“Rooster,” he mutters, seeing the weather vane atop the barn on his peninsula. “I must think about this further.”
Full perms on the property here.
I wonder if Rooster could be related to Santa Claus?
What are you Nautilus?
Why are we here?
Tag Archives: Dasher Guy^*===
00320315
“I’m glad at least *you* remain my friend, Joey,” she said between sub bites. Dreaming makes her hungry. Must replenish, must recuperate. For most this is sleep itself. Not Leforest. “Agents can be so thin skinned. It’s *just* an assignment. Some fits are better than others.”
“Yeah,” expressed Joey across from her, also eating a sub but with meat instead of potatoes, “they told me to wear purple hair now…”
“Wondering about that,” says Leforest Bresford.
“Yeah, purple is sometimes a sign that you’re about to be taken off a case. Like, you know…”
“Debbie,” replied Leforest, thinking back to her description of the purple door in Lorsters Worst and how she couldn’t open it. *Sign*, yes.
“But to your dream.”
“Dreams,” corrected Leforest, glad for the diversion and thinking about her own red and blue companions at each shoulder, unseen to Joey and others as she chooses at the moment. But potentially another purple situation, with her in the middle which is, as we all know, unfortunately in the way a lot of times.
“Dasher” passes by. “Morning Luke,” says thought-to-be James or Jim L. Brown.
“Morning John,” he says back as he moves on to the corner down the way, no one to push around this time. Maybe next go round.
“Did you hear that?” whispered Joey over to Leforest, watching him now dash diagonally across the road in front of her to continue his cycle. “*John*. Not Jim.”
“Or James,” her fellow sub eater whispered back.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Certainly am.” Twins.
Then in total synchronicity to the situation the other twin walked by in the distance but neither spotted him.
Only we the blog readers know for sure still.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0315, Wendy-Ontario
00320311
“Good evening, Debbie. How are you doing tonight?”
“Been here long?” she asked her brother originally husband Dickie. “I… couldn’t decide what to wear. I just ended up coming as your sister. *Simplify* is what I say.” She takes another sip of her espresso, looks out the window.
“That’s Lake Ontario,” says the brother formerly husband. “Halfway here, halfway there.”
“Isn’t everything these days.” They sip in unison, tacit agreement with each other.
They catch up. Dickie fills in Debbie about Joey Avatar and Black Bart and the man who’s perhaps responsible for most evil in this town of Ontario which seems to be Ontario itself, one James or Jim L. Brown. “Pusher if not a taker,” he elaborates. He instinctively feels for his wallet again.
“Drugs?” she responds, glancing about the place to make sure no one was around still.
“Implied,” he said. “Through the indicator (Dasher).”
“Hmm,” she said, thinking of nothing else to say. It *couldn’t* be that simple. Pan-Z or Pot-D surely had more complicated reasons for being here. But she’s simplifying; maybe they are too. Ditching the paranormal aspect.
“You?” he said to fill the gap. “How’s Lorsters Worst going?”
“Oh I’m not there any more. Elisa took my place there.”
“Elisa?” He sipped, recalling her from other assignments. She always requested to be a red clad lady of the night. He thought she secretly just wanted to be a hooker outright, forget the force or group or whatever they’re calling our collective these days. He says his thoughts aloud for his sister.
“Could be, (sip). My theory: they let me out of the gig because I couldn’t find what was behind the purple door.”
“Elaborate,” he requested. His coffee was done. Time to light a fag. Fags always got his organizational brain going after a prerequisite caffeine boost. The more smoke filled his eyes, the better he could see.
“Oh dear,” she said, seeing the tears and redness. “Let me get you a rag.”
“No no, it’s just the smoke. Helps me think.” He continues to organize his thoughts and tear up, redness increasing. But he’s about to come up with something. He bursts out crying, finally putting the cigarette down. He loves his sister, he realizes. He never got beyond being the husband.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0311, Wendy-Ontario
no comet
Dickie had solved the mystery. A man, walking in a cycle, runs into him if he stands in front of Jim’s counter and pushes him to the corner, where he then leaves him and dashes diagonally across the road.
About 2 minutes later he’s back, pattern repeated. Again and again this happens. Did Jim set this up on purpose so customers wouldn’t loiter? he thinks.
The morning light was increasing. He had to find Joey Avatar to talk to her about the shoes and some other important things. Like their prospective date tonight. He doesn’t think he’s up for it. Besides, that apple juice he just bought from Jim was not quite agreeing with his stomach. Perfect excuse for backing out. “I’m sick, babe,” he rehearsed in his head. “Jim?” he imagined her saying, because he was responsible for the bulk of things bad in town. He may even be the person behind the transmutation of Black Bart himself, Dickie realized in this created scenario. He then imagines going back to Jim, confronting him. Oops, there’s that guy pushing him to the corner again. Yes: convenient.
Jim L. Brown, he recalled. He makes a mental note to check what the L. stands for sometime, because he’s heard of another Jim Brown and doesn’t want to confuse the two in his continued investigation. A., he also remembers about the other. Jim A. Brown, with the A. standing for nothing, he recalls, even turning into B. at the drop of a dime, for no rhyme or reason. Maybe L. is just a progression of this, and stands for nothing itself.
Here comes the dasher again. “Merry f-cking Christmas to you too!” he called in turn, stepping aside this time. Dasher yes, hmmm.
He checks his wallet but it’s okay. The guy appears to be a pusher but not a taker. Hmm, again.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0310, Wendy-Ontario
Sunklands 