It Needs No Assertion, It Simply Is

          I logged on to MySpace this morning with the anticipation of a teenage girl opening a text message from an unknown number. Oddly Sharona hadn’t written a thing on her site. This might be normal for anyone else but this girl had been updating her diary every for weeks, or maybe even months. She hadn’t even logged in. I looked at her picture again and decided that she’s really very pretty, I’m sure I’d get many an envious look with her on my arm.

            “Haha! You fucking loser.” Ed had apparently come downstairs to see what I was doing. “She’ll never write to you.”

            “Just give it time.”

            “I’m not sure I can be bothered, mate. She’s not worth it.”

            “I think she is. She’s pretty.”

            “Ha! Yeah, you are a fucking loser. Right, let’s have some breakfast and then we’ll search for the other Sharona.”

            After breakfast we looked up Sharona #2. Her MySpace hadn’t been updated either. In fact, looking at it again, we realised it had never been updated. It was one of those sign up, write a few details, get bored and never sign in again type accounts. Apparently this Sharona was not a MySpace type girl.

            At least we had one detail to go on: she gave guided tours in the city.

            A short while later we were back in the French Quarter trawling through guide shops trying to seek her out.

            “There’s a lot of leg work in being an investigator,” I said, after another escape from a twenty minute conversation with a tour manager who was far more interested in selling us a package than giving us information.

            “Investigators have phones,” remarked Ed.

            “Ah,” I said. “Phone. Interesting.”

            By this point we had almost finished our trawl of the area, so we agreed to do the final couple before heading back to the hostel to try our luck on the phone.

            Sure enough at the very next tour place we struck gold. The booker knew exactly who we were talking about. In fact he was frighteningly enthusiastic about her.

            “Ah yes, you’re talking about our very best girl there!” he said, in full pimp mode. “You’ve had recommendations right? She sure provides the very best service. Five stars, if you know what I mean?”

            I had absolutely no idea what he meant. One way or another we found ourselves signing up to her next tour, The Vampyr Tour, to start tomorrow at 8.30pm.

            “How fucking sweet,” Ed said, on the way home. “She’s some kind of vampire chick.”

            “Have you forgotten that goth chick from the bus already?” I asked. He laughed.

           

*

 

            Back at the hostel I eagerly checked MySpace to no avail. We therefore settled into a board game or two with a few beers. Ed destroyed me over and over again at Trivial Pursuit; he certainly knows a lot of shit. I took it well enough, he might have the general knowledge, but it’s not like that helped him get a proper job. Eventually I suggested chess again and he protested, wanting to beat me at some game he was sure of winning.

            “You always have to assert your goddamn superiority don’t you?” I said, in a moment of irritation.

            “It needs no assertion,” he replied. “It simply is.” Nonetheless, however, I’d done the job, and he agreed to play.

            I beat him quickly, once, then in three moves in the second game, an old trick but a beauty. He got really riled by that one and demanded another match. I removed half my pieces before we started and we played out a rather longer more challenging game. Even then though I won.

            “Fuck this,” Ed said, “it’s a stupid fucking game anyway.”

            “You’re only saying that because you keep losing.”

            “No, it’s a stupid game, there’s no sense in it.”

            “Listen to yourself, you’re always just talking crap to suit yourself.”

            “That’s fucking rich coming from you, you little posh twat, everything’s always suited you.”

            “Christ, say what you mean, why don’t you?”

            “Why wouldn’t I? That’s always been your problem, Evans, you’re such pussy you have to go around saying and doing the right thing like a little fucking girl. Fuck it.” He shook his head in disgust and walked off. That was an hour ago and I haven’t seen him since. I guess maybe he didn’t mean all that, I think we’ve just been spending too much time together lately. I’m going to bed.