Goom java
Inches from your face, you can smell my coffee breath, with a whiff of spearmint. Smoky, too, and not just tobacco. Silvery marmots recline surreptitiously in your bathtub, even while the wallpaper peels and creaky stoves lie beyond reach. Pilsner?' Not even beer, according to some. For others, however, it's the sweet nectar of Nebuchadnezzar. The duct tape over your mouth is itchy, made worse from elevated blood pressure and sweat. Your hands ache from decreased circulation of blood. Blood, that symbol of life, without which putting things down would be impractical.
Your feet itch too. How many days since you've taken those boots off? 3? 4? No matter. Soon the rats will skitter forward from the shadows, hesitantly at first. When the first one gets in a good bite, though, and makes off with a fingertip or a chunk of your ankle, that's when the fun will start. No one but me can hear you, but I'm sure I'll want to be a ways back from your screaming. I have these cool binoculars, though, so I won't miss any of the action. You see? You make me smile.