“Are you going to light a candle for him, Archie?”
“Nah I’m just checking out his junk.”
“Awesome. Soo. Do you not like Freddie Mercury or something?”
“Of course, dude. The guy that wrote ‘Stairway to Heaven’!”
“Ummm.”
—–
“I’ve let you down, Robert. I’ve become a big fat blueberry again.”
Robert looked over, didn’t see a blueberry girl. He saw himself. In another for a change. “I… forgive?”
“No this can’t be forgiven what I’ve done,” she insisted. “I want you to just go ahead and puncture me. Stab me with your stabby thing. Just get it over with. I need to be dejuiced.”
Again, Robert didn’t see anything to “dejuice”. Just a woman, lonely, bad self image, needing a change, trapped in a job with, overall, negative energy pervading. Kind of like…
“I’ll remember your smile,” he said, again surprising himself with his empathy. “You were, an ordinary person to me at the time. No crazy. I was tired of crazy, see. The looks in the eyes.”
“I read from your collection,” she said, wiping her eyes of tears, wiping her nose a bit, shoving back the black hair from the blue-purple face. She was tired of her hair. She was going to get it cut, maybe dyed again. She wanted to be someone different. “I read about… me.”
—–
“I know who you are. Just go ahead and do it. Change. Admit the similarity.”
“Cold in here,” she tries to deflect, then gives up. “Oh, o-*kay*.”
—–
“Where did *this* come from??”
“Relax Bulby,” assured calm Tronesisia to the left. “We’re waterproof.”
Sunklands 