I put Flavia down for a minute and explain there is something I need to do and then I throw up into a vase. I don’t clear up. Don’t judge me it’s not like the place doesn’t smell awful already. Then I wrap her in Bruno’s coat and I hide her somewhere safe.

But not so far away I can’t use her when I need her.

—

I sit in a classic recliner chair in Agent Hannah’s apartment and I wait for her to come home. Every so often I practice raising my hands so that she does not shoot me before I get the chance to say hi, and I wonder whether maybe just waiting in the hall would be better but it would not. People get shot outside their apartments just as often as they get shot inside and I have brought schnapps and pickles and salami and this weird little rye bread thing that smells of ginger, and these are all on the table, which I hope will also make the point that I did not come to be unpleasant.

I’m not shivering anymore.

I don’t taste puke or blood when I swallow anymore.

But I can smell it when I breathe through my nose not all the time but sometimes.

Charlie I’m so sorry.

I put my hands in the air again: I surrender.

Keeping your hands in the air for even a little while is hard you have done it in gym class so you know.

Practice: up.

Feel the burn.

Down.

Sit around getting bored and wondering whether she’s out with friends and this is a huge waste of time but I know that she is not because Agent Hannah has no friends not while this is happening in her city not now.

Up.

Keep ’em up.

Ow ow ow down.

Up.

Ow ow ow down.

Up…

Agent Hannah says:

“What the actual fuck are you doing?”

She is pointing a gun but everyone does that to me these days and her finger is quite a long way from the trigger.

“I am practicing putting my hands in the air so that you will not shoot me.”

“You are terrible at it.”

“Well I have been practicing a lot and my arms are tired.”

“You’re under arrest.”

“I’ll tell Jacinta she will love that.”

“You broke into my…Shit just pour the schnapps you look ridiculous.”

“Well that is a bit mean I am just trying to make you feel okay about me being here.”

“You want me to feel okay about an international terrorist breaking into my apartment? Pour the schnapps and fuck off out of my country that will work fine.”

I pour the schnapps and I say that I am not a terrorist and she snorts, which is rude.

“I am seriously not a terrorist.”

“Please don’t tell me you make art. Zum Wohl.”

“Kampai.”