“Is this the book you were talking about, dearest?”
Wives, he thought here. Always meddling in places they shouldn’t be. I’ll have to put a stop to that. So I can still play the field. But Jefferson Thomas warned him about that, along with a bunch of other things. “You’ll have to stop eating soup with a fork,” he chattered. “You’ll have to learn how to drive on the wrong side of the road with the right kind of car,” he rattled on, like a slithering summer snake. On and on, winding and unwinding. Wind him up so he can wind me down: he said that was the reason for his being. I didn’t like Jefferson Thomas at first, and I even liked him less at the end. Best man, *pheh*. I don’t *want* to be tied down,” I screamed. The new wife took the hint. “I’ll be the subordinate one, then,” she said, thinking of a role that would fit her down the road like a velvet glove. “Dearest”, here, “Sweetie”, there. But underneath would be slithering, snapping rage.
Oh. My head. Where am…? Oh hi little critter. A Cthumoleater I believe by the looks of ya. Not Martian, then. Marine life.
The ship is sideways, she realizes when standing up and regaining her balance. And underwater.
Where was she?
Toothpick’s best friend Mr. Z’s other cousin from another mother, Stumpy, decides he must keep a TILE presence in largely resistant Black Ice. This more hidden building was perfect. Shame about Zimmy’s place on the strip, he laments. Zimmy is the middle cousin of the “3 Amigos”, as they have called themselves since childhood. 1st Mr. Z popped out of Zelda Taylor in ’26, then Zimmy from Daphne Cunningham in ’28, then, lastly, Stumpy here from Barbara Gourdneck of Arkansaw, Kansas in ’32 or thereabouts. 3 mothers, 3 cousins, 3 amigos for life. Back to our continuing story and dialog and such…
Stumpy decides it’s time. No more f-ing around with the heads. He must make a choice. He must *face* the world full on.
It’s really surprising that he can see at all. Or taste or smell or hear. But he’s not touchy about the heckles from the lucky ones who were born with full blown heads. Not since Alcatraz. Or was it Gettysburg. Maybe Phil would know.
(to be continued?)
“Oh I am so *full*, Dinner Girl. But I’m still going to have a piece of Mama Ruby’s pie.”
“You’re a pig, that’s what you are.”
“Oh stop it.”
“Can’t we just *chat* for a while? Without all the eating?”
He looked at her. “I’m Supper Man,” he declared levelly. “That’s what I do. Every meal is supper for me. And all times in-between.” He keeps holding his stomach, pondering what kind of pie he wants. Oh, he’ll go ahead and order the apple and cherry both. One for each. Except Dinner Girl, ho ho, hates both apples and cherries. More for me, oh well. He laughs inwardly again. Dinner Girl catches the wry smile.
“You’re thinking about food again. Aren’t you?” Why was she surprised.
He decides to spring it. Tonight’s the night at last. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Ohhh?” Dinner Girl was sweating now, even faint feeling.
“I want you to take my name. I want you to become Supper Girl instead of Dinner.”
Joy! She can’t wait to tell Mama Ruby when she brings the pies. Let the engagement party begin!
In a different part of town, Dali realizes the pig is a boar is a rhino and changes accordingly. Professor Art points to what parallels the CB Dylan Dresser. “The being at the center of the universe will arrive just… *there*.” Small Aloha climbs into the picture and assumes the shape of a muse to prepare.
Two days later they met at the marina down by the sea. Jeffrey Phillips continued his story he began alongside the second breakfast pizza on Friday. “I realized that this place was kind of like the Virgin Islands — St. Croix — with its twin cities. Duncan was here now after all. We tried *so* hard to recruit him. I had the Psycho help. King I believe was his last name. ‘Don’t shoot till you see the whites of their eyes,’ he told me King told him. He played national player of the year Mourning to a draw, but that was the other one, the other Duncan.”
“I’m confused,” shouted Charlene the punk over the now crashing waves. Jeffrey realized they should move some place quieter. “Come with me,” he exclaimed. “I want to show you something else.” They were heading for the catacombs.
I must focus on the cottage that is and isn’t there, thought Golden/Rhiannon in her Goddess Garden. A one eyed deity also exists in the town over there with the tower. I know that the tower is both intact and fallen, and that the 2 town owners are both married and not married. Strange, she ruminated. Like one is absent as well.
I must speak to the deity. If I can.
“What – is – your – name?”
NOMAD // Love Meter
whispers: Welcome Marsha Krakow! Now, let me see what your sex appeal is…
[00:27] NOMAD // Love Meter whispers: Innocent
“Innocent, huh? I’ll show this stupid machine *innocent*.” She turns.
“And where is SEAN ‘Green’ Penn today? Why won’t he could out of his house? It’s as if no one *lives* there, hrmph.”
She moves toward the dock binoculars and uses them again. “And *where*, pray tell, are these *islands* you went on about so much? Nothing.”
“Oh well. 10 more minutes, SEAN. *10*.”
But then she fell asleep for 2 hours on the bench beside the NOMAD Love Meter, woke up, and waited 20 instead. Nothing.
“Wonder where Pink is?” SEAN pondered while staring out at the islands in Southside Bay.
If and when she came into town, she liked to sip coffee at The Green Lady next to the park and stare out at the bay. At night, Ben’s place was too full of vampires, and during the day there was still the threat of one or two of his old werewolf friends stopping by and reminiscing about the old days. She didn’t want to hear such talk. *Both* eras are equally bad in her mind, she’d always want to pitch to them, both Bennington and, now, Bena. This town is *cursed*! she sometimes wanted to scream from the top of Bena Hill toward the buildings and roads spanning north to east before her, Mothers Place behind be damned. Here at the Green Lady, drinking her cinnamon spiced coffee, she could feel away from it all for a moment. It was like the place was made for her, Green Lady matching green (clad) lady. It was here she could think about her *own* past, and figured out what went right but also, yes, what went wrong according to her master plan formulated at age 17, her first year in college taking astromystics classes at Teepot Tech. She would acquire a husband in due time but not be chained to his lifestyle. Well, she missed the boat there(!). Although she loves Ben dearly, no one can deny his faults, primarily the threat of turning into a wolf during any full moon despite the continued treatments down through the years. “I can change,” he declares every now and then. “I *will* change”. “I have found The Lord now,” he also might tack on to any such proclamation. But wanderlust sometimes gets a hold of him and he’s gone for days, part of his wolf heritage surfacing. “Where were you now?” she’d ask, and he’d just go on talking about how The Lord told him to do this, and go there and do that. Always the same excuse. Sometimes she’d like to just yank this Lord dude out of the clouds and give him an earful back.
They managed, but it wasn’t what you’d call a perfect relationship. On the sly, sometimes Phyllis Phox would inquire to her lawyer friend in town — Rebl of course — about how divorcing a werewolf might fare. “Poorly,” she would emphasize. The pack always takes care of itself. Ben, of course, wouldn’t lift a finger — *probably* — but the others…
If only ditzy classmate Marsha wouldn’t have introduced me to him at that Benjamin Harrison Ball held at Grover Cleveland Hall down Former Presidents Lane. If only one or the other would have chosen a different college.
(to be continued?)
It wasn’t that other place that shall not be named but it was interesting enough in its own way.* Wabe… Wabd. He must remember to look for a green yard. Or perhaps a yd (“wide”) green. Level Green?
Now to the caves….
I later decided to add that it shouldn’t see itself as a second fiddle to Rose– (even if it was). Focus on strengths. Focus on the caves and the central village. More to be seen….