Worm's bumping Gecs and doing bumps while he cleans his living room.

Stacks of pizza boxes, a mountain of energy drink cans, different collections of plastic vodka bottles (empty) and plastic vodka bottles (half-full), mounds of clothes, random crushed cigarette packs, three different ash trays, all sorted into loosely defined piles. He'll shovel the trash into big yard-waste bags, stack the half-dead bottles of Vodka on his counter pending full consumption, and herd the clothes into the small room he uses as a "walk-in closet."

The windows are open because it's still hot out, even if Autumn's coming on. He can occasionally hear Mrs. Díaz screaming at him from downstairs. Makes out her favorite epithet: "Ese Pinche Worm! Ese Pinche Worm!" He'd told her weeks ago to call him Worm and she'd acted scandalized, but quickly grew into it. He's pretty sure she says it in her sleep. Pauses to light a roach he found in one of the ashtrays and turn the music up.

The Colonel dances around for a moment, shaking that sweet ass in his olive-green faux-leather shorts. Goes back to it, getting down on his knees to pick glass out of the carpet with slender, red fingers.

Suddenly, someone's pounding at his door. Worm leaps to his feet. "Fuck!"

It's Mrs. Díaz, he knows it. Hadn't heard her coming up the exterior stairs because of his tunes. He's got to tell her not to scare him like that. Don't want to cap her ass. "Coming!" He calls and turns the music up just a touch, stubs the roach and lights a cigarette. Walks over to the door, the butt smoking away between his lips.

Opens up and there she is. Usual house coat, curlers in. Does she ever take them out? Worm loves her. Everything about her is perfect.

"Hola hermosa..."

"Would you please shut up! You degenerate! Do you know how to be quiet? Lord Jesus, I feel sorry for your mother. No--Damn your mother for not whipping you enough!" She exclaims in her shrill spanish.

"I agree," he says. "Fuck that bitch."

Astonished silence. The Goblin loves the way her shock makes her look fifteen years younger.

Before she can answer: "How's the toilet?"

Now she's confused. "Todavía gotea..." She answers, always happy to complain.

"Want the Worm to take a look?"

She gives him a suspicious once over, her lips pursed like she could spit.

"...OK. But put a shirt on. And turn that music down."

"No," he answers and brushes by her to start down the stairs.

Hears her mutter, "Ese Pinche Worm..." before she follows him.