The Devil and the CDC

A woman came to visit me today. I had finally dragged my ass back into the office and this chick comes in and takes off her pants and there’s a fucking map on the inside of her thigh. I wanted to punch it, but I’m not that kind of guy.

So she sits there buttoning up her pants and says she reads my site and we need to talk. She understands me, she feels my pain. Steph and Wren and Jack are a pack of assholes and assholes need to be dealt with and don’t I agree?

Uh, sure, I say.

She says a name to me and I don’t know it. Casimira. The devil, as far as this woman is concerned. If it weren’t for her, none of this would be necessary. But she’s an anarchist, and she’s a public health hazard and blah blah blah. Don’t I agree that viruses should in the main keep to themselves and not spread? Isn’t that what the CDC is for?

Well, call the CDC, I say.

She gets mad and says that would spoil the whole point of keeping it secret. I just look at her. She’s kind of pretty, in that damaged sort of way. Too thin and frantic, like a chihuahua jumping around in a girl’s body. She snaps her fingers in my face like I’m an idiot. She has work for me, she says. Important work. And if I work long enough for her, and am loyal and strong, then they will spare someone to kiss me into the city.

There’s a club for me, she says. Her club.

But the first thing I have to do is stop blogging and get Stephanie under control. She’s a timebomb, patient zero.

She hasn’t slept with anyone but Wren. Maybe Jack, I tell her.

We know her type.

Ok, then.

My name’s Lizzy, the girl says. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.

One Response to “The Devil and the CDC”

  1. Gini Says:

    If Lizzy drives a Blue Datsun? Be really careful. Really, really careful. She has her own agenda, and she might be dangerous.

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