Syrup by Maxx Barry

gestures to the fridge. I walk into the kitchen as steadily as I can and lean down.
    There is a truly awesome assortment of sodas in there, but Fukk stands out. Its deep black contours are like a splash of defiance against the bright reds and blues. It just sits there and says, Fukk .
    I reach out a trembling hand and touch the can. It’s refreshingly cool, it’s sleek, but most of all it’s real. I thought this up one night three months ago and now I’m holding it in my hand. It’s an indescribable feeling.
    “Take a sip,” 6 urges.
    I pop the top and it hisses angrily.
    “Extra carbonation,” 6 explains. “When you pop a Fukk, everybody around you knows it.”
    “Very good,” I murmur, my eyes never leaving the can. Slowly, very slowly, I raise it to my mouth. The metal slips between my lips and then cold, liquid Fukk is sliding down my throat. It’s much lighter than Coke or Pepsi, sitting somewhere between a mineral water and a cola. And it’s perfect. Just perfect.
    “You like?” 6 inquires.
    “I love it,” I manage to say. “You’ve done a fantastic job.”
    “Thank you,” she says, and, amazingly, 6 actually sounds pleased.

tina
    I’m so lost in my Fukk that I don’t even hear the door open. Then 6 says, “Tina, this is Scat,” and I suddenly realize that this must be 6’s girl.
    It’s a shock. I’m expecting someone ... well, someone like 6. Tina is not like 6.
    6 says, “Tina’s doing an arts degree.”
    “Oh?” I say, as if the eyebrow ring, blond hair with a streak of black and oppressive eye makeup hadn’t tipped me off.
    “Oh, let me guess,” Tina says. “He’s a marketer.”
    “Hi,” I say.
    Tina throws her hessian bag onto the sofa and stalks into the kitchen. She’s very short, but the way she walks tells me it would be a very bad idea to point this out to her. “I hope they pay you well for strangling the youth of this country with cultural conformity.” She opens the fridge and frowns at the sodas.
    “Unfortunately, no,” I admit. “I’m unemployed.”
    Tina pulls out the Pepsi and pours herself a glass. “Really , ”she says, eyeing me suspiciously. Her eyes, beneath pints of mascara, are actually a deep, attractive green.
    “Trust me,” I say. “I wouldn’t make that up to impress you.”
    Tina smirks. “I thought that was all marketers did.”
    I throw out a wild guess. “You don’t like marketing?”
    “Marketing is like being given joke dog shit for your birthday,” Tina says. “It’s useless, stupid and insulting.”
    “Ah,” I say.
    “Marketing is a leech on a turd,” she continues. “Disgusting and unnecessary, sustaining itself on the bowels of society.”
    “Ugh.”
    “Marketing , ” she says, “is a pair of silicone tits. Superficially attractive, but secretly fucking up your life.”
    “And yet,” I say, “you’re drinking a Pepsi.”
    Tina frowns, wounded. “I just like the taste ,” she says.

tina, 6 and sexual preference
    Tina offers to show me around the apartment, and I find out the most important thing first. “You and 6 have separate bedrooms?”
    “Of course,” Tina says.
    My heart jumps. “I was under the impression that you and 6 were ... romantically entangled.”
    Tina laughs. “Oh, right. Sure.” She leads me into the bathroom, which is cluttered with more cosmetics than I knew existed. There’s also an oddly placed window that would offer a pretty good view of the street to anyone standing in the shower.
    “So that’s not true?”
    Tina says dryly, “I can assure you that 6 and I are not sleeping together.”
    “A- ha ,” I say. “I knew it.”
    “At this point in time,” Tina adds, watching me carefully.
    My brain struggles to assimilate, but I can’t wait for it and let my mouth make the call instead. “You mean you used to be with 6?”
    “Oh, I get it,” Tina says, stepping closer to me. “You’re one of those guys who pigeonhole everyone by their sexuality, right? Do you call gays