Saturday, 4 August 2012
I’m struggling with the penultimate chapter in Zen Ambulance when Cherokee and Mohawk go through Benny’s stolen packing cases full of weapons. I want something dramatic, completely OTT like Tarantino. Heavy cal machine-gun? No, no, too predictable. Rocket Propelled Grenade Launcher? No, they’ve already chosen one of those. I spend a good twenty minutes in Colette’s trying to figure out what the other weapon is. It’s got to feel right, you know. But it’s not happening. I can’t pluck that right weapon out of my torpid imagination. Damn it.
I leave Bistro Colette and head back to Republicii (pronounced “-chee” by the way). I park myself in the cafe near my apartment. I order an ice-cold, dark beer to settle my jangled nerves.
A couple walk past. They’re lanky and kitted out in red t-shirts that say Feel the Beat! They both wear dazzling white baseball caps, shorts, knee-length socks and trainers. As they walk past, heading towards the Bank of Transilvania, I notice the girl is carrying a small silver cylinder with a coca-cola logo on her back; there’s a tube and nozzle hooked up to it.
I push my beer to one side and dig my laptop back out.