Klempner - The Present
From beyond the door, footsteps echo on the walkway and I try to ignore the muttering coming through the wall from the next cell.
Could murder a brandy…
In my head, I cradle a balloon glass, swishing an inch or so of golden-amber cognac. Warm fumes curl from the rim, coating my throat and sinuses…
But imagination only goes so far.
Sweat…
Disinfectant…
Stale cigarette smoke…
Through the other wall comes the sound of Krinsky doing his endless f*****g press-ups… “… Fourteen… Fifteen… Sixteen…”
How long can I stand this?
“… forty-one… forty-two… forty-three…”
Several weeks of having Krinsky next door has taught me this will go on for hours. I put in an hour or so each day, keeping myself trim…
I’ll need it when the time comes…
… but Krinsky keeps it up for
