By day, Jack works for a petty tyrant at a dead end job. His version of night life is beer and TV at his filthy apartment. His minimalist approach to hygiene leaves him with no social life, so he takes matters into his own hands (for once only figuratively). He gets much more than he bargained for when he answers the ad for "Simulacrum Spanish Fly" in the back of a dirty magazine...
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On Thursday, Jack got a package. It was a box in a Plain Brown Wrapper, just as the ad promised. The simulacrum Spanish Fly was a brown liquid inside a small bottle with a tacky label.
Jack opened the bottle and sniffed. There was no aroma, or at least none that rose above the noisome apartment's ambient funk. He held it up to the light. "Bill said it was fake, but you never know 'till you try," he muttered to himself with forced optimism. Jack took a sip to see what would happen. It tasted faintly of sassafras with a hint of lemon and ginseng, but nothing suggesting cayenne. That boosted his spirits; according to an article in Wanker, the Chinese swore by ginseng. He watched some TV, to allow it time to have effect.
