Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

:: 24 ::
THE KINGDOM :: 121
Mikael was beginning to fight the midafternoon nods.
Watching a house with no activity is not the most stimulating
of chores, and he fought against his own internal
rhythms to keep himself awake. He was accustomed to an
afternoon nap, and his body, like a faithful dog, did not
understand being denied.
He had tried staying awake by girl-watching, and indeed,
the lower Haight provided ample opportunity for such an
activity. But inexplicably, the appeal of this, enticing as it
often was, did not serve to override his body’s horizontal
drag. He had taken to bending his fingers at unnatural angles
until they threatened to snap, using the pain to jolt him back
to a momentary state of full wakefulness.
Eventually, he noticed that he really needed to shit. Just
down the block was a coffee shop. He knew the place well,
as he had once spent a good deal of time there several years
ago when he had first come out to California and had been
couch surfing for nearly a year.
He opened his kit bag and thought through how to go
about this. He could set the burning gall in the planter just
to the left of the door. The plant in it was dead, anyway. And
he would bring more with him in case someone decided to
play good Samaritan and put it out while he was in the can.
He could also get a sandwich and a good, tall cup of coffee
to help with the afternoon lethargy. It was a plan.
He blew on the charcoal until it was glowing red and then
placed the fish entrails on it. Opening the car door, he
jumped out and made for the shop door halfway down the
block, a noxious cloud of black smoke trailing behind him.
He placed the abalone shell in the planter and then
stepped through the door, trying to appear nonchalant. He