the pickpocket walks through the door of the old hotel. all the mirrors are smeared in white paint. the man at the counter has a thick made-up accent and is dressed to the teeth in armadillo skin. he tells the pickpocket that his name is jack, but all of his friends call him jill, and that he should call him jack. "may I have a room"? the pickpocket asked. the man behind the counter picks up a silver phone and asks into it; "Does the mexican have it done"? then hangs up and says to the pickpocket; "hi, what was it you needed?" "a room" replied the pickpocket.
the employee walks the pickpocket up 3 flights of stairs to his room. "here you go, room f45" said the employee as he set the pickpockets bag on the floor and held out his dirty hand. as the pickpocket slid a crisp 5 dollar bill into it, he noticed the man had a tattoo on the palm of his hand that read; "nicaragua for sale" as he walked away, the pickpocket saw him hold the bill up to a hallway lamp to check it's legitimacy. he could be heard laughing as he walked down the stairs.
the room seemed to have been painted with a spoon. it had yellow carpet and red walls. a quilt sat folded at the end of the bed. as he unwrapped the quilt he noticed the logo on it was that of a different hotel chain. he wrapped it around him and walked over to the window.
below, the world seemed to have been on fire. sirens were the soundtrack and screaming was the score. he lit a cigarette and pulled up the coffee table to sit on. he smelled blood. eastern european blood. the sky melts over the mountains and a sliver of sun could be seen through the smog and the dead birds. he hears someone singing. it sounds like a little girl. the song is unrecognizable but he closes his eyes to hear it better. then she stops. he keeps his eyes closed, imagining what the girl looked like, where she lived and what made her stop.
he opens his eyes and they focus in on a billboard. it seems to be promoting shoes. the man on the billboard is jumping off of a bridge as the words "make like a tree and disappear" are stamped over it. everything is blurry except for the shoes.
everything he sees reminds him of a woman. he called her jamaica. she was 71 years old and lived in a wishing well just outside of town. she spoke perfect english but preferred italian. her finger nails were as long as most woman's hair. she wore a purple and white striped dress with a straw hat. rumor had it that she was once married to the king of poland. her front tooth was gold and the rest were rotten. he would visit her at least once a day. they would tell stories and drink tea or sometimes rice water. she had lived an amazing life but had not left the wishing well in 40 years. he asks why but she never responded. she would just laugh and shake her head. he loved her. she was the perfect woman in his eyes. no one else seemed to care too much for her. calling her names and dumping hot water into her well. once a man tried to pull her out of the well. he pulled her up by her hair and began hitting her and spitting on her and calling her a troll. he gave up though. she was used to it. she would say that why should some people's evil make her upset.
this daily visiting went on for 10 years. one day she said she had not seen the sunrise in so long. the pickpocket somehow managed to talk her into getting out of the well to see it with him. after hours of debating she agreed. they were walking on the dock looking at the sky and pointing. the sound of a car's breaks broke them out of their spell and they turned around to see a man walking towards them. "well well well well well" the man said. "you know better than to make us have to see your old shitty face" the pickpocket took a swing at the man but to no avail. it missed and the pickpocket found himself on the ground with the taste of pennies in his mouth. the man picked up the woman and walked her over to the edge of the dock. she looked over at the pickpocket who was laying on the ground and smiled at him. as he threw her over the edge she never broke eye contact. after the man passed the pickpocket on the way to his car, the pickpocket ran over to the edge but could not see her. he waited. now the sun was going down and still no sign of jamaica.
the sound of knocking at the door startles the pickpocket. he puts out t he cigarette and walks over to the door. no one is there. just a book with a note in it. it appeared that the book was a tutorial on how to learn cantonese. sticking out of page 222 was a piece of yellow paper that read:
"why must good and evil clash so strongly in me? why does bile fill me, uncontrollably? what was true is now not true. that is the only truth i shall ever know. just a mirror for a window. just a well for a soul. my veins are full of honey. my heart beats to feed you. these useless breasts can carry no milk to sooth your fleeing soul. the clock started long ago. its now time to flip the hour glass. to let the sun pass. to let the soil swell. to let the earth flatten, let the drummers rest."
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