THE NIGHTLY DISEASE BY MAX BOOTH III

BY JOHN BODEN 

There are a lot of things to endear this book to me, to many folks, I think.  There is the identification with the main character, Isaac. He isn't really a people person, he works shitty hours at a thankless job and he has that perverse Midas touch where once in a while, everything he touches turns to shit.  The Nightly Disease is an almost diorama of a cycle in the life of poor Isaac.

Our man is the night auditor for a hotel in Texas. He works the night shift and doesn't really like his co-workers...or anyone maybe. Except for the girl with bulimia who binges on the breakfast buffet, barfs it all up and leaves.  He has a crush on her.   When the stress levels get unwieldy, Isaac goes up on the roof and masturbates onto the cars in the lot below.  Possibly shouting an angry "Take that!" as his seed rains down upon the cars and trucks.  He fantasizes about violence and revenge against the seemingly endless chain of fucking morons that make up his nights.   His usually bad luck starts to dip when one of his co-workers is killed owls.  Yep, owls.

This event is a harbinger of bizarre events that involve but are not limited to drunkenness, dildos, black market sneakers, switchblade, murder, robbery, waffles, corpse hoarding and owls. There are a lot of goddamn owls.  Isaac find himself in a tight cocoon of criminal activity and lies and as he desperately struggles to free himself and salvage the sad little thing that is his life, he discovers that he might be worth a little more than he ever thought.

The Nightly Disease is snarky and surreal, bitter and biting, and above all relatable.  Booth writes with a sly bark that let's you know he's maybe kidding, a little but probably not, that he really means the horrible things he says, probably. maybe.  

The Nightly Disease is available from Dark Fuse 

Sleep is just a myth created by mattress salesmen.

Isaac, a night auditor of a hotel somewhere in the surreal void of Texas, is sick and tired of his guests. When he clocks in at night, he’s hoping for a nice, quiet eight hours of Netflix-bingeing and occasional masturbation. What he doesn’t want to do is fetch anybody extra towels or dive face-first into somebody’s clogged toilet. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to get involved in some trippy owl conspiracy or dispose of any dead bodies. But hey…that’s life in the hotel business.

Welcome to The Nightly Disease. Please enjoy your stay.

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