I command him to take a cab across town to pick it up. He leaves, I write out this story. Now I feel sick to my stomach. I head to the bathroom and retch out bits of Thai food and bile, then crawl into bed, wearing huge sweatpants and a dirty T-shirt. My eyes are blood red, and my hair is matted into classic post-fuck head.
Erotic mayhem is officially over.
Niagara is not cool. An hour later the Carnivore comes home. So I start to feel less guilty about sending the Carnivore on the whole crosstown pot deal. Off the Hook.