5 Dollar Zombie

He doesn't remember drinking but he feels drunk. His vision is swimming and his face feels hot, so hot that he reaches towards his neck to loosen the tie that he took off 20 minutes ago and is gathering dust on his office floor...but he doesn't remember that. He remembers little of anything and now he is lost in the city with little hope of finding his way out.

Out of some strange desire he turns left at the next intersection but his vision blurs so that he can't read the street sign making him feel even more lost. He reaches a well manicured hand towards the center console and cranks up the AC but it is already cranked to the maximum and the blower is pushing out cold air so hard that it might be Winter in Antarctica inside his Mercedes. Ice could form on everything and still he is hot, sweating...frightened.

Everyone has seen the reports. Flu epidemics, people dying, people killing each other. He saw some report about a Camp in Nevada, Camp St. Tessa or something where they are looking for a cure. He isn't sick with that though. It was the Coke, he had no doubt. He'd been more or less awake for 4 days trying to get the Robinson account squared. The Government was sinking a lot of money into research and development for the new vaccine and Robinson Pharmaceuticals would need clean books if they were going to take on a federal research grant. So 4 days, God knows how many grams of Coke and few rolls in the hay with his secretary later he final just petered out. His body is done with him for now. Time for sleep. First he has to get home though.

He reaches to his pocket and grabs the cell phone...well, it's not just a cell phone, it's a PDA and a wireless communications device and a GPS. He taps the "Map" button and a list of recent destinations pops up, including one marked simply "home". Unfortunately for him he cannot see "Home" he can barely see his phone. He pokes his thumb against a point of light on his touchscreen face that might be "home" and prays that he can make it.

A calm automated voice that reminds him of the computer voice from the Star Trek movies slides into his ear...

"Take next right in 34 feet." the fine woman says...Without warning, he gets a sudden, intense erection and then takes a right...

With the erection comes an even more intense desire to copulate and an equal disgust with himself for such thoughts when he is clearly coked out...literally coked out, majorly busted down coked out. He's too tired and sick to even have the energy to go to funtown on himself let alone climb in the saddle...and his fever...He's cold and burning at the same time...he feels like dry ice...

There is a sudden shock as the car's left tire and wheel bump the curb and he over corrects nearly crossing the center line into oncoming city traffic. He thinks that he needs to be more careful and then decides that maybe he needs to pull over for a few minutes, just relax.

Outside his 35,000 luxury sedan, garrish neon light, casts it's glow over the city street. A woman who has worked this corner for three years and calls herself "Trish the Dish" watches as a Mercedes rolls up to the curb, bumping it a little and then coming to a stop. She watches the car for a moment, feeling uneasy. When you are a hooker in a city like New York and you get a bad feeling about anything you walk. Too many women in her profession go missing for being "too careful" to apply as a negative. On the other hand, times are tough. She hasn't had but three customers in a week, all because of this "Super-Flu" going around, a "Camping Virus" she's heard it called. The hookers always suffer once someone calls it a virus.

Her Second hand store pumps click the sidewalk as she approaches the car. The guy's window is down and she can see from here he is leaning back against his head rest.

"You looking for someone honey" she asks in her most demure tone that nobody has ever bothered to tell her is too husky from cigarette smoke to be exceptionally attractive. The man's head rolls towards her but she has noticed that he has an enormous erection and she decides to seize the moment. She hasn't had a boot all day and if she has something, anything, Tony might give her some H. She leans through the car's generous window and the smell of leather hits her first. She wouldn't know Corinthian Leather from any leather, it is all just dead cow to her, but the smell is somehow reassuring. Her hand, deft with years of experience removes his erection with ease and she begins massaging him.

"Five Dollars honey, that's all I need and we'll take care of this problem for you." He is staring at her, but she is staring at the crotch of his pants. He is an attractive guy and for a moment she allows herself to have the "Pretty woman" fantasy before a smell that is not leather breaks up her dream sequence and suddenly that bubble bath is full of sewage.

"OH FUCK! Mister you shit yourself!" Her hand, cat quick begins to draw away but it is far too late. Richard Gere has just grabbed her hand and she begins screaming as he hauls her bodily into the car and chews her face off.

What is left of him will struggle against the seat belt for years before he rots enough to simply stop moving. She on the other hand, goes out in search of new customers...