“I suddenly have to go pee, Hucka Doobie. Better pull off at the next convenience store. Need gas anyway. This Post is bigger than we thought! Like traversing a whole country in a microcosm, I suppose.”
“Lots of ‘P’s’ along the way for certain,” offered Hucka Doobie, tired of driving and listening to toddler-like Baker Bloch complain. Perhaps if he drives he’ll have more to occupy his mind. But she likes the company. An excuse to spend time with him. Always nice if sometimes irritating in the same moment. She instinctively feels the top of her head with a free hand. Antennae hadn’t grown back yet. Maybe they never will. Maybe they’re gone for good. She’s human through and through now. Perhaps that means…
“There!” Baker Bloch barked in his back seat driver kind of way even though he’s in the passenger seat.
But it was a consignment shop and not a convenience store. Bake’s bad.
Hucka Doobie makes a sharp turn, surprised she could drive the car all the way to the store and not have to park in the road or something.
Baker gets out, checks the sign. “Stripes,” he says, seeing red all around. “Seems familiar.” He then holds the crotch of his pants while his knees knocked.
“Better get you inside before it’s to late,” said Hucka Doobie, chuckling a bit. But she too thought there was something odd about this store. And when they went inside and found apparently blood stained designer dresses on a rack in back their suspicions were verified.
He met her in the club beside baker b.’s Red Umbrella gallery and in front of Norm the Cashier’s flower shop. In his dream he followed her down to a beach at the enigmatically named Publius sim. She was wearing a red dress, a freebie in a box as Graham 02 or Barry 02 soon discovered at the end of the path. Later the red (box) was removed at a club in Montague owned by a big fan of Supertramp. Red strip: now he knew what that meant. He can imagine Norm shaking her head. He better get back to her. If only he could figure out a way to wake up — pinching doesn’t work here.
She was shaped like the letter Q, a hole with a squiggle on the edge,” he grasps for an explanation after finally coming back. “That’s me!” Norm doesn’t approve and threatens to cut off his credit. “Do you know how much I sacrificed to get to this place?!”
He crosses his arms, feeling guilty again. Was this statue that had trouble rezzing in before *alive*? Was it another version of himself? Was it Graham once more? The green dot doesn’t lie but no one was around according to his scanner. He pinches himself. Is he dreaming? His hand passes through his arm on the way to its intended action. Failure, of course. He’s dreaming.
He attempts communication. “Whatup?” he decided to frame it. “How’s it hanging?” he follows up. Nothing. There *must* be something to this — anomaly.
The only avatar around — found through turning off volume and toggling on the “show skeleton” option for avatars — is this dancing gecko more in the southern part of the sim: Montague. He teleports to the edge of a sky “o” to find it. He stares over at the drink cooler after manifesting, realizing this was another hole, like in his most recent work called “Half and Hole” featured in that last post before the current one here. And the bar itself is shaped like a hole. He’s traveling a diagonal again.
“Whatup?” he tries again over to the jiggling exotic lizard. He’s sitting on a “333 — Tiki Bar Stool”; he checks while waiting. But nothing again. He wasn’t surprised.
Someone else must be coming.
It seemed like a good place to send Crappy in, the newest freebie outfit on the marketplace I added to my cart only several minutes back. Crappy hates the 1974 music of Supertramp and thinks their album “Crime of the Century” is vastly overrated. Perfect.
It didn’t work! Something is wrong with Crappy. Maybe Supertramp merits deeper study after all.