Rates of Exchange, Chapter 6

There is only so much I can see from my window. Less than what I can see from my balcony. I walk back to the bathroom and stand on the lip of the tub and look at the exhaust fan mounted in the wall above the splash tile. It's about 8 inches on a side. A friend taught me that if you can get your head through, the rest will follow. I have cause to know that what he says is true, but there is a twenty-foot drop on the other side of the wall. In full view of the forecourt. After I replace the grill on the inside wall, I go back into the kitchenette that doubles as a sitting room. Another hundred push-ups with my toes on the counter-top. I think about Frank's daughter and lose count. The rules of the game say if you lose count, you have to start from zero and you can't stop until you get to one hundred. I stop thinking about Helen and get to a hundred - really closer to one hundred and eighty. Collapsing to the floor, it dawns on me. The snake. Like the metaphorical lizard in ancient sculpture - I thought that this was sexual. But it isn't. It is, and it isn't.