Exploring the city again…
Category Archives: 0516
“What do you think, Charlie?” strumming Roger Pine Ridge asked about his new song. “It’s a little more optimistic than my usual fare,” he explains further. “Call it ‘(Life is a) Beach’. Grass and Flip requested it — something more upbeat and lighter to work on, they told me. So I’m just writing about where I am. Right now in my life. Here. Just gotta think of some rhymes to go along with the the music.”
“Fine, fine,” states Charlie, only half listening, with the other half thinking about Margret, aka Poetry. Where was she tonight? Still stuck back in time, in the past. 1950’s still? Maybe even back — dare I think of it — to 1921? Where does that leave *me*? With Aloha? What the hell is Aloha?
Stopping the motion of his pick, Roger picked up on his friend’s concerns. “Don’t worry about Poetry, Charlie Banana. Where there’s a wall there’s a bridge. He starts the song over again, synchronistically thinking of another chord progression he could add to complete the bridge and the music as a whole.
I have a chance to return, finish my novel. “The Spinning Tire.” “The Revolving Wheel.” Still working on it. Still working on the text. I should talk to Buddy about it, the butler.
“Wait, you’re Alberta.”
“Correct, sir. Did you enjoy the Great Belt?”
“Did I tell you I am a butler and my original home was Butler? In Pennsylvania of the US of A.”
“Yes, I think you mentioned it. But what about *Urqhart*? We’re in Greater Urqhart, true. But if I choose to buy that land, or *retain* that land, we’ll be right in the heart of things. Green, Alberta. The land is so green. It feels like home to me. I’m not sure about Baker Bloch, though. I think he’d like to downsize and keep things in Fordham over on that arid Nautilus ridge. Obviously I’d like the opposite — seems like it. What — how do you weigh in, Alberta? You’re a trusted friend, and you know the area. What about that dried up body of water over there, Sox Pond and Indian Lake combined? Seems like that’s enough to keep me — us — in the area and away from Nautilus.”
“I think sir, considering all the possible pathways, that there is no true wrong decision at this point. And NWES —”
“Ah yes. NWES. Export of bits and pieces of Collagesity into that still growing, massive burg. Fast becoming the Tokyo of Mainland, Our Second Lyfe it is.”
“Marty is there,” suggested Alberta. “But also Marty is *here*.”
You can start with the house; build out from that.”
She tried to decide how to position herself when he entered the store. Should she be staring at the eggs? Away, perhaps at the closed or opened door on the other side? What would be more dramatic? What would be more *correct*?
She’d been rehearsing for weeks. “Formosa,” she declared down to him confidently at another time — perhaps he is sitting on the ground before her in a compliant position — “is a LOST island as well. *I*, Kate McCoy, formerly little Katy Kidd of Benangatron, have decided to *avow* my responsibilities to that supposedly responsible island. I *do not* want to be chained down by Big Government — unable to roam about freely.” She does a couple of rapid model poses to emphasize freedom of motion. In her mind, he stares up, a slave to her every tantalizing move.
Eventually, they would get to the eggs, and the sale thereof. “5000 lindens for *one*,” she spoked firmly. “And I get to choose. They’re all the same magical being but still — my choice.”
“Um,” he uttered rather helplessly, knowing that would about clean out his bank account. How would he eat for the next week? The eggs certainly weren’t food. And who knows what the magical being inside really was. Would it be yet *another* mouth to feed? Still — he felt he had no choice. He nodded, clicking on her and depositing 5000 into her own Our Second Lyfe account. She smiled, but not in a good way. She owned the boy now.
He left with the egg to now unbridled cackling behind him.
“I can’t believe it,” Guy Benjamin exclaimed a little later to Grandmama after she broke the news. “Grandpapa’s dead!”
“Did in with his own cane,” she explained, her voice starting to waver. “The old fool.” She was inconsolable for months, maybe years. Axis had done a bad thing. A bad bad thing. We must reexamine the ultimate motives of his character in light of this horrendous act.
He was having a dream again of that planet. Totally red, totally rusty. He was looking for Stewart this time, but Stewart had passed on to another realm. The Land of the Living. Because, in the dream, *he* was instead dead, trying to make his way back from, shall we call this Hell? No, Greg Nash Ogden corrected himself while staring around. Too luminescent, he decided, to be that place of anguish and gnashing of teeth. But certainly red like that place. No fire, though. Better wander around while I have my wits.
He eventually stumbles upon the underground base, vast in size.
A robotic weapons factory, at least in part.
But no food. He realizes he might starve down here. To life?
He receives a name on a back wall. Mars.
Greg Ogden wakes up, his mouth dry as desert.
“It’s the only place we could go to get away from Cindy A. Everywhere else: planes and rockets okay. But not here.”
“Let’s go find Little Jimmy,” Marion Star Harding urged, still lugging the attache case around with the required money.
“It’s the same car as at the gas station in Cassandra City, Tealy,” spoke Marion in his cool gangster style.
“I believe it might be.”
“It is,” reinforced Marion. “I have a photographic memory. This is the place.” He blew out air with this. Some things never change.
“Freebies!” Tealy then utters, pointing to a nearby pillar while waving his hand before his nose, a familiar gesture.
“No, it has to be that one car. Where I was born in the parallel lives. Patterns. Stick to patterns.”
“Okay.” They move on.
“We’ve seen this bastard before too.”
“Toppsity,” declares Tealy down below. “Toppsity?” he then questions Marion.
“X-City,” corrects Marion, pointing to his eyes and head.
So here it is, Tealy. The *real* bastard.”
“Little Jimmy,” states Tealy religiously. “So it is true.”
“Cradle to grave,” Marion Star Harding manages, crying again now. “A life well spent.” He changes.
“L$50000 well spent,” returns Tealy, still wishing they had tested out some freebies before purchasing such a golden egg. CHA-CHING. *Sit*.
Marion Tillie knew they now had a fighting chance against the machinations of the A.Team.
“Reggie, get out of here! This is not your story.” The rat scurried away under the master’s bed.
“So… the king made sweet love to his dead queen one too many times and finally fell into her grave. The End.”
“Marvelous, Frank,” cooed mate Felicia Fox beside him. “Tell us another one. How about the Prince who ate a basketball and it became his head.”
“No, no,” insisted Sam Swan. “How about the Princess who made love to a living person and then turned into one herself.”
“Old news,” groused Cathy Cat. “The Great Queen is the story. How she got good and dead in the first place. Shape pullers.”
“What do you think, Cheeky?” asked Frank Fox to the so far silent chihuahua across from him.
“Dunno. Don’t care. Whatever.” Cheeky then rolled over and took a little snooze on his pillow.
“Shape pullers it is, then.”
(to be continued)