Free The Hunger by Lincoln Townley

guy talks, hundreds listen and I want listeners not talkers.
    —Why’s that?
    —Because talkers stop paying when the call ends while listeners stay on for hours. Cowardice costs money.
    —How many of the models do you fuck?
    —Hardly any. I’m so used to seeing naked girls it’s about as much of a turn-on as a meeting with Mother Teresa. Probably less so. I even thought I was turning gay at one
point.
    I smile. I think he’s insane.
    I turn and see Esurio. He’s lying on one of the beds helping two Wraps fuck each other with a dildo. They seem surprised at how well they’re angling the dildo. He looks over at
me:
    —What a den of iniquity! This is what we want, Lincoln. Look at all the degenerate ladies. They’re everywhere!
    I watch him as he jumps from one bed to another. There’s a blonde Wrap standing up on the corner bed and bending over, arse to camera. Esurio lies between her legs, running his fingers
down her back. She shudders and wonders if the air-conditioning has been put on too cold. He moves like a ballerina using the beds as an improvised stage set. I go to the toilet and take four more
lines. When I come out Esurio is running his fingers through Danni’s hair. He has left me seven bottles of Stella on the chair I was sitting on.
    —Now this is your favourite, isn’t it?
    Within an hour the bottles are gone and I’m staring at Danni. She goes off camera and walks towards the toilet. I follow her. I need her. More than I have ever needed anything in the
world. I want her. I want to pound her. I can feel my guts twisting, gnawing at me, screaming at me. When I was about seven my Mum said to me:
    —The thing about you, Lincoln, is that you always want what you haven’t got and when you’ve had it you want something else.
    When I was a teenager I was seeing a girl called Vicky. Her Mum said to me:
    —I don’t want you seeing my daughter anymore. There’s something about you. It’s in your eyes. They’re all fiery. I just want her to go out with a normal boy because
I know she’ll never be happy with you.
    Kevin is pissed off. He’s banging on the cubicle door.
    —I want her out of there now, Lincoln.
    I don’t ignore him because I can’t even hear him. He has no idea how helpless I am. Then a door hits me on the back. I cling on to Danni with all my strength. I will not let her go.
I feel hands. Four. Six. Perhaps more. Pulling me away from her and they carry me, my trousers around my ankles, to the fire exit and throw me out into a narrow alleyway. I slump against the wall.
I think my cock is still out. There is litter everywhere and the smell of dog piss is so strong it finds its way through the barricade of alcohol and gear. Esurio is sitting next to me, looking up
at the stars:
    —What was it your hapless employer once said to you?
    —Who?
    —The one who said your fate was the gutter or the stars . . .
    —Ah, my transport boss, Frank.
    —That’s the man. Lincoln. But you see, he was quite wrong. You can have them both. All you have to do is know where to find them.
    Esurio gestures extravagantly, moving his arm from the alley to the sky and back down again.
    —And I honestly believe we have found the perfect place.
    The Next Day
    I wake up and the left side of my face feels numb. I look in the mirror. There’s a small cut and some swelling just above my jaw. It’s just gone eight. I shower, put
my tracksuit on, drop some cash in my pocket and go out for a run. The sky is grey. I sprint for the first three miles, then jog, then sprint. My chest begins to hurt. It clenches with fury. I am
burning. I look at my hands as I run, waiting for the fire to break through my skin. I’m ecstatic at the thought of flames rising from my hands. Burning from the inside out. I don’t
know how far I run before the fire begins to cool. Perhaps nine or ten miles. I’m on Bond Street and I make my way towards Selfridges. I’m dripping with sweat. My eyes are like fucking