In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

window. "Ula," he mouthed silently.
The aroma of coffee filled the room, chasing away the smell of
books and medicine from the bedroom.
After a cup of coffee, and some bio eggs from the chicken villa,
he said, "She is freaking out. Dick is redecorating ad the workmen have
invaded. About the affair, she says Ng was teaching her some kind of
Tai Chi merde, and they were working in the mocap studio. She told
him to fuck off, and now he is really mad and she is scared, she says
something about mafia customers and that Dick being a pill. What is a
pill? Una pillola, a medicine tablet? Oh, and Ng knows the gun is
gone."
"Shit! Does he know who has it?"
"No, and she did not mention the missing materials."
"Well, that's at least something."
"Have some pastries, the almond filled ones are very good."
"We're still just sitting ducks here."
"Security is good."
"I don't know about them."
"Yes, this guy is un vero fanullone, but the machines are good."
"What good are they if nobody's watching them?"
Staring blankly at the window, watching the rain spatter against
the panes. The birds were gone.
The purple had turned a greenish yellow around his eye, and the
black scabs with the stitching above the eye and around the cheek were
edged in furious pink. They were the only colors on his face, framed by
his black hair and turtleneck and the background of the jittery gray
glass.
The phone rang again. He sighed and flipped it open. "Oui,
allo?" He turned to the window and spoke. "What is it? Mannaggia.
Max and Maia do not answer? Maia's new project? I dono. Em, yes?
Ye-es? Scusi! Eh, yes, of course, but of course you can. A toute a
l'heure. Ciao."
He snapped it shut. "Okay, so Ula is coming here. I must go
now and tell Mama. She will not be happy. Do not worry, Ula is not
coming up here. I come back." He kissed her quickly across the table
and rushed out the door. Now there was just the rain.
Back in her room, she turned on her machine and took the
extra minute to rig herself up to the French trodes. With the E.L.F.
range dampened down, she cranked up the volume and drifted through
the creamy landscapes that formed on the mottled plaster wall. But she
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