< VII >
In a small motel Nosferatu sits on a chair next to a table. He smokes cigarettes. He looks serious.
Two women sit on the bed.
One in her early thirties. A pretty, but hard looking woman with stretch marks from having babies is naked wearing a strap-on. She is smoking.
The other is a young girl of eighteen. She is cute and small. She has dark eyebrows, Nosferatu picked her because she looks like an Arab.
They keep talking to each other.
About their men, and their other men, and sometimes about gas prices.
Nosferatu says nothing.
The television is on. There is a show on about prisons.
The women just had sex in front of Nosferatu. He didn't join in, or even masturbate.
Nosferatu hands them each a one hundred dollar bill.
They stop talking.
They are looking at him.
He looks at the wall.
Nosferatu says, “That for me to talk. I don't want to be interrupted. I would like to give a short soliloquy.”
The older one goes, “Okay, you're the boss.”
“I used to be a man. I used to fuck. I used to hold the ass in my hands and pump. I would pump and look down at the ass and feel good. A great feeling would rise up in me. I think that is normal. But I no longer feel that. I can no longer fuck with this penis,” Nosferatu points at his crotch, “I can no longer hold an ass with any sincerity with these hands,” Nosferatu puts his hands up in the air, “I have been alive for a very long time, don't ask how long. I am able to get anything I want, and I have. But I could never change this body. I have always looked like this. This is my face,” Nosferatu points at his face, “These are my arms and legs and belly. My balls have never changed. I used to wear a uniform, I have many outfits. I have made bridges, killed many in different ways, have had different habits that reflected different types of personalities, have stood on top of mountains, pissed next to camels in the desert, I have gone by many names. But I have always had the same body. I may no longer fuck with this body with any interest. Pumping pussies or male anuses with this penis can no longer cause any real excitement to generate a rising feeling of goodness. I think if I had a different body I might be able to fuck again. But I can't. I cannot change bodies. I am condemned to this body. I can pretend I'm a god, a peasant, a drunk, I can even pretend I'm a dog. But I can't change the fact that when others see me, they see this face, they see these arms. You know nothing about me, so I can convince you of anything. I could say I'm a lawyer and you would believe it, you would tell your friends you worked for a lawyer tonight. I could say I'm an accountant, I drive semi-truck and I'm a proud teamster, I could say I am a professional bicycle rider, I could pretend to be perky, a go-getter, or a lonely sad creature, or a determined man of adventure and risk. I could smoke and be a smoker and not smoke and not be a non-smoker. But no matter how I behave you will see my brown hair, the several small moles on my face, my white skin, and green eyes. Thank you I'm done.”
The women look away from Nosferatu and go back to talking.
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