In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

he swung from his ceiling mounted scaffold.
The Eureka moment for his technique had flown into his face
later on that same fateful trip, when at the New Orleans zoo he
watched a troop of mischievous howler monkeys throw handfuls of
their own scat at each other and every one else, including one fragrant
clump that landed smack on his forehead. The scaffold he'd bought
that evening at a socialite's party where he met up with a guy in white
robes and mala beads that he vaguely knew from a Paris sex club
known for the caged fornicating couple swinging high above the (sadly
heterosexual) revelers. The club's owner, a horny old alcoholic ex-pat,
had renounced his booze and worldly possessions to come home to
America a wandering yogi, and was only too glad to part with his
contraptions. Back home in Paris, with the scaffold installed in his
studio, Dick had his greatest asset. From his perch he could squirt out
Gottlieb suns, delicate Twombly poems, wild Pollock fireworks, and
not only make a filthy amount of money, but get a real kick out of
doing it, too. Pity Interpol had caught up with him on his kiddie porn
business.
Dick climbed the rickety ladder to reposition the wires for
hanging the photos from the rococo moldings as Inez held it steady
and looked on mournfully. She bent down in several stages and held up
one of the frames for Dick to hook onto the wires, then they did the
same with the other two.
He had to admit that he looked forward to spending a few
evenings with Sandro, who since his brother Angelo's passing had lived
in hotels. Needed the space, was his excuse. At least he was being
cooperative with the doctor's new project, but then, he didn't have a
whole lot of choice, did he? The Doctor had them all by the balls, now,
didn't he?
The plane pierced through the blanket of clouds that stretched
over the basin of Paris and slid into Charles De Gaulle Internationale, a
lurid world of sci-fi saucer shaped buildings sprouting up haphazardly
from the maze of cobalt lights on the runway. Rain streaked diagonally
across the small windows.
The plane hissed to stop and an aggressive little vehicle backed
up and locked onto its underside guiding the plane towards the swarm
of big jets gathered in front of the transparent skin of the hive terminal.
Alessandro was still asleep next to her, his head flopped to the
side, a strand of hair over his twitching lids, his mouth open a little bit.
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