Daily Archives: December 1, 2018

houseband

“Mind you, I’ve seen enough giant rats in this town to do me a lifetime, boy.”

“Come on, Uncle Zach. We like the same shades, same drugs, same women. Why should this be different? You *gotta* dig Firesign Theatre, man. It’s just the chillest.”

They listened some more. “Okay, who’s this Hemlock Stones they keep talking about?” demands Domino’s uncle at a tipping point. “Why is he listening to that crazy, transvestite woman and her problems; why do they keep looking for pirates down at that wharf?”

“It’s Sherlock Holmes, stoopid. Man.” Domino shakes his head. “A *spoof*, dad-i-o.”

“I’m not some beatnik fool. Stop calling me… *dad-i-o.*”

“Alright,” Domino relents. “But just *listen*.”

They listen again. “Me and the doc on the dock with the dog — the deadly dog,” the record rapped after a spell. Then said dog exploded.

“Honestly, son, I think I’ve had enough,” and Uncle Zach moved toward the table loaded with their drugs to retrieve a heroin syringe. “I’m going to a place I *understand*.”

A downcast Domino lifts up the needle while Uncle Zach inserts his own.

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Filed under *Second Life, Gaston

Chili

“So, like tell me about the building behind me, then,” requested Hitgal, eager for more Gaston-Berry history.

“Owned by the eye guy. *Formerly* owned. Split with the Berries, he and his cat. All bones.”

Hitgal shivers. Let’s go back inside and talk more. Getting colds out here.

—–

“Yeah, I’m gonna rent this poolside apartment starting next week, mind you. Just waiting for the check to come in. John Bob Denver and all. Did a real good job for him.” But that was a job both Domino Wendell Cashmere and Hitgal Dryden Douglas knew they shouldn’t talk about. Fusion.

“That would be chill’n,” responds Hitgal, looking around. “Your 78 inch plasma would fits nicely against that wall over there. We could watch the Atlanta Hawks’ games. Just like old times.”

“Well, unfortunately this is a Brazilian themed sim, see, so probably more soccer on than anything. Notice that soccer ball perpetually bobbing around the pool? That sort of thing.”

“I didn’t see it,” admitted usually observant Hitgal. “In the waters itself?”

“Sure,” replied Domino, then let it drop. He looked down at the table and the open magazine there.

“You thinking about getting a new face, Hitgal? Because: don’t do it. I like you the way you are.” He leans over for a kiss, but Hitgal waves him off, moves toward the wall that might soon provide much soccer entertainment, looks out the window.

*There’s* the soccer ball, she observed. Just like he said, hmm. She wondered if someone was editing her worldview again. Like before, in the Dark Days. She’ll have to look at her old journals to review. Things *hidden* from view. Like the Brazilian flags. Brazilian sports — flags. What else?

—–

Later, Hitgal revealed part of her planned new look. “I’m still working on the color scheme. But… what’s you think?”

Domino doesn’t answer immediately, prompting defensive Hitgal to say: “Mind *you,* Domino, this is *just* the start, hrmph.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Gaston