He was disguising himself as a chatty alien to this town. Lucytown it could be called. We’ll see. Maybe Walltown. Or just: Wall. Wallytown.
“How did this Wall come about, Peggy? I prefer Moon myself. Better music, maybe better lyrics even. Did you know there is a Moon on the opposite side of Wall in Allegheny County, Pennsylvania? And Pennington County, South Dakota for that matter. And now: here. This proves that our — *my* music will live on in time. Past the 21st Century. Past more, hopefully. Moon is permanent, and maybe it can drag the interior Wall along with it.” He shakes his head, playfully adjusts his mouth, laughing. “Inferior I meant there, although a Wall certainly does have an interior… and an exterior. Inner and Outer. Do you know why they hang green and red banners along the exterior of the Wall instead of, say, yellow and blue? I saw a blue car parked beside them today, in the middle of the road. Got towed — I called it in. Do you like chocolate, Peggy? How about lemonade? How about rustling me up a freshly squeezed glass of lemonade? Or do I have to go to Bar Lemon for that? I will, you know. Just down the Wall and through the tunnel and hang a right.”
It was only then that Roger Pine Ridge realized he was talking to a mannikin all along. The other Peggy at the bar — Peggy 02: same story. Only Natali was real here, and she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. A day off is me-time for her. Talk to the hand all day today. In costume, she was, of course, our Molly Lustrous, a dancer at Bar Lemon Roger just mentioned, and a constant ride provider for Fisher, another town newcomer. That crazy robot friend of his, she thinks with a slight grin. And that yellow colored girl he keeps yammering on about all the time and getting in trouble because of it. He doesn’t even know about the secret stash of ammunition in Drugstore Orange just below that could blow up a, well, a town about this size.
“You have to click the keg at the end of the bar,” she finally managed. The still drink-less Roger followed her point. Soon he had a cranberry martini in hand, complete with lemon slice.
“Ah yes. Thank you, stranger. My name is Albert. Albert Halsey. I’m from Oregon, Earth, USA. I’m on the run; out of breath. You know: Time. Constraints that drive one mad and induce Brain Damage, Money not the least of them. Do you know about Money? Time, Money, Brain Damage? It will all survive the test of time. Well beyond the 21st Century. Maybe even up to the *31st* Century.”
Natali was thinking: how to ease out of this bar scene as gracefully as possible. After all, there were about a dozen bars in
Wall Wallytown she could visit by her estimation, and that may still be selling the burg short. Around every single blasted turn there seemed to be another one. Bar Lemon does a fairly steady business but it use to be different back in the old days. The days before the coming of the blimey Lindens. For this use to be a Lemony town through and through, Bar Lemon a link to that lustrous past. And herself as well. She could open up to this alien man sitting next to her and blow his freak’n mind. Give him a ride all over town and show him the sights, tell him where this and that use to exist and how it was mainly replaced by *inferior* structures and objects. Mr. Yellow knew too. Both of ’em. The town has certainly been pissed on by the Lindens. Yes, she could give him a total ear-full of info.
But it was her day off.