was in an empty residential bathroom. He locked the door. He stripped off his clothes. He laid in the tub. He opened the faucet. Blood flowed from his nose into the rising water. He watched it. The water reached to his face. The water overflowed the edges of the tub. Poured onto the tile. Kept flowing. And flowing. He sat until the water began to run cold, then got out, stared at his wet clothes, then exited the bathroom naked into a backstage. He wandered bleeding. A stagehand saw him and gasped. He apologized, asked for his dressing room. The stagehand asked who he was. Noah apologized and said he found his room. He opened a door. A hotel room. He wandered in. He collapsed on the bed. He slept. He woke. His headache was tremendous. He found a robe. He put it on. He drank from the minibar, filled the robe pockets with tiny bottles of liquor. He exited the room. He wandered through an empty office building. He found an office. It was locked. He found an elevator. He pressed a button. He walked through the door. He was in a cabin. It was evening. It was quiet. He sat. He heard crickets. He laid in bed. He cried. He passed out. He woke up. He walked to the cabin door. He turned the knob. He opened the door, then stepped through.

***

Noah stared at the naked bed in a cell. It was cold. He looked at the door behind him. He pulled on it. It was locked. He laughed. He pulled again. Nothing. He laid on a plastic mattress. A bright fluorescent light painted the room with blue light. Cement floor, sealed. Walls hideous tile, brown. Window with bars.

His open robe provided no real insulation.

He had worn this robe for about a week. It was disgusting.

He had not eaten in about a week. He was gaunt.

Noah ran his fingers up and down his ribcage. He frowned. He ran his fingers between the individual ribs. He was probably hungry.

Noah took a tiny bottle from his robe pocket and downed it. He retched. He felt a hard physical pain in his stomach. It burned. His heart hurt. He stared at the light and squinted. This could be bad.

“This could be bad.”

Noah remained flat on his back. Noah opened his mouth and let out a scream. No response. He let out another scream. No response. He started to howl, and howl, and howl. Nothing. He passed out. He woke to the sound of the cell door opening. Two guards walked in, cautious. One said “Who are you?”

“I’m Noah.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“I have no idea.”

“Don’t be a smart ass. What the fuck are you wearing?”

“I don’t know.”

The guards exchanged a glance.

“Where are your sheets?”

“I never got any.”

Silence.

“Alright, we’re going to leave you in here. We have to check on something.”

The guards left. Noah continued to stare at the ceiling. Time passed. The door opened again. A guard dropped a mesh bag full of sheets and clothing into the room.

“Two sets of each. There was an oversight. Get in the shower and get changed now.”

Noah looked around. There was a shower in the back of his cell. He sighed and rose, shrugging off his robe. Noah entered the shower. The water was very cold, then lukewarm. The curtain was cheap and horrible. Water got all over the floor. It didn’t matter. The water felt good. The soap carried away a layer of blood and sweat and filth that had accrued over continents’ debautch. He felt very, very tired.

Noah finished his shower, dried. Reclothed himself. The guard had taken away his robe. It had all the liquor bottles in it. Whatever.

He made his bed. He laid in it.

He stared at the ceiling. Nothing changed. He could not sleep. The light was very bright. He unfurled four lengths of one-ply toilet paper. He wrapped it around his eyes. It helped. But it was still bright. He laid back on his bed and waited.

***

Noah couldn’t tell when he was sleeping or awake. When he closed his eyes he would think in disconnected, wretched strings of nightmares, and when he was awake anxious disconnected thoughts presented largely the same experience. He sweated profusely. For what felt like days he laid in bed taking no food, moaning. He could not sleep, or he could sleep but he could not feel rested, or he could not stop thinking when he was asleep just like when he was awake, or he would see things leaping in the corners of his eyes or hear things a CRASH that was not there HORNS that were not there and his head ached horribly on and off and he never knew anyone could sweat so god damned much.

His sheets soaked through and he thought of Esme and his dead mother and Lala and Sean and that woman he’d walked in on the first night he realized he was cursed and her huge breasts and he wondered about the owner of that dog and how many noses he’d broken out of boredom and if he was a good person and if other people would behave like him in these situations and if he could ever justify these behaviors or if he would ever have to and why they happened in the first place and oh god was he dead was he actually damned was this hell and why did it keep happening and why did it keep happening to him he was nobody he was absolutely nobody this didn’t make any sense and he had to throw up so he threw up bile and he had to shit liquid so he did and he-

Woke up on the floor bleeding out of his head and exhausted so he laid in bed again but this time he kind of slept.

And he was miserable off and on for some terrible stretch of time. He counted the tiles in his walls and his heartbeats and stared out the window and started drinking water again. And he started eating a little bit without throwing up, though it hurt horribly. Stomach squeezing in pain when empty, grating against contents when he ate. Then it hurt less. He started eating more when the food was brought. And he started showering again. And the little hells where the guards took his soiled clothes and blankets got better. He could stand more steadily. He breathed more normally. His heart rate kind of returned to normal.

And as he calmed Noah realized he was in prison. He had no idea why he was still in prison. The next time a guard brought him food he asked why he was in prison, and the guard said “I’m sure you know why.”

To which Noah responded “Absolutely not.”

At which the guard scoffed and said “Smartass.” and left.

Which bothered Noah at first, but not that much. Because the cell wasn’t that bad.

He had food.

He had shelter.

He had clothes.

And best of all: every day he woke up in the same place. He had a routine. He could look out the same window and see the same thing every day. The food was consistent. Nobody looked at him. Nobody questioned him. He didn’t need anybody. Well, except for the guards.

He eventually got books and paper. He read again. He wrote thoughts out. He showered. He slept. He woke. He ate. He read. He wrote. He showered. He slept. In peace.

But he kept asking the guard.

“Have you figured out what it is I did yet?”

Which the guard no longer dignified with an answer.

It must’ve been bad, though, for him to be in isolation. Not allowed out of the cell. Not allowed to see anyone. It must’ve been very bad.

So Noah stayed there. And stayed. And he stopped asking. And he started enjoying his time tremendously. Old stretches came to mind, and as they were all he had to do, he came up with new ones. Calisthenics were added. He no longer thought of Esme, or anyone. Just his routine. And every step of every repetition of this cycle every day pleased him more deeply than the last.

Noah watched the season change from early winter to early spring. Snow melted. He heard the first songs of the birds and almost cried. He could not remember having ever been happier.

And it was in early spring that two guards into his room again and informed him that there had been a mistake. That he wasn’t supposed to be in prison at all. That they could find no record of him.

Noah was stunned.

“I told you that months ago.”

“It was a mistake.”

“Well, I don’t want to go.”

“Well you have to go.”

“This is my home now.”
“No, it’s not.”

“No, please.”

Noah had never felt such terror in his life. The two guards approached him and he backed into a corner and started screaming. They tried to grab him and he kicked out. One grabbed that leg and pulled him forward. The other grabbed his other leg and they hoisted him up.

“LET ME HAVE MY BOOKS! LET ME HAVE MY PAPER AT LEAST! I NEED TO REMEMBER THIS!”

“We’ll get it to you later, you need to calm down, this is good.”

“NO! GOD! NO PLEASE, PLEASE STOP!”

The door was open. The guards dragged him through.

Into another prison cell. This one dingy, horrible. The door swung shut behind them. His guards dropped him. They were confused. Noah started laughing uncontrollably.

One looked back at Noah, then the other. Then around. It was a weird cell, like a jail cell in a movie. Bars for every wall in an old brick structure. Moon filtering through the window. One guard yelled “HELLO?”

Silence. The guards tried to open the door and could not. Noah kept laughing.

One kicked Noah in the ribs “Shut UP! SHUT UP!” while the other kept yelling “HELLO?” to no change.

Noah quieted. The guards started panicking. One sat down, the other paced. Eventually a third guard appeared. He was southeast asian. He spoke in an unfamiliar language. No one would understand each other. Noah started laughing again. The new guard scratched his head and called for a partner, who came downstairs. The two regarded the situation together, and called for a third man while the pacing guard spoke unintelligibly at them and the sitting one hyperventilated.

A man who could speak broken english was produced, and badges were exchanged. Noah and the guards were told to exit the cell one at a time. The door was opened. The pacing guard exited. As the sitting guard stood and moved toward the door Noah lunged, hugged him, and they tumbled through together onto the floor of a dry cleaner. The guard started screaming. Noah stood up, brushed himself off, and started looking through the selection of bagged clean clothes. He exchanged his prisoner’s uniform for plaid boxers, slacks, a nice shirt, and a sports coat. The guard continued to yell.

“What the FUCK is going on? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!!!”

“I tried to tell you.”

“TELL ME WHAT.”

Noah thought.

“Huh. You know, maybe I didn’t.”

Then Noah opened a door, and stepped through it.

***

Noah ran from one end of the hall to the other. Then from the other end to the one. Then from one end of the hall to the other. Then from the other end to the one. And again. And again. And again.

He could watch himself running. The hall was full of tourists, taking pictures and gawking. Noah didn’t care. His beard was long. His hair was long. He was thin, but his ribs no longer showed. And he was sweating. And he looked at the wall of mirrors in this decadent hall, watching himself run to, and fro. He thought he looked good. Not that it mattered. But it mattered. He looked good.

He ran forward. He turned around and ran again. And he ran again. And he ran again. A small docent was in tow, begging in French.

Noah grinned and repeated himself: “Je suis désolé! Je suis désolé!”

He was panting, but this was good.

More docents showed up. A large man yelled in English: “Monsieur! Stop running! Now! You must not do that in here!”

They tried blocking his path. Noah shouted “Je suis désolé!” and dodged between them. The docents crashed into each other. The original docent gasped. Noah shouted again “Je suis désolé!” She started to chase after Noah.

“Je suis désolé! Je suis désolé!”

He stopped suddenly. The docent crashed into him and fell back. The two larger docents were standing up. Noah repeated “Je suis désolé, madame.” He winked at the docent. She threw her radio at him. It hit him on the forehead. He stumbled back. He glared at her and she at him. She struggled to her feet. The large docents were rounding on his position. He sat.

“She hit me.”

“Sir, you were acting like an idiot. You have to leave now.”

“I refuse.”

“You are leaving now.”

The larger docent of the two picked him up.

Noah sighed: “You’ll regret this.”

The lady docent punched him in the head.

The larger docent dragged Noah through the door of the Hall of Mirrors into an indoor swimming pool. The door swung shut behind them. The guard looked perplexed.

“Wh-“

“I told you.”

Noah shook free and regarded the swimming pool. It looked nice. He dipped in a hand. It was heated. He shed his jacket, shirt, and pants. The room was empty. The docent tried his radio to no avail. His phone was not working.

Noah sat on the poolside and dangled his feet in.

“What happened?”

“You’re somewhere else now.”

“What?”

“We’re not in Versailles anymore.”

The docent frowned and looked at his uniform, his shoes, around himself. He sat down next to Noah.

“Where?”

“I don’t really know. But there’s a pool.”

The docent tried his phone again. Nothing.

The docent pocketed his phone.

Noah looked at the docent.

“You’re awfully calm. Normally people start screaming.”

The docent sighed and took off his shoes.

“This is not normal, but I have not expected anything normal lately.”

His accent was very light.

“Have you ever lived in America?”

“No, but I am from Montreal.”

“Ah. Why were you in Paris?”

“I had got bored of Montreal.”

“Huh.”

The two sat with their feet in the water for a while. Noah spoke.

“You seem depressed, man.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“What’s wrong?

“My father is very sick. He is all I have left.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Then

“Sorry.”

“I am sorry too.”

More silence. Then

“Do you want to go for a swim?”

“Oui.”

The docent shed his cheap jacket and slacks and shirt and the two dove into the pool and swam laps. They swam and swam and swam. Initially they swam independently of each other, but their patterns converged, and they started to race. Noah pulled ahead at first, but his earlier running took a toll on him. The docent got faster, and faster. Consistently he was a 1/2 a lap ahead, then 2/3. Then a full lap. Noah, panting stopped. The docent kept going. His gasps for air sounded like shrieks. Noah pulled himself out of the pool and sat on the side dangling his feet in the water, letting himself catch his breath. Eventually, the docent returned to Noah’s side of the pool and pulled himself out of the water. He sat on the poolside gasping. He stood, walked to his jacket, withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pulled out two, lit them both, and gave one to Noah. Both inhaled, both exhaled.

“Where are you from? American?”

“Yeah. But I’ve been away for a while now.”

“Why were you running in my hall?”

“It was a long hall.”

The docent laughed.

“That is all?”

“Honestly, yeah.”

The cigarettes burned. Noah flicked his cigarette into the pool and watched it float away. The docent did the same.

“I’m sorry you’re in… wherever we are now. For what it’s worth, you’re alright.”

The docent held out his hand.

“I am Hugo.”

“Noah.”

They shook.

“I did not want to be there anymore.”

“Yeah but now you’re… wherever we are.”

“You can take me somewhere else, oui?”

“Oui. But I can’t predict where.”

“This is fine. Let’s go.”

The two reclothed, walked to a door, and stepped through into a bar. Hugo clapped.

“Ah! Je sais exactement où nous sommes!”

“What?”

“We are close to home!”

“What do you mean?”

Noah looked around. Everything was in French. He laughed.

“Maybe you should not worry so much, huh? You want a drink?”

“No, I stopped drinking.”

“Very good. I will have two.”

Hugo approached the bar. Noah turned around and ducked toward the front door. He looked around. People were smiling. Hugo was smiling. Noah drew his lips tight. He pushed through the door.

***

Noah stared at Esme. Rather, Noah stared at her winking asshole as she rode some stranger in front of him. Noah continued to stare for a full minute, completely rooted, unable to move. He stared while the guy under her said “Hey let’s flip” and she leaned down and kissed him passionately. Then, when they rolled over the guy made eye contact with Noah and shouted “What the FUCK” at which point Esme rolled over and gasped and Noah regained a sense of function.

Noah tried a “Hi” but nothing came out and he kind of walked backwards a little bit but hit a wall and started to turn. Esme shouted “Hey!” but Noah was already walking, opened a door, and walked through.

Noah walked into a planetarium. He stumped forward and sat down in a random chair as a guide pointed her laser at different constellations. Noah looked at the semblance of the night sky and tried to feel something but couldn’t. He could not understand why this was happening. She had left him, right? There was no reason for him to walk in on that. Absolutely no reason. What were the odds? Insanely, insanely low.

There was something malevolent in the universe, and it was aimed directly at him. Of this he was certain. This was punishment. It was punishment. Then he stared, numb. He thought about crying, but thinking about it ruined it. So he sat and stared as the guide pointed out that in Mayan cosmology the Milky Way was the road to Xibalba.

He sat and felt bad. And felt bad and felt bad. And then he got up and left and walked into a sauna. So he turned around and walked into a crematorium. So he turned around and saw a lion’s cage. So he closed the door then opened it again and walked into an ice cream parlor. So he got an ice cream and stared at it. He watched it melt onto the table. He put his head down on the table. The ice cream ran down the cone and pooled on the table, touching his fingers. He got up and exited. He was in a cathedral. The ceiling was enormous. Everything was leafed in gold. The floor was paved over with headstones. The enormous door slammed shut behind him. He tried reading the headstones. They were all in latin. He dragged his feet over them, found a chair, and sat in it. He stared at the ceiling. Ornate paintings between gilt arches, lepers being cured, damned being cast. Jesus Christ ascending. He looked down. The headstone beneath his feet was beautiful. The dates were in Roman numerals. After 10 seconds of puzzling he learned a certain knight died at the age of 28. Noah sighed. 28 was not very many years to live.

A voice spoke out from the back of the Church. The language was incomprehensible and unfamiliar. Noah responded: “I’m sorry?”

A priest walked toward him.

“English?”

“Please.”

“You know the cathedral is closed now.”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll go.”

The priest stared.

“Are you okay?”

Noah thought.

“No.”

The priest sat.

“You don’t look okay.”

“You think there’s Hell, right?”

“Sure.”

“What about like, curses. Can you be damned on earth?”

The priest chuckled.

“Well, there are stories of possessions and demons. But, to tell you the truth, I never put too much stock in those.” The man thought. “In Dante, traitorous murderers had their souls sent directly to the deepest parts of hell while their body continued to roam the earth, inhabited by a demon. I always liked that.”

Noah looked at his hands.

“I never killed a man.”

“In Job-“

“I KNOW JOB.” Noah snapped. He looked away from the man and stood up, staring at a radiant gilt cross with an all seeing eye above it.

“I didn’t have that much to take away though. I didn’t even have faith. And everything that happens in my life is just random enough that maybe there’s no intellect behind it, maybe it’s all my imagination, but it feels like some horrible thing is playing a joke on me. Like my whole life is just a string of absolute nonsense that will never make any sense. I can’t even remember large chunks of the last year. The best months of my year were spent in a literal prison for a crime I didn’t commit. But even the good parts are framed in such a way that it feels like there’s some kind of evil, some kind of intellect looking at me, planning what happens, and then pushing it onto me with some kind of sick fucking mirth.”

“Please don’t swear in the church.”

“Sorry.”

“So you don’t think you’re in control of your suffering?”

“No. I wouldn’t be suffering if I could just stop suffering.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well I don’t have control right now. Over anything in my life.”

“What about yourself? How did you come to here? A church, now, when you’re suffering?”

“All part of the horrible plan. Some kind of joke, surely.”

“You brought yourself here. You walked through that door.”

“You don’t get it though. I don’t have any control over what door I go through. I walk through and can end up anywhere. There’s no escape, there’s no return.”

“But you chose to walk through that door, and you ended up here.”

“Sure, but you’re not getti-“

“You’re seeking an end. You’re looking for an answer. And you’ve found your way to one.”

Noah looked at the cross. Then at the all seeing eye. He scowled at it.

“No. No I haven’t.”

Noah stood up and began to walk away.

The priest stood up behind him. He called out:

“Are you baptized.”

Noah paused, turned.

“No.”

“Would you like to be?”

Noah stared at the eye again, then the priest.

“Fuck no.”

Noah turned around, opened the door, and stepped through it.

***

Noah sat on a bench at a mall. He stared dead ahead. His mind was completely empty. It felt good to be completely empty. Maybe the priest was right. Maybe he had some control. He wondered if he could cause himself the right amount of brain damage to feel this way all the time. The booze hadn’t done it. Maybe a hammer, or a drill. He wondered if a Grey’s Anatomy or some kind of psych textbook could help him figure out…

Ah, but he was thinking again. He should return to the immediate. Not-think. Yes.

So Noah resumed staring into the middle distance. People passed him. His eyes did not see them. He was empty. Truly empty. It was amazing, being this empty. He wondered if anyone had ever been this empty before him. Probably not. Anyway, this is definitely how people escape suffering. There’s no reason to suffer when this is accessible at any time, anywhere, whenever he-

A child was staring at him. He started to stare at the child. The child was frowning. Noah frowned at the child. The child picked his nose. Noah picked his nose back. The child made a “blech” face and stuck out his tongue at Noah. Noah blew a raspberry at the child and crossed his eyes. The child scrunched up his face and eyes and squeezed his cheeks together saying “waaaaaaaaaah”. Noah put his index fingers up his nose, his thumbs in the sides of his mouth, and stretched out his lips into a grotesque smile groaning “heeeeehhhhh” at the child. The child told Noah he was weird. Noah said the child started it. The child laughed. Noah smiled. A parent ran up to the child.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry for Nate. C’mon. C’mon! You can’t bother strangers like that.”

Noah replied “No, he’s great. You have a great kid. He was just having fun.”

The parent thanked Noah and escorted Nate away. Nate looked over his shoulder at Noah and stuck out his tongue again. Noah farted loudly. Nate laughed.

Noah returned to staring. But every time he tried to empty his head, the child’s face popped into his head. He didn’t feel bad, though. Noah decided that was alright, too.

***

Noah was in a trash heap throwing glass bottles at a wall. He was inordinately bored. Completely, totally bored. He looked at the glass and thought about opening a vein. But then he threw another bottle. But he didn’t feel anything about throwing the bottle. It shattered. He just kept doing it because he could do it. Because there were more bottles. Because it was something to do. They shattered, and they shattered and they shattered.

Suddenly a man walked through the door and shouted.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

Noah smiled.

“I’m breaking bottles.”

“HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Get over here NOW!”

“No.”

Noah grabbed another bottle and smashed it on the wall. Then another. Then another.

The man at the door was furious.

“Come here! I have to clean this shit UP NOW!”

“No you don’t. You can just leave. You don’t have to do anything.”

The man started toward Noah who made no moves at all. He just stood and watched, empty handed, about as bored as he’d ever been. As the man neared Noah he tripped on a piece of garbage and fell in the glass. Wounds opened all over his body.

“O-oh!” said Noah.

“AAAH!” said the man.

Noah tried to approach him but he thrashed at Noah, who stepped back. That thrash sprayed blood across the room. The man’s wrist was slashed wide open. His hand flopped.

“AaaAAHH!!!” he shrieked.

“Ah, uh. Hey! Let me help you! Let’s get pressure on that!”

The man thrashed again, falling face first into the pile of glass, opening more wounds. He rolled and his throat began to geyser. He was bleeding very fast. He continued to thrash, and Noah continued to try to get to him, but by the time the man calmed down he was cold and breathing heavily. Noah ran up to him, looked down. He didn’t know what to do. There probably wasn’t anything to be done. Noah apologized, then stepped over the man. He walked to the door, turned around and watched the man heave raggedly next to the heap of garbage that had been his bed. Then Noah walked out the door into a storage unit. So he opened the door again and found himself in a flat.

There was a bottle of wine over the fridge. Noah immediately walked over to it, opened it, and took a slug. Then he walked over to the couch, and sat, trying to process what he’d just seen. The front door opened. Noah winced. Then he relaxed. It was Hugo.

“NOAH!” Hugo shouted. He saw the bottle in Noah’s hand. “I thought you say-“

“Yeah, Hugo. Today I drink. Come over here.”

The men hugged, and Noah gave Hugo the bottle. Hugo drank. They sat on the sofa together.

Hugo looked at the blood sprayed across Noah’s shirt.

“So uh-“

“I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Hugo lit two cigarettes and gave one to Noah. Noah inhaled. Noah exhaled.

“How is your father, Hugo?”

“He died.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, it is for the best. We’re both happier now.”

Noah looked at Hugo, then took another drink from the bottle.

“How do you just decide something is good?”

“I don’t. Time passes and it becomes good. This is life.”

“Huh.”

They continued to pass the bottle. Eventually Noah calmed down, and they talked about where they’d been. Hugo had a girlfriend, and he loved her very much. He had a new job and made more money. He had no parents left, but he had a sister, and a brother, and his brother had children. Life could be worse.

“And you?”

“Nothing has changed.”

“Ah, but it could be worse.”

“I really don’t know at this point.”

“It could be. You could be sick.”

“Sure.”

“You could have shit legs.”

“Very true.”

“You could be blind.”

“That would suck, yes.”

“Instead you’re here on my sofa drinking my wine with me, no?”

“This is also true. It could be worse.”

The two split the bottle, then Hugo got another. And another. They stayed up all night, talking and drinking.

At one point, Noah turned to Hugo, tears in his eyes.

“You know, Hugo, you’re my only friend in the whole world.”

Hugo turned to Noah.

“Noah, you are an absolute friend to me. Forever we will be friends. Whenever I see you, I will come to you, and we will drink.”

Noah hugged Hugo tightly. Hugo hugged back and began to sob. For the moment, everything was okay.

Eventually Hugo passed out. Noah thought for a moment, then stumbled to his feet. He dragged over to the bathroom, opened the door, and saw a train station. He closed the door and started to cry. Then he wandered over to the sofa and sat in dismal silence for an hour. Then he passed out.

When he woke, Hugo was gone. Noah ran the sink and urinated into it. He had a headache. He drank from the faucet, then poured a quick shot of cognac and downed it. The front door opened again. Footsteps.

A woman entered his field of vision.

“Hello?”

Noah stared.

“Hello.”

“And who are you?”

“Noah… and you?”

“I’m Hugo’s girlfriend.”

“You don’t speak with a heavy accent.”

“I’m Canadian.”

“Huh.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I spent the night.”

She eyed the blood on his shirt and the bottles on the table.

“It looks like you had quite the night.”

“Well you know Hugo likes to drink.”

Hugo’s girlfriend eyed the open bottle of cognac.

“It seems you do as well.”

“Of course.”

“Well, can I have a glass?”

“Only if I can have your name.”

“Guenièvre.”

Noah poured.

They raised their glasses and poured.

“Hugo talked about you once.”

“Oh?”

“He had to explain to me why he lost his last job once, and he mentioned you. Said you wander in and out of doors that lead anywhere but where they’re supposed to and never return to a place.”

“He’s right.”

“So perhaps you will never see me or Hugo again, mm?”

“Perhaps. It’s part of why I drink.”

“Well, do you want to show me?”

Noah stared at Guenièvre.

“Absolutely not.”

She smiled.

“Good. That’s not what I want.”

“What?”

“Pour another glass.”

He poured. They drank.

He wasn’t sure how, but eventually Guenièvre spilled her glass on his pants and had to help him out of them, and, embarrassingly, Noah forgot he wasn’t wearing any underwear. He tried to hide himself, but it proved impossible, so Guenièvre helpfully covered his erection with her mouth. Quickly, Noah decided to accept Guenièvre’s help, and to help her out in kind. Their clothes fell off, and they ended up on the floor, on the sofa, against the counter, and then smoking naked in the kitchen.

Noah sighed: “Very good.”

Guenièvre sighed: “Eh.”

The front door opened. Noah gasped. Guenièvre tensed. Hugo rounded the corner with a friend. Hugo made eye contact with Noah. He grabbed for a bottle from a large box he was holding and threw it at Noah’s head, shouting “TRAITOR!” Noah ducked and ran, grabbing his pants as Hugo dropped the box he was holding and began to chase Noah. Hugo tripped over a chair. Guenièvre screamed. Noah ran for the front door. Hugo’s friend punched him hard across the face and he flew into the wall. A foot crashed into his side and he felt a rib crack. Noah crawled for the door. Then got to his knees. Hugo pulled his friend back, then slapped Noah hard across the face from behind. Noah got to his feet. Hugo slapped him again, then again. Noah made it to the doorknob, he opened the door, and he stumbled through, into a hall.

Hugo stumbled out behind him and kept slapping him and swearing in French. Noah shouted “WAIT WAIT WAI-“ and Hugo punched him straight across the face, leaving him in a heap in the hallway. He closed his door. Noah heard fighting behind the door. Noah moaned and pulled his pants on. Noah realized he heard fighting behind the door. Noah opened the door and peered in. Hugo was yelling at Guenièvre, who was hastily putting on clothing. Hugo’s friend saw Noah’s face and gave him a quick jab to the nose. Noah fell backward. The door remained open. Then it closed. Noah lay breathing on his back for a minute, then realized he should probably move.

He walked down the stairs at the end of the hall until he reached the first floor. He pushed on the door. It opened to the street. Noah closed the door, then opened it again. It opened to the same street. Noah started to cry. He opened the door again, and pushed out onto the street, and walked down the sidewalk, sobbing.