Figment Sage

OR:

Nothing Artistic Ever Happens In This Place

Ross W. Allaire Egg House Omnimedia 6/19/2002 3/9/2004 4:53:36 AM 10/1/2006 7:44:04 PM 4/1/2012 12:29:49 AM

for Chris

SUNDAY NIGHT
With eyes closed, the other senses govern. At night, alone, quadruply so. Private Arthur Legend sits and waits, supported only by the small branch on which hes perched. Camouflaged, he has blended into the darkness, 30 feet above the jungle floor. Here he waits. Once waited for 4 hours for the enemys approach, and since then expects to wait twice as long. He will never be disappointed. But tonight the prey would come easily. He sniffs the air. The wind blows 2 mph faster for half a second, NSE, warm and moist. He could hear voices echo through the forest, and sweeping steps rattle the brush under several pairs of feet. They smelled of war. The private - 2nd class - quietly unlocked a safety on his automatic, and clipped a machetes sheathe with white, anticipatory knuckles. His eyes fixed to an invisible point on the horizon, where the prey would appear first in his line of vision. He was patient, but alert, allowing a single bead of sweat to make its slow path down his painted brow. His face stoic, gives away nothing; is trained to give away nothing. He is trained to take it all.

Legend burns with bloodlust. Patient, vengeful bloodlust. His blood hums in his ears.

There. Three enemy troops appear exactly where he knew they would, in a space between large branches below him. But still he waits, to attack them from behind, keeping a precious element of surprise, an eighth of a second, meaning the difference between life and death. They pass under him, and his moves are like a pumas pounce; but the branch beneath cracks. The enemies freeze, then scatter and began firing into the trees, shouting in their language for his soul to fall to hell. Legend falls to Earth, and shatters both legs on impact.

Anybody got a lighter? Sure man, here you go, replied the young Arthur. He tossed a purple cigarette lighter to Sketch, so he could light the tube right under the rock. They were, as usual, accompanied by two of the other neighborhood boys, Frank and Sid. Not brothers, but pals. Sketch sparked it, pinching the end with fingernails donning black polish. Cynthia, the girl of the little clan, leaned up against the support beam of the high tension power lines edging suburbia; she spoke, to Arthur. You really scared the crap out of us back there, you little shit. She was obviously a tomboy - short red pigtails, freckles, glasses, and more than half a brain. Sketch passed it to her as Arthur smiled. Yeah man, Sid spoke up. You know were on full cop alert when we come out here.

Which is exactly why I did it, he responded. Cynthia puff-puffed, and passed it. The crew was silent as she inhaled. An orange glow cast onto her face, and the tip of her nose heated. He coughed a little, then felt warm and good. They finished, talking of school and plans for the summer (among random other things). It had been exactly three and a half days since school let out, ending with a bomb scare and a fire in back of the stage. Sid, the oldest, was set to go to summer school and work at his cousins printing firm on the morrow. Come fall hed be a keen art student at the community college, but for now hes just a grunt at a plant. Frank, Sketch, and Arthur were looking forward to their senior year, or rather dreading their final year of high school, in anticipation of adulthood. Cynthia was just finishing her freshman year. Other than an honorable mention in the science fair, she regarded the first year of high school as unremarkable. She had also had a story published in the school journal. The event she felt most noteworthy was having dated Seth, a sophomore who used to hang around with the rest of them, but had since moved away. The story she wrote was about him. Her heart got broken, and thats more important than some stupid award. They walked to the tennis courts behind the development, and played with a glow-in-the-dark racquetball; they bounced it off the net, over their heads, off their heads, over the net, and everything else in the locked, fenced-in court. They were quiet, other than their sneaker squeaks and creaks on the courts fine concrete.

Afterwards, all went separate ways, each homeward. They respectively snuck in as quietly as seemed possible, creaking no floorboard,

banister, or loose tile along their ways. Cynthia set off to the bathroom for Visine and a tinkle. Sketch moped to his private bathroom and popped a few pimples on his acne-ridden face, and brushed his teeth. Frank flopped onto his bed with a Playboy, and Sid played guitar in his backyard under the moon. Arthur shut the door silently and removed his shoes. He tip-toed to the coffee table, lifted a twenty-dollar bill from his mothers purse, then hopped up the steps to his room. In pajamas he whispered a song to himself in bed, finally settling under the covers when it had concluded. He thought of the past, masturbated, cried, and fell asleep.

MONDAY
There was this late middle-aged couple that Arthur had coffee with occasionally, and he finds them, perchance, at a local diner every so often. He used to play with their children as a child, until the older brother died of meningitis. The couple was close to retirement, fortunately, for most of their conversations were set to the rhythm of each complaining about their jobs. Owen had been the foreman of a contracting company, but was moved a year and a half ago to a more executive position after the firm decided he was too old to be on site. They had viewed his age as a liability, and transferred him to a desk job, where Owen was miserable and lucky and bored. Marcie had worked as a waitress for nineteen years, but then started her own business, a small craft supply shop two blocks from the courthouse. In a rare show of family unity she decided to share management responsibility with her sister. Although Arthur loved them both, he often feels ashamed of himself. Their lives are horror stories, but their love seemed so perfect, and his life was devoid.

Marcie had first met Arthur about a week before the shop was set to open. He sat on the front steps of the empty store front with an open notebook and a cigarette. Marcie had come out for a smoke, and instantly started talking to him, not asking what he was writing, but just talking to him as if there were not the obvious fifty-year age difference between them. Neither can remember exactly what, of which, they spoke. On this day, Monday, Owen was finishing an anecdote, or a joke, or something with which Arthurs interest was not placed. There was silence, and Arthur spoke coldly. I give up, what is the square root of sixty-nine? Eight something! Get it?! Ate something?! Arthur and Marcie shared a hollow laugh, and Owen almost laughed himself to tears. Then he put his hands on the table, and spoke. Hey, I have to got to the bathroom, so Ill be right back. He strode away, and Arthur and Marcies eyes were locked on faraway points to avoid each others glares. Marcie then turned and looked at Arthur. Im sorry she said, shaking her head. Oh no, thats okay, Arthur spoke softly. I really wasnt looking for too much intelligent conversation anyway. How have you been, really. Great. Really? Yeah. Really? What the fuck is this? What the fuck? Owen came back, they left, claiming to have doctors appointments and in-ground pools to clean out, and things to do. Arthur stayed for only

one cigarette more in paranoid silence, then began the slow silent walk back to his house. In four days he gets a car. His mother is giving him the old station wagon. He knows how lucky he is to be getting a car at all, and does want the extra space. Then he can drive the band he knows to gigs.

He stopped at a supermarket along the way to pick up a jug of milk. About halfway to the dairy aisle, Cynthia appeared from around the corner of the cereal aisle, and was shocked to see Arthur there also. Hey, she called out to get his attention. Arthur looked up and smiled when he saw her. What are you doing here? she asked. Just picking up a gallon of milk for the family. Oh cool. You walking home? Yeah, Arthur said, and put his hands in his pockets. If you want, my mom might be able to give you a ride back to your house. Yeah, that would be great, anythings better than dragging a gallon of milk for a mile. Okay, Ill go ask and then come get you. I think my moms in line right now. Cynthia backed away while speaking, smiling widely. Ill be over here. She bounded away and Arthur resumed his slow pace to the milk. Cynthias mother pulled the car around to the front of the store while Arthur bought the milk. No one told him to buy the milk. He didnt even rightly know if his house was bereft of the liquid. But the chances are, Arthurs sure, that it is. The odds are terrible.

The van was full of females, all three little sisters except Cynthia and was filled with loud music from the local Top 40 station, as well as a DVD playing from a drop-down screen. It was a cartoon featuring an inanimate piece of coral as the main character. Arthur held the milk tightly in his lap as the minivan he rode in was jostled by the many pot holes in the road. It seemed to him like needless construction was always being done somewhere between the diner and his house. Maybe all along the road. Arthurs father had told him more than a few times, Its like no one expected this road to have a bunch of stuff on it, and they had to catch up with the lights and stuff, and he repeated this to Cynthias Mom. Thats right, Arthur. It is. Your parents tell you that? His dads version had more cursing.

He had her drop him off at the corner of his street, and he and Cynthia said goodbye as Arthur slid the big beige side door shut. She said she would call him later to hang out, and Arthur said he might be home. He walked to the house, up the steps, through the unlocked front door, and straight into the empty kitchen. His mother called out to him, saying something about TV dinners.

Mr. Legend looked cool on the witness stand, still cool after four straight months of court proceedings. Today he was to defend himself, or attempt to do so. This would most likely be the last day of a trial that had

swept the nation into a frenzy, dividing it between those who thought what he had done was right, and those who thought the electric chair was too good for scum like Arthur. Legend fidgeted in the uncomfortable oak chair as the chief prosecutor, H. Crosby Joyner, strode from his table up to the stand. Joyner was dressed in a gray flannel suit, and a trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. He wiped it with a handkerchief, and set his hands on the jurors box. Mr. Legend, are you prepared to lie to these people for one more day? Pardon? Legend was respectful in his query. Are you prepared to sit there in that taxpayer-bought chair and tell these twelve people - who have given up their free time for these long months - that what you did was right? As Ive said before, I did my best, Legend had proclaimed this from the very beginning, showing neither ignorance nor cognizance of the crime (or the good deed) he had committed. Do you think life is precious Mr. Legend? Yes. And do you think time is golden Mr. Legend? Uh, yes. Then why do you presume to tell this court that money grows on trees, Arthur?! Joyner pounded his fists onto the jurors box as he said it, making the jurors nervous. But Joyner still didnt look Legend in the eye. He only looked at the jurors, or at the wall behind them. I just tried -

You tried?! Joyner turned around and finally faced Legend, walking forward as he spoke. Your try hadnt nearly half the effort as someone elses just good enough. Youre trying to tell the court that youre best just wasnt good enough? Is that what youre trying to tell me? Im afraid so, sir, he whispered. Im sorry, I couldnt hear you. Speak up. Um, yes sir, Arthur said with shame on his face. Yes sir, he says ladies and gentlemen. Arthur Legend is a failure because his best - or what he claims was his best - just wasnt good enough. That is why he is sitting here before all you kind people today. Arthur Legend was reckless in his priorities, and faulty in his logic, and will have to do his damnedest to gain the respect of this prosecutor, this court, and this country, if he ever wants to be treated like the citizen he is. But Arthur Legend is a kind man. He is quiet, considerate, and generous. But this does not change the fact that his capabilities and competency have been questioned! He should not be trusted, and he should be reprimanded for the disservice he has done. Joyner walked back to his desk and took a drink of Scotch, then poured another to gesture with. You, my dear Arthur Legend, are a disgrace! Joyner drank the rest in a single gulp as the courtroom erupted with manic frenzy. Some cheered for the prosecutors job well done, and others booed him for his lack of compassion. The flashbulbs were endless. The judge, a stern burly man with a handle-bar moustache, pounded his gavel for order. But there was none. In a feverish mob, total strangers lifted Legend from his seat and whisked him from the courtroom. Armed military guards fought a crowd that wished to both save him and kill him. Some guards turned against their

duties to try to strike Legend, and reporters tried to get a statement from him. Legend was literally thrown onto his hands and knees once outside the courtroom, and there he began to run. Down a set of steps, outside the courthouse, and down the street, between swerving cars. He tried to gather their attentions one by one, but each was listening carefully was the judge read the sentence. His punishment was death by consumption. Legend wished the reporters and guards had tried to follow him, but they apparently werent so inclined. They were busy quoting each other

Arthur walked up to the diner with a heavy foot, and exhausted lungs from running the whole first mile. It was worth it, he felt. Here, at the second diner in one day, he would find solace from the world, and understanding from his friends there. All predicaments gain sympathy at a diner, or else none do.

This was the same diner, only the night version. Arthur could never be sure, but it always seemed to change between night and day. The same bright, white tile floors and chrome furnishings that glinted immaculately in the noonday sun somehow became large, obtrusive copper-veined marble tiling with black trim, and old brass fixtures reflected nothing in the halogen wasteland of the foyer. Inside, he was beckoned by Val Zatella, the lead singer of a local grunge band. Val drank iced tea, and pestered Arthur immediately for not giving up cigarettes yet. You know theyre going to kill you, dont you?

he said. Weed and coke on the side and whatever, that shits one thing but, man! Dont start with me Val, Arthur spoke. Not now. Val changed his sitting position from a wide lounge to almost a huddle, wanting to hear what was on Arthurs mind. Whats the matter, man? The young man shook his head, and spoke into the ashtray. G- Got into a fight with my parents before I came. Bad grades, that sort of thing. So? Its okay Theyll get over it, right? Yeah, Val spoke with one of the first voices of experience. Shit happens, they just gotta deal. That, and Im just so fucking tired, Arthur said while wiping some sweat from his face. He patted his forehead with a napkin, and blew his nose. Val turned and hollered up to the front, Hey! Get this man some coffee before he falls asleep on this dirty-ass table!

Suddenly the sleeping Dr. Legend was awake, aware of a presence in the room that was not there before. In the eighteen months he had been in the rain forest, the doctor had learned to sleep with one eye open, and tonight was to be no exception. He let his left eye open a sliver, and looked to his left. Only the canvas of the tents side moved with the light wind, and the shadows of the surrounding plants could be seen. He shut that eye and opened the other, and there it was.

The panther was huge, and drooled slightly out of the corner of his crooked smile. Suddenly it perked its head up, and Dr. Legend could hear its nose sniffing the air loudly. The panther turned and stared right at him, and took a silent step towards his cot. Legend remained perfectly still as the panther moved its nose up and down his body. It came to his face, and sniffed his mouth, and the doctor damned his foolishness for eating ice cream after dinner. The panther licked its lips, but moved on down to his torso, and nudged his arm with its nose. Legend was paralyzed with fear, and counted on that paralysis so he would not move and alarm the beast. The panther came to his face again, and turned its head to look directly at his eye, which although was open only a sliver, could still be seen reflecting the bright moon shining through the open tent. The panther seemed to know that the doctor was awake. Who do you think youre fooling? he thought he heard it say. But the animal quickly turned, and sauntered lazily out of the tent. There was no sound to the movements across the floorboards, save for creature bumping into his desk with its tail. The panther turned one last time to gaze at the doctor before stepping out, and let out a whispering snarl as it did so.

Arthurs parents shut his bedroom door, and Arthur tried to regain the sleep he had lost when they walked in to check on him. They were glad he was safe, in bed.

TUESDAY
It was as if the world was going on full speed, but there at the counter of the diner he had been to yesterday with Owen and Marcie, Arthur looked less animated, moving with slow deliberate action. The rising of the coffee cup to his lips, and the drag off his cigarette seemed to last half a lifetime as waitresses howled out orders and babies cried and couples and business partners had early lunches. All this commotion took place behind Arthur, and he seemed to be only vaguely aware of any such disturbance. His eyes were fixed on the myriad boxes of cereal that stood in several lines on the top shelf in front of him. His face was vacant, his mind still asleep, his eyes placid and loathing life. Suddenly a voice called out for Arthur out of the madness, and Arthur turned around, and before him was a tall blonde with hazel eyes, pale perfect skin, and a waning smile. Arthur? Arthur from Shelley Elementary School? she spoke. Yes, thats me. Its me, Veronica Florsheim.

It might have seemed to any observer, even Veronica herself, that Arthur had not recognized the girl until she spoke her name. True, her face had changed, and she had grown tall in the years since their last meeting. But a persons eyes are always the same, and when Arthur had turned and seen her say his name, he knew on some level exactly who this belle was. Instantly Arthurs expression of indifference changed to a surprised smile. Hey! How are you? What are you doing here? Oh, I was just in town. Thought Id stop for a cup of coffee a before the long drive. Why? Where are you going? Back home, I live in upstate New York now. Wow, I didnt know that. Your family still lives here though, right? Yeah, but Mom likes me to stop by every once in a great while. So what do you do now? Arthur asked a stupid question, she was the same age as him, so she was probably still in high school. Well, Im still going to high school, but next year Ill be going to art school. Like, painting? Yeah. Wow, thats cool. A beat passed, and Arthur remembered what one asks a person from a former life, You still talk to anybody from the old crowd? The old crowd was their elementary school class. Arthur attended a special school for gifted students as a child. The friends he had made their had never been replaced in Arthurs mind, but he hated them with every bone in his body, except for Veronica.

Their pasts were forever entangled because of elementary school, for Veronica was the first girl he had ever loved. They had been friends, and for two months out of six years had shared a pen pal relationship. From his house to hers and back again letters flew of I love you, and other such phrases. Veronica answered Arthurs inquiry slowly, for bad news lay at the end. Well, I saw Jim earlier in the week, and he took me to this barbecue at his house where a lot of them were. Melanies doing some parttime registry work for the state. Alan is taking correspondence courses soon for accounting, and then hes going to community college after senior year. Robs in jail unfortunately, and the, uh funeral for Delilah was supposedly 3 or 4 months ago. I never really got a clear answer Jesus, he spoke. Arthurs eyes returned to the ashtray before him. He struggled to remember every single classmates face. Delilahs was the fuzziest of all. Shit happens when I lose touch. Veronica was running late, so excused herself to the bathroom. Arthur didnt know it, but Veronica had made what happened between them a part of her soul just as he had. But unlike Arthurs movement past those emotions, beyond them, the girl had developed a talent over the years for turning her pain into art. Arthur would have though her paintings beautiful, without ever knowing one was a portrait of him, a scene from the playground, the writing of the first reply, etc. When Veronica returned, she stopped, hugged Arthur and said these words, Goodbye, it was great to see you again, and then breezed quickly through the front door like a spirit moving freely towards the next world.

Abrupt, heartfelt, and quick. Arthur again turned his gaze to the cereals, and moved his eyes back and forth, thinking of the faces of those from his childhood, and the words spoken to him by those faces. He thought of Veronica, and their emotional parting. He had loved her for a long time back then, and eventually just stopped thinking about her. But with this random meeting, a lot of feelings were stirred up again, forcing Arthurs eyes to begin to water. Suddenly the front doors opened again, and Veronica walked back in and went straight to Arthur. He looked at her with his welling eyes, and was unafraid. She was out of breath, but managed to speak. This meeting wasnt just random, nor was it fate. Jim told me he knew you hung out here a lot, so I stopped by to see you on purpose. I wasnt sure what I would do or say, but now that Im here I couldnt leave without this. And she kissed him. A simple kiss where for a moment they were both ten years old again sitting in the crotch of a tree in the field in back of their elementary school. For a moment neither felt the strain of having to complete this feeling, because there was no logical way to go about it. For a moment, eternal perfection reigned, and then she was gone again. No words were exchanged at Veronicas second leaving. She just puckered for the end, retreated, gave him a look with a tear, a smile, and lovelight all around her in his teary eyes. Then she turned and ran from the diner, and Arthur stood watching the door swing back.

Three waitresses, gathered at the edge of the counter, applauded him.

He watched her walk down the steps to the side, almost bumping into another young girl walking up. Veronica got into her car, started it, put her car into reverse and drove away. She never even looked into the diner. If she had she would have seen Arthur smiling at her, wishing for her third return. Arthur sat motionless, a cigarette in his hand ashing itself into his bowl of cereal. This time she was gone, she had done what she had to do, and left Arthur there alone with nothing gained. She had broken his heart for the second time.

Later Arthur went to work, a long grueling bike ride from the diner. As he walked in he was bid a cheery hello from Charlotte, for she needed his help. Charlotte was the large black woman who owned the Reading for Good bookstore, so named because she donated a large portion of the earnings to various local and national youth charities. She had served as a prominent civic figure whom Arthur had met through the Mock Trial group in his freshman year. She had struck him then as a wise and imposing figure, but a soft heart, and a kindred soul. On one night about a month before, Charlotte had been walking home and was struck by a drunk driver, and broke her leg in four places. Now with crutches, she had needed a helping hand around the store, and gave Arthur a call, then a job. Today she welcomed him eagerly, since a short blonde woman was trying to reach the shrink-wrapped copies of Judy Blume on the top shelf in the rear of the shop. Arthur walked in amidst a flurry of groans, and phrases like, No no, Ill get it.

Arthur, taller than both women, easily reached and grabbed the books, much to their rejoicing. As the fully satisfied customer walked out after purchasing two boys books and three girls, Charlotte turned to young Arthur and spoke with a proper Georgian accent. Thank you, child. I think wed still be there trying to reach those until closing time if you hadnt walked in just then. What can I say? Arthur blushed deadpan, I have a gift for timing. Yes you do, and youre just in time to sort through the new Oxford Dictionaries we just got in. Now go on before my opinion of you has a chance to change. She said it with a smile on her face and true appreciation for the boy in her voice, and Arthur walked to the back of the store with a laugh. He got to the back room, and forcefully ripped open a few boxes, pulling away the tough tape holding them shut. He whistled to himself the tune of Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer as he stacked the dictionaries next to him.

As it happened, another diner which Arthur frequented was on Charlottes route home, so after work she drove him there, playing the James Cleveland tape she had just bought. She sang along with a deep and full gospel voice at the top of her lungs, feeling the words in the depths of her heart. She looked over at one point and saw Arthurs despondent look, and shut off the tape. Okay, she said, well play something a little more to your hue, if you know what I mean. She pulled another tape from her center console

and shoved it in, and Simon and Garfunkels Cecilia began tapping through the speakers in the doors. Again Charlotte began singing loudly, bouncing in her seat, and tapping her fingers along with the beat. Then she began pounding on the steering wheel, and the car began to sway back and forth to the rhythm. Arthur braced himself with a clenched fist on the door handle, and shut his eyes when he saw Charlotte had not noticed the red light she was approaching, still singing loudly and moving her shoulders to the music. They flew through the light, and a police car pulled out onto the street with its lights flashing. Charlotte, in seeing the lights, let a few colorful expletives slip past, and quickly but smoothly pulled to the side of the road. She stopped the tape before Paul Simon had returned from the bathroom. The police cruiser came to a stop behind them, and Charlotte took on a stoic expression, almost ashamed of letting the boy see her in this position, especially when she was trying to cheer him up and show him a good time. The officer came to the window and began speaking. I suppose you know why I - Charlotte? Damn, I never expected you! Im sorry sir. How come you ran the red? The cop was still shocked that before him was the living goddess of Good Girl Charlotte as she was known around town. Well, I was trying to show my young squire here the upbeat rhythms of Simon and Garfunkels song Cecilia and I guess I forgot what I was doing.

Understandable. Well, Charlotte Uh, Im going to warn you for now, but next time I wont think twice to give a ticket, even if it is you. Red lights mean business, and you shouldve taken notice. Ill try to keep my mind on the road instead of the music, she said with a grateful tone and a toothy smile. Ill be seeing you Miss Charlotte. Good bye officer, stop in sometime, she said with a wave. The cop walked off humming the tune to himself, and Charlotte and Arthur were left in the car with silence between them. Charlotte shut of her hazard lights, and began to pull away, waving at the policeman as she slid past his car. While gritting her teeth in a smile that wreaked of Southern Hospitality, she spoke, Ciao, you pig bastard.

Arthur entered the diner tired from work, and with a hunger for coffee in his stomach. He waved to the Frank the manager as he walked in, and continued on to the last booth, lighting a cigarette on the way. Frank watched the kid with a half-smile of uncertain admiration. Whos that? the man across from Frank asked. Some kid. He comes in here every once in a while. Smart as hell, and quick as a whip. Arthur took his seat quietly, and a thin red-haired waitress served him a cup of coffee. Do any more writing kid? she asked. No, Angela Not lately, just trying to think about stuff instead of writing it down. Ah, thinking, she said while twirling her bubble gum around her finger. Something more people around here should do. She began to walk away and hollered to the front, Right Frank?

Whatever Angie, he moaned. Angie turned and smiled at Arthur, still walking to the kitchen Hear that kid? He agrees with me?! Arthur laughed with her and smiled while pouring the sugar into his steaming cup. His laugh died as the kitchen doors swung closed.

Two cups of coffee and seven cigarettes later Arthur was staring out the window, watching stolen cars pass through the night. Some were borrowed, others jacked. Humidity hung round every street lamp, and the nights depression smacked into the neon-tinted glass. It came up in waves, and broke at Arthurs eyeline. Then, as if it were wading through the sticky air, a dark figure emerged and hobbled towards the red glow of the diner. A part of Arthur wanted to think it was a stranger, some wayward soul unfamiliar to anyone in the diner. But though his visage would seem to denote the opposite of this, perhaps innocence, Arthur knew exactly who this man climbing out of the gloom was. He was dressed in gray non-distinctive clothing. Unshaven, dirty, and wavy red hair frayed and sprayed out in every direction. It was cut unevenly. He made a slow way up the steps of the front door, held it open for a young couple leaving, and seemed to drag himself to the back of the diner. He sat down at Arthurs booth without a sound. They were now alone in the room. Art, man, he coughed out the words. Arthur sniffed a laugh at his pseudonym being Artman, a forgery and black market crime-fighter in an all-black corduroy costume with fake cowhide leather knee and elbow pads, combat boots, black goggles, black wide-brimmed fedora

I need your help with something. The man slurred his speech and paused after the first few words, as if the action of speaking were his least favorite activity. Arthur remained unfazed. Jack, he said blankly, its good to see you. How are things? Artmans car is a customized 1974 Ford Maverick with an all-electric engine, swaybars, roll cage, push bar, wider tires, a striped matte black and midnight metalflake paint job, all blackout windows My land lady locked me out of my place again, and this time I need your help to get back in. How am I going to help you? I dont know, he slurred more, and fidgeted with the glass sugar container. Arthur took it from him without averting his eyes from Jacks face. You want me to pick the lock? Jack grunted, groaned, clutched his stomach a little, then wheezed. I saw you do it here once. I mean Whatever man, I need to get back in. Im dying out here Arthur took a heavy drag from his cigarette, exhaled, then sighed. Okay, take me to your proprietor. The boy alone knocked on the door to the superintendents apartment suite, and an attractive young girl came to answer it. She seemed speechless when she saw Arthur, and Arthur himself choked on the words he tried to speak. Are you the land lady? A voice screeched from deeper inside the apartment, Who is it?! Whos at the door?! And then an ugly woman with her hair in curls

wearing a moth-eaten pink bathrobe barged into the doorway, and stared at Arthur through narrow reading glasses. She seemed a caricature of herself, a joke, but humorless. What the fuck do you want? Hi, Arthur was polite and raised the pitch of his voice to sound like an innocent young kid, my name is Andrew. Im a friend of Jacks. So? Well, he has some important belongings of my mothers, and I need to get into his apartment. What? That deadbeats your fucking dad? No madam. Arthur spoke calmly even though inside he was internally convulsing at the implication. If you could be so kind as to unlock the door. Wait here, the woman spoke, leaving Arthur at the door. The young girl who first appeared was sitting at a table in the kitchen talking to someone, a someone whose muscular and tattooed forearm he could see holding a lit joint. The girl looked at Arthur and smiled, and the forearms owner appeared. Arthur smiled and nodded to him respectfully, and he nodded back. Friends nod upward. The nod down is between fellow men. Heres that worthless scums spare keys, the woman appeared again. Tell your mom shes brainless as a toy skull to even associate with a piece of shit like that. The woman threw the keys at Arthur. And if you see Jackass by any chance, tell him if I see even one body part of his inside this building Im shooting it on sight. She pulled a handgun from the

pocket on her bathrobe. Now get going before I make you the same promise! She slammed the door, and Arthur walked down the hall idly wondering whether or not he could press legal action, and whether or not he would if he could. He concluded a heartfelt probably not at all, then turned a corner, stepped outside onto the only even patio in the project, and went to a grouping of bushes around the dumpster inlet. This is where drug people hide. Arthurs eyes adjusted in the new copper light while his nose tried to ignore the smell, and the pupils came to see Jack huddling in a fetal position behind the dumpster. Did you get the keys? he shivered. Yknow, man you certainly have a way with people, he shook his head, and held up the set of keys. Lets go. Inside Jacks meager apartment, Arthur sat on the only chair, a fading orange armchair with many cigarette burns and fraying edges. He smoked a cigarette, and watched the swirls of smoke light up and fade from the green and red neon lights coming in between the Venetian blinds on Jacks only window. Arthur could hear commotion from his bedroom, and Jack quickly came out with a painted black cigar box. Jack sat cross-legged on the floor, and prepared a syringe. He swabbed the tip, and wrapped a thin cordovan belt around his arm. He tapped the syringe and tapped the vein, and hit it on the first try.

The usual: the belt unwinds, the arm is flexed, the veins regain their senses and bring the contents of the syringe to various parts of the body. Some

familiar synapses fire, some other chemicals are released by the body, and now were really fuckin cookin A calm, of course, came over Jacks face. Wrinkles around his eyes dripped away. He laid back against the couch, from the floor, his head resting askew backward on the seat cushion. He says, Golly, then grins for half a minute, then clumsily stands up to run some cold water in his face from the bathroom sink. Cold water on my face, gonna bathroom, he says while walking through the kitchenette area of the apartment. Arthur chains another cigarette. Jack staggered back out, his hair slicked back and the top button on his pants undone. He made a motion for Arthur to get out of his chair, and Arthur moved to the floor. Thank you Arthur, Jack spoke softly, leaning his head back in the chair. He looked ten years younger, like a vampire might after feeding. A cigarette pointed towards the sky from his mouth, unlit and broken. Arthur returned his thanks, rose and began to walk towards the door. Jack began to melt into the chair. Arthur opened the door, and Jack called out his name. Yes Jack? he asked. I want you to know something What is it, Jack? Jack lifted his head up a little, and gazed with wide piercing blue eyes right into Arthurs buried soul. Two things. Youre the only one that calls me by my name. And that you saved me tonight, he said.

I know, Jack. Arthur has ranted publicly several times about the clich-ness of the repetition of words in myriad films, and his complete lack of comprehension as to why anyone in their right mind would just say the same thing they just said again, and the ridiculousness of false drama created by the unlikelihood of two people, alone in a room, calling each other by name, and then the use of the repetitive clich dramatic compassionate line. Here in this room, alone with Jack, he follows up with, I know, then abruptly exits through the half-opened door.

Commander Legend turned back and gave Steadman a look as if to denote a moment of silence from the rest of the long, hazardous journey. They had run into a lot of trouble on the grueling 8-month trip through space together, and now their small pod was sitting on the lonely surface of the planet Mars. Legend tightened his grip on the door handle and turned it. A gentle burst of air around the hatch made a hissing sound, and the hinges creaked from the cold as Legend pushed the door open. It seemed lighter, but not much. Before them was the Martian landscape, serene and benign, and they bounded down the few steps to get to the surface. (A word on the first step Legend took: He hardly noticed it. Rather than the glorified moment Armstrong had when his foot imprinted itself on the moon, Arthur Legends first step on Mars was barely even visible, let alone even acknowledged.) There stood two men in complete awe of the totally foreign quality to the place, because nothing - not even the extensive VR training they both had to endure - could have prepared them for actually being on a different planet

other than the one on which everyone else they had both ever known had been born, lived, and would probably die.) The two travelers quickly began hopping around to test the gravity on the planet. A lot like walking with scuba flippers, was how Steadman put it. Their stay lasted fourteen days, during which they collected over 400 pounds of rock for later inspection, 200 ice samples from the polar caps, and 20 plaster moldings of interesting rock formations that could be sedimentary mini-craters from animals or water that may have strolled the surface millions of years ago, or last week. However, on the fourth day of their visit, Steadman began to get very sick. It started with his breathing, Legend could hear the wheezing in his breath and the scratch in his voice. Then he began complaining of headaches, and a constant drowsiness for no apparent reason. But on the fifth day, as Steadman groaned while leaning down to pick up a rock with high calcium deposits in it, he coughed, and vomited blood onto the inside of his helmet. Houstons only advice was to monitor his condition and limit his activity. They would keep his sickness a secret back home, fearing the outcome of reporting that the already secret mission was quickly becoming a major disaster. Because of several hundred mechanical failures on the way to Mars, Houston was prepared to leave the men to die in space and never reveal to a world on the brink of war that an effort to rediscover peace was a complete failure. All of the contact the astronauts received had been concocted so as they would not know the mission was a secret, either. Interviews on major news networks were faked, actual tv news personalities are sworn to secrecy with signed and notarized confidentiality agreements.

But Legend was more severely worried about his companion than the interviews, or the mission for that matter, for he had begun to complain towards the last day of mild hallucinations, a ringing in his ears, and a certain feeling of claustrophobia. Houstons advice was to sequester Steadman to the ship for long periods of time. Legend decided that since Houston was not personally watching someone go mad, and would probably never know what happened if the ship happened to blow up on the way back to Earth, he could cut the man a little slack and let him roam about the surface for a few hours before initial takeoff procedures were under way. He created static in the feed for a while. Steadman ended up sitting in a clearing and tossing rocks through the air, watching them sail through the lack of air. The rocks were the only thing to do, after all. The journey was to be a long one home, because as they began to take off from the planets surface, Steadman doubled over in his chair and began vomiting profusely, sending the bile flying through the cockpit. But after they cleared the atmosphere, Legend tended to the ships procedures while Steadman floated weightlessly and gazed out of the port side window for some time. Thats all one really has on any space mission - time. After all is said and done, there are long periods of it when nothing can be done, and sleep seems like a silly option. Especially with so much half-frozen vomit floating around. Legend looked at his clock and shut off the blinking halogen cabin lights, letting the yellow sunlight come in through the windows. Steadman spiraled slowly and freely, crouched into a fetal position. His eyes were wide open, but staring blankly. Legend moved to glide into the command module, when Steadman finally spoke.

Arthur, his voice was raspy and low. Arthur looked back at him. Yes, Jack? Do you ever look at the stars? All the time. Do you ever think that someone, somewhere is circling one of those specks of light on a planet just like Earth, looking up at us, and wondering if we exist? Or even, wondering if anyones wondering if they exist? I dont know. Maybe Im just wondering what the hell Im doing here. Arthur looked at Jack as he spiraled through the cold air, his body transformed into a perpetual motion machine. Youre spinning, Jack. Steadman bumped into the wall, and laughed. Good night Arthur, he spoke. Good night, sung, and it was good to smile and sing lovingly to someone. He turned, grabbed a handhold, and floated towards the back of the ship.

B-B-B-B-BB-B-B-BRRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGG!!!

Every alarm in the ship was instantly chiming its deafening bell and chirp at once beyond maximum volume, and speakers blew all around. Reality began to flash in and out of itself, up and down were turning and blinking and switching places. The universe had become illogically mad, and completely wrong. The ship quaked and rocked, sending the two astronauts careening around, flying against the walls, breaking multiple bones with every hit; screaming for their lives.

WEDNESDAY
Arthur was jolted out of his sleep and running for the closet at 9:46 am, forced out of slumber by his raging alarm clock, set to an evangelical station at full blast. and all Hell followed him! on a dynamic mic.

The usual dull morning shift at the store followed, Charlotte chatting on the phone with daughters and laughing with customers. She had been terse with Arthur all morning, just pithy. She didnt say a word about the cop to any of her friends, or anyone else for that matter. Arthur imagined the concept of her reputation getting her out of a ticket would be a source of praise for the woman, but instead Charlotte felt it as a stain on that very reputation. Being pulled over in the first place was an embarrassment Charlotte didnt want to advertise. After about three hours of silence, the bells on the door rang and Arthur looked up. Marcie walked in and bid Charlotte (who cradled the telephone on her shoulder as she painted her nails) a bright hello, and walked towards Arthur.

Hey kid, she said, eying some of the books on the shelf near him. Whats up? Not much, just working, was Arthurs tired and bland response. Yeah, Marcie sighed, Owens fixing the bathroom floor, as well as cursing profusely at the tiles, so I thought I would get out of the house for a while. So, of all the places in the world you could have gone, you come to a bookstore to see me? You have to raise your standards a little bit, he joked. What can I say? she shrugged. I like you. Arthur thought, put a handful of miniature dictionaries in a neon pink basket, and said Oh, okay then. Thats acceptable. Marcie loomed around the store for fifteen minutes, then asked Arthur if he would be at the diner later. He said he was staying in for the night, but asked if she was free later in the week. Arthur wished to sequester himself at home so as to avoid the realities in which he was swept up the night before. That cop knew Charlotte on sight. Sorry, Arthur Owen and I are going to visit some friends in Wildwood for a few days. Oh well, maybe next week then. Yeah, Marcie prepared to leave. Ill see you around. They hugged and Marcie left, ringing the bells again.

Arthur rode the bus home after work, staring out the window as the delicate small-town-downtown area faded slowly into suburbia. He

watched the trees get greener and the other passengers slowly disappear from the seats around him. His eyes turned away from the darkened window when the urban landscape disintegrated into the first farmland, and his gaze passed over the inside of the bus. He searched for something upon which to gaze, something to contemplate. He found an elderly man and a little girl sitting side by side. The man stared off into the ceiling, and the little girl played with a doll, bouncing its yarn hair and button eyes in her lap. The bus came to a stop and the man got up. He beckoned the little girl and she followed. They walked to the front, and the man held his wrinkled arthritic hand out to her. She took his grip and was led down the steps and across the street to a lone farm house. The next few stops were the new suburbia, the new development the white ghetto. Arthur watched the two walk up the steps of the front porch and disappear into the distance as the bus pulled away. The rest of the ride was similarly uneventful, and Arthur nodded to a priest as he walked to the front when his stop came.

It was dinner time, and Arthur sat quietly with his mother and father. Dad wanted to watch television while he ate, but Mom wouldnt let him, insisting they have a family dinner. So far the dialogue of the scene consisted of Dad complaining about work, in half-hearted retaliation for the lack of television, and Mom gloating about the great deal she had gotten on the pasta that was their dinner. She had bought ten boxes of it, so they were to be prepared to eat a lot of pasta. Then she described the various and sundry preparations of the meal. But the stale talk had died a while ago, and Arthur, much as he had remained while his parents spoke, was quiet. The food was eaten slowly,

deliberately, and his eyes didnt raise from the plate, except when reaching for the salt and pepper; darted straight to the salt and pepper. If Arthur could have explained his silence, he probably would have. The short explanation is this: If Arthur bothered to articulate his thoughts, he believed his parents would have no idea what he was talking about. So, why bother confusing the folks? What do you think of the pasta? Arthurs mother probed to make conversation with her seemingly vacant son. Its good, he replied. Its not too cold? No, its just fine. I could warm it up Its fine. Not too bland? Arthur chewed, and made a correlation between her asking that same question of his life, as well as the pasta. Just needed some seasoning The phone rang, and Arthur picked up the cordless sitting next to him. Hello? Her eyes went to Arthur, it was for him. Arthur, its Cynthia. Can I go take this in the other room? Sure. Arthur got up from the table and walked into the living room and sat down. Mom, hang up. The woman had trouble setting the phone on its receiver so a few static clicks passed before the final one. Arthur waited a minute to see if she indeed had hung up. So, whats up?

Well, I dunno how to tell you this, but Sketch and Sid both got caught with yknow-what by their parents. Theyre both grounded for a month. Oh, man, Arthur said blankly. Yeah, its bad. Arthur paused and thought, and looked out the window. Ive still got some, do you want to watch the sunset? Sure. Okay, Ill meet you at the hill in a little bit. Cool, Ill see you then. Okay, bye. Bye. Arthur pressed a button on the phone to hang it up and returned to the kitchen where his parents still sat and picked at their food, pretending they werent talking about him. Im going to go hang out with Cynthia. Okay? Okay, wear a warm jacket, replied his mother. Arthur grabbed his keys and went to his room to get his stash. He opened the trunk next to his bed and removed a small plastic bag from his black cigar box, then flew down the steps and out the door without another word. He left, and his parents still sat. Mom stared at the front door, and Dad pulled Arthurs plate closer to him. I think he took some more money from my purse, Mom spoke. Dad took a bite of Arthurs food and winced. Ugh, he said, too much pepper. He pushed the plate away with disgust, poured another glass of Scotch, and turned on the television.

The sunset was beautiful. The stratus clouds fanned and branched out, making the sky on fire with red and orange leaves. The silver linings were like neon lightning bolts in slow motion. Arthur lit a joint after the first things first, and Cynthia spoke. I told those guys a million times, never hide it in your fuckin sock drawer, but did they listen to me? No. Now look what happened. Well, some men you just cant reach. I dont know. Where do you hide yours, if you dont mind my asking? Actually I do, but its not like my parents will go looking anyway Yeah, I dont think my mom would ever suspect me of anything. Its not so much a matter of suspicion, my folks just have other shit to domore important things to worry about than how fucked up I get. Oh, do you have brothers and sisters? No, Arthur replied quickly, having been asked that question a million times. Well, what else would they have to worry about then? Cynthia took a hit off the joint, and the thought occurred to her that she and Arthur had never talked about their real personal lives before, let alone ever been alone with each other. She thought Arthur had like, a big divorced family or something. It had always been the rest of the group, and Arthur found himself giving as dry and honest response as he could, as if the answer nor the question bothered him. Television, cooking, shopping, the liquor closet

Oh, she replied. Cynthia understood his meaning. Its okay though, Arthur spoke eagerly, not wishing her to get the wrong idea, if such a thing existed. I dont have some sort of abandonment issue or anything, I dont think so, anyway. Fact is Id prefer them to ignore me completely, Maybe it would be easier then. What do you mean? Cuz, Arthur took a hit, I hate my life. Whats to hate about it? He exhaled. Nothing artistic ever happens in this place. Its like a really boring movie with no fucking climax, no conflict to make things interesting, barely a plot, just a series of misadventures. But thats what real life is supposed to be like. What do you want? You want the terrorists to take over our high school? You want the war to break out downtown? She laughed as Arthur passed her the joint. Well, he said in all seriousness, that would at least make our lives interesting. There would be room for something less dull, room for something more dramatic than drudgery, more honorable than just talking shit. Theres beauty all around us, Arthur. I dont think you see it. We live in this place where there is beauty everywhere. There are parks and rivers, museums and galleries, even professional sport. Thats interesting She took a hit and passed the joint to Arthur. Theres art all around you Arthur, you just have to look at it with the right kind of eyes. You have to see the art of the new depression, your depression and the worlds. Oh please, Arthur spoke with spite and took a hit, You and I both know nothing artistic will ever happen in this place, unless you count

an atom bomb or zombie apocalypse as artistic. The only thing I see is a bunch of people who are content in these lonely pathetic existences bound for failure and wishing nothing more than a job that pays enough, a wife who cooks well and doesnt disagree too much, but just enough, and kids who stay out of trouble like they forgot to do when they were that age. Thats beautiful, but its shitty, and I dont want a thing to do with it. Wow, that was a rant. But the beautiful shitty is beautiful too. You seem to want the extremes. You want either a place thats beautiful and artistic, or a place thats shitty and filled with aesthetic value, but devoid of any kind of beauty. Yeah, either a huge log cabin on a mountain that overlooks a lake, or some roach-infested stuffy 5th floor apartment in New York. Id either one of those. I dont think youd be content with either one, to be honest, she said quickly. Arthur took a hit, and almost burned his lips. How did you get to be so fucking smart all of a sudden? You think you know me? She had hit a little too close to the mark, but he was smiling when he said it. Lets just say Im a good judge of character. Nobody ever asks me what I think of anything, how I see this world were caught up in. Im an aspiring writer too, and I can see things with a sense of clarity that only comes with time. I read your stuff in the school paper, and I can tell were a lot alike. We both have this living with pain thing down cold. Im not an aspiring writer. Im a writer. And all that got printed was shit, and what do you know about pain?

Uh, asshole You guys all think that Seth and I just parted ways without any kind of goodbye? That was fucking hard for me! He broke up with me the day before he left, at my stupid surprise birthday party, in front of my whole family My grandparents were there! He didnt even give me a present or a goodbye kiss, and he didnt even stay for the whole party. You guys loved Seth but he treated me like shit. I still love him and it kills me that you guys revere him as some kind of absent god. Im sorry Arthur flicked the roach, and mumbled, He was always cool with me. Yeah, and he left you guys because he saw a chance for something better and he took it regardless of any other factor in his life, least of all me or the rest of the morons in our school that loved him. I would do the same thing though. I wouldnt care if I had a girlfriend, an invalid mother or a dentist appointment, Id get the hell out as quickly as possible if I could without a second thought. Cynthia stood up, and for a second Arthur thought she looked beautiful with the sun setting right behind her. I hope youre finally happy when you do get out, and she began to walk away. Arthur sat, shook his head, and called out to her. Wait, Cynthia, he said, and stood. Please, wait. Lets not argue man, just sit. I didnt mean to be so harsh. You just happened to be sitting here to hear the same old rant that goes through my head every single day. She turned back, and he spoke again. Fact, thats the first time Ive ever actually delivered it out loud. She returned. They hugged. I feel the same way you do, she whispered, about everything.

They hugged for another moment, and then sat down. Arthur looked at her as she rubbed her eyes with her cardigan sweater. Here, lets smoke another one, Arthur said in a conciliatory fashion while pulling out another joint. I think we could both use it. Cynthia agreed, of course, and Arthur let her take the first hit. They sat on the hill and watched the sun disappear, the purple clouds pass and fade, and the starry sky emerge as the sky became black. They talked about their writing, their dislikes of certain students and teachers at school, and their odd life experiences. Arthur spoke of the greatest sunset hed ever seen, in Israel. It was a place hed been to almost a year ago, and would probably never return. Since the war had heated to a boil, that whole corner of the world was unsafe, to him, and especially to anyone with half a conscience. There was this one sunset on the Mediterranean Sea I saw in Tel Aviv, and I dont think anything here could ever compare to that. It was like watching the last sunset before the world ended, when the sky gave its all for beauty one last time But were all still here, and the sun just keeps trying to top that, fails miserably, but still rocks

THURSDAY
There had been a message on the answering machine from Val the night before, inviting Arthur to come to his house in the morning to watch his band practice. So at 10:45, with only a bowl of Lucky Charms and a mediocre cup of instant coffee in his stomach, Arthur now listened to Val screech out his latest love song dedicated to his perpetually-absent girlfriend. Your eyes are like oil spills, washing up on me Val stretched for the last note, and his voice squealed as he dove into the music break. The rest of the band played on, either ignoring his horrible voice (it was early in the morning after all, plus booze and cigarettes) or unable to hear it in the first place. They were the loudest band anyone had ever heard on the block. Arthur sat on a lime green bean bag with a girl who he found out later was the drummers girlfriend. She bobbed her head along to the beat, and watched her boyfriend hammer on the drums with orgasmic force. The lead guitarists girlfriend, a fat blonde who had graduated from their high school that year, was not in attendance, so he had pinned a picture of her to

the cork board on the wall, in between Jimi Hendrix, the set list, and all of the band members report cards; lots of red marks. Arthur found himself wishing he could write music, maybe to translate his own feelings into some kind of portable medium, a more direct one, and on the slight chance that someone somewhere might understand the things racing through his head. The love song ended, and Val huddled over in some sort of display of the amount of pain his own words were causing him. I find love songs to be odious, he said, quoting Michael Stipe. The band laughed with him, and the drummer counted off for the intro to another song that had a different melody but probably had the same topic as the last one, and the one before that. Unrequited loves makes for the best drama in rock. Practice ended with a gratuitous nine-minute version of a song which Val referred to only as The Untitled Better-Off-In-Hell Song. Vals voice ranged from a scratchy low warble to a high pitched shriek, exorcising the demons. Not a single word was intelligible. The song ended climactically, and in the short silence following it, Val glanced at his watch and proclaimed, Shit! I have to go pick up my woman! He ran to put on an over shirt (he had been wearing only a tank top before) and grabbed his car keys off the desk in the corner. Arthur, come on! he hollered as he bounded up the steps. Arthur gave the room a befuddled look and chased after him. Five minutes later, he was sitting in the passenger side of Vals rusty Chevelle watching him and his girlfriend have a fight outside the hair salon where she worked. There were a lot of arms flailing about and

cursing, as well as a lot of begging on Vals part. Arthur couldnt exactly hear what they were saying because of a random amount of trucks and Harley Davidsons that were passing by throughout the whole episode. Was the circus in town, or what? But finally Vals girlfriend walked away after making an arm motion that looked something like a baseball umpires call of Safe! Val returned to the car, lit a cigarette, and said, One thing Ill tell you about women Arthur, one piece of priceless advice Ill give you Women cant be trusted. They are evil and will do whatever is in their best interest. But they are also the greatest gift in the world, and I say fuck that one, I dont need her! With that he pulled out of the spot they were in on the side of the road, maneuvered an extremely illegal u-turn, and sped away with a scream of the tires and a cloud of black smoke erupting from the cars tailpipe.

At home, Arthur trotted up the steps to familiar and familial sounds. The shades in the living room had been drawn tightly, so the warm glow of the television in the entrance living room lit Arthurs way as he walked past the steps to the basement, where his father would be sitting watching the news. He walked past them and strode to the steps leading upstairs, then hesitated. He turned back and saw the blue green vibrating glow casting shadows on the far wall, then walked to the steps. He approached his father cautiously, not knowing if he were awake or fast asleep with the remote in his hand. He saw his father staring blankly at the screen, and whispered, Dad, but to no reaction.

Dad, he said again. His father, a small round-faced man with a graying moustache turned around, wearing a t-shirt and lime green boxer shorts. Oh, hey sport, he said while groaning to turn around. How was work? It was two oclock. Arthur worked the afternoon shift. His schedule is posted on the refrigerator. Ah, works work, Arthur replied, not knowing how to tell this man who had known him all his life how much he had hated every waking second of it thus far. How do you put that nicely? Yeah, I hear that, his dad said, then turned back to the television. Arthur sighed in the moment of silence. What did you think of Moms pasta? Uh, his father thought, still staring at the TV. Her usual best, he said, and smiled. Arthur let out a little chuckle, then smiled and looked at his feet. Well, I think Ill go upstairs and change. Sure, he said, and waved Arthur away. The old man wished Arthur would take an interest in the glowing box, especially at a time when its fact was more interesting than its fiction. Its a mad world, he whispered.

The bells rung at work as a man opened the door, and waved to Charlotte. She waved back and said, Welcome, with a smile. The stranger proceeded into the first small aisle, and Charlotte made the motion for Arthur to watch him carefully. She basically pointed at him and whispered, Get over there!

Can I help you? Arthur said politely, approaching the man quietly and slowly, with his hands cupped in front of him. No thanks, just looking, he replied. The man was in his mid-30s, and had a graying stubble on his face. He wore a faded black leather jacket and old green denim jeans with a dirty red handkerchief sticking out of the back pocket. In short, it was obvious to Charlotte and Arthur that he was poor, so they were naturally suspicious. Arthur walked back to Charlotte, then made a motion to say, I dont know, what else more can I do? by holding his arms out to his sides and mouthing the words. Charlotte looked towards the ceiling and noiselessly clicked her teeth.

The man came out from the aisle and pulled the knife out of his jacket pocket, holding it just out of arms reach from Charlotte. All right, give me the money in the register, in the safe, and whatever else you got stashed in this fucking store, or Ill slice you up like a gosh-darn green pepper! Charlottes eyes went wide, and then she regained the friendly Southern smile she was used to wearing. Right away mister, she said, letting the accent slip on purpose so the word mister sounded like the old Negro phrase, Massah. She cheerfully emptied out the register, and then turned slowly to get to the safe, and spoke. Tell me something mister, why you gonna come up in here and frighten me with that big knife just for some money? What? Dont fucking make chatter with me lady, Ill dice ya! Yeah, you mentioned that. But tell me, do you need money so bad that youre willing to kill a nice old lady like me with a bum leg and a sweet

little boy? Are these pieces of paper with some kind of special ink on them worth the act of murder on your fine Christian conscience? Can you live with that? Hey, Im Methodist, and yes! I got a family maam, this is the only way. Well theres unemployment, or you could try to find a job. Folks dont hire me because of my record, stealing you know? What the hell am I doing? Just get the fucking money out and give it to me! Does your wife know the lengths you go to just so she has some food and liquor? How - Is that fucking safe open yet? He glanced around nervously, suspecting that any moment the police or a passing woman with a child would see him waving a knife at a woman with a cast on her leg and her pubescent helper. He sniffed some mucous back into his nose and shook the knife. But youre a young man, no? Why, if you cleaned yourself up a bit, youd look fine enough to hire in a heartbeat. Why, Id even hire you. Just - What? Thats right. I said Id hire you. All you know is stealing and other sorts of evil, why Ill teach you how to run a place of commercial business. Arthur chimed in, A charitable one, at that. The stranger looked around again, not really looking for a still unseen passer-by, but now to make sure this really wasnt a dream. Youd do that Miss Charlotte?

Well, you seem like a fine man, but just a little misguided. If youre willing to go to prison for the love of your wife, then Im willing to trust you in my store for the love of Jesus. The stranger looked at the knife he was holding, and turned it away from Charlotte and started to put it back to his coat. Youd better let me have that, Charlotte spoke. The stranger agreed and handed it over to Charlotte, she grabbed by the very tip of the blade and placed it on the counter, trying as little as possible to touch it. She turned back to the man who now wore a smile, and spoke softly. Heres twenty dollars out of my pocket, now go home and treat your family to a good dinner. Thanks. And come back tomorrow at about 11:30 with a clean shirt on, and a shower and shave with it. All right. They both smiled at each other. Now go on now, and dont be late tomorrow. Oh I wont, you can bet on that. Thanks Miss Charlotte, I cant thank you enough. Dont worry about it, go home to your family, she said. The man left, and the store was quiet. Charlotte watched the man through the window until he turned the corner, and then went to the phone on her desk. Hello? Yes I was just held up by a criminal, and he said he had a record. <pause> Well, I also have here the knife he used which still has his fingerprints on the handle, and I have a witness. She shot her eyes at Arthur, who was still motionless, holding a box with rolls of discount

sticker tape, then she twirled the phone cord around her finger. Why yes this is she. <pause> Well sure, Ill be over on the lunch break. Thank you so much. She put the phone down on the receiver, and turned to Arthur. Dont let anybody ever try to fuck you over, you hear me boy? If they try to fuck you, you fuck em back. Hear me? She kissed the cross around her neck. Arthur nodded quickly, then began putting the stickers on the clearance books as he had been doing before the whole incident.

Looking glum, the lone human sat at the spaceports only bar. He smoked his long blue cigarette without a noticeable facial expression, and exhaled while shutting his eyes. He was an unknown legend. Leaning back in the chair, he let his ears wander around the room; they picked out seventeen tongues among the standing-room-only scene, in the low teens over a hundred. He turned around and glanced at the assorted characters, while the bar was in the height of interstellar fervor. Yup, the only human. There were two Tribonian masqueradesses standing over by the phone lodge, sipping Malakan teas and glancing at the men, women, and things in the room. Not one of the Mangites eyes from the stools around the tele-game perchance roamed toward the Earthman. There was a whole table of furry Chanteyes near the jukebox, all arguing over their ongoing card game. One threw his hand in his last remaining opponents face, and the opponent pulled the pile of silver cubic coins over to him. Their females looked bored, but stared at the ground and each other.

A few humans entered, and the motion sensor scanner across the foyer announced them to the room. They were all born and raised offworld Human-ens, genetically-enhanced for adaptivity to different gravitational environments. The Earthman felt like an alien, though he was on Earth. A fat blue Laquian spun in the saddle two over from him, bumping his leg, and spilling a steaming drink onto the floor. A cybernetic bar maid almost instantly arrived and cleaned it up with one of her industrialstrength absorbent tongues. Arthur was mildly aroused, though her complexion was putrid. Her metal was the color grey of a locker. He glanced around the room to see of anyone would ever notice him. Two seats over on the other side, was a woman. She was humanoid, beautiful and laughing. Her scaly skin made rainbows with the light, and the pink/red silk scarf around her neck costumed her as an Earth-known Beta Fish (or: Japanese Fighting Fish), piercing through the crystal blue pacific waters of some pristine sea. Too bad the oceans went dry a thousand years ago, or my heart might break, he thought. She glanced up at him, smiled, and he nodded and smiled back.

Val slapped Arthur on the shoulder, jerking him back to what was unfortunately, and quite obviously reality. Hey, man, he said with a sloppy smile. Oh, hi. Listen, Im sorry about the whole fiasco this morning.

No, its okay. It was an adventure, Arthur said while taking a sip of his piping hot coffee. He hissed when it burned his lip and tongue. Were all over here, if youd care to join, Val pointed to a nearby table, and the band members waved in unison wearing fake smiles. Sure, why not. Arthur gathered his things and made his way to the table, walking slowly so his coffee didnt spill. The others made room, and just as Arthur was about to sit down, he glanced up and saw Owen and Marcie enter the diner. He had never seen them in this diner before, and their surprise entrance made Arthur feel good to see them, but uneasy for them to see him here. It was a different crowd, one with which he was never really sure if he welcomed his association. Worry, worry, worry They saw him and Marcie waved. Owen mouthed hello and turned to the cashier and asked her to make change for a dollar. Ill be right back, Arthur told Val and friends. What the hell are you doing here? Marcie asked while hugging Arthur. Oh, I come here sometimes just to unwind. Owen bid Arthur a good evening with a handshake, then excused himself to play the video games in the lobby breezeway. The hostess fetched two menus and motioned for Marcie to follow her, and Marcie motioned for Arthur to join. They were seated after making their way through a maze of people all standing in the aisle talking. The diner was hopping tonight, meaning full of loud obnoxious guests.

So, how was work today? Marcie asked. Uh, he said, interesting. Oh, how? Shoplifter, Charlotte dropped a box, the usual. Oh, just a non-stop fun spot, huh? Basically, Arthur didnt know why he didnt tell her about the hold-up, maybe so she wouldnt start to worry about him. The waiter came over and asked them if they wanted anything to drink. Coffee, Marcie ordered with authority. The waiter turned to Arthur. Oh, Im not sitting here, Im over there. But could I have a tall glass of water? The waiter agreed and disappeared into the kitchen. Suddenly Arthur could hear Val getting very noisy over at his table. Art, bring your opinion over here! he shouted from across the room, and Arthur turned around to see him kneeling on the seat. His arms dangled over the copper-tinted glass divider. What did you think of that last song today?! Arthur thought, and glanced at Marcie for a second, ashamed that he was being shouted at from across that diner. Gut-renching! Arthur shouted back. Thats just what I was going for! Val shouted and sat back down. The waiter came with the coffee and water. Thats Val. He has a band, Arthur mumbled. Oh. I was at their practice this morning.

Oh, Marcie said again. She paused and lit a Marlboro Ultra Light. Are they any good? she asked, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. Arthur took a drink of his water, took a drag, and made a disgusted face. No. Theyre a garage rock band. Ah, long hair, screaming lyrics about lost loves, endless guitar solos, melodramatic stage performance, that sort of thing? Arthur shrugged and laughed. Yeah, thats about it. Marcie laughed. Yeah, there were a lot of them in my day. Of course now Im older, so Im expected to listen to more subtle music. But back then we just called it rock n roll. Arthur smiled and took a sip of his coffee. I hate smooth jazz, Marcie asserted, and Arthur almost spit out his drink. They both started laughing.

Arthur walked out of the bathroom drying his hands on his thighs, and walked over to Vals table, which had grown to encompass the two surrounding it, filled with groupies, friends, the guitarists and the drummers girlfriends, and a quiet girl seemingly hiding in the corner who Arthur knew was Jane, Vals little sister. Jane was a grade below Arthur, but went to a different high school. She usually tagged along when Vals band had a show, or when they all gathered for a night like tonight. Arthur, come and join in our glow! Val commanded. But surely I will, my good man, Arthur joked, and strode elegantly to the table. He sat down, and Val folded his hands in front of him. They sat face to face on the end of the middle table, and Val looked directly at Arthur with his head hung down.

My dear sir, I must invite you to join us in this nights festivities. Arthur smiled slyly, picking up on Vals mood. And what, may I ask, shall tonights surely gallant revelry include, oh Great One? Nothing short of a perilous journey down Interstate 95 to find the finest of coffee houses in the Philadelphia area. Ah, and what would one - namely myself - gain from accompanying you on this savage trek into the wilds of the big city? Well, at extreme personal danger, the mission is to get the fuck out of this shit town as soon as possible and get to where the real swinging is! Val hooted and pounded on the table, then raised his Pepsi as if giving a toast. He drank it like a shot, gritted his teeth, and stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth. Feel better? Arthur laughed. Yes, Val spoke arrogantly. A nice shot of Pepsi always gets the brain going for a night such as this. He slammed the amber cup down on the table. So, do you want to come with us or not? Arthur remained calm, lit a cigarette, and looked at Val with his eyebrow raised. Look at me Val, does it seem like I have something better to do? This place sucks, so drag me to the ends of the earth if you must! Thats what I wanted to hear.

The coffee shop, which they had some trouble finding, was a prime combination of the quick user-unfriendly attitude of corporate industry and the artsy grass-roots ethic of a small hole-in-the-wall business. The decor attempted to be bohemian, but was as a result of mass production. The signs on the walls were of corporate issue, and there were likely numerous

memos rotting in landfills telling the managers what kitsch to put where, and what flavors of coffee to offer which night, Arthur thought. This place was not his scene, but what is? But Val and his companions felt quite at home there, and for a moment Arthur made some pathetic correlation between his perceived vibe of the small cafe and his opinion and analysis of Vals music. (The music being completely heartfelt and emotional and genuine, but happening to not sound unique or innovative at all.) There was a poetry session that night, and no sooner then five minutes after they had sat down with their coffees did the lights dim a little, the jazz on the stereo fade abruptly, and three small spotlights light a stage, beginning the session. A gentleman in an Oxford shirt and vest popped up at the front and welcomed everyone. He introduced himself and said he would begin the night by reading one of his latest works, a small piece titled, Crippled but Walking. Lately thinkings been minimal, he began. Urges and submissions, failures of tasks not even started yet. Arthur was internally mesmerized by the mans words, but could not remember anything but that first line. Terrible memory. But his face remained lucid, only his eyes told how he understood exactly what the short man with round gold glasses was trying to convey. The poem ended and all present clapped emphatically and empathetically. Then the man asked if anyone else wanted to read, and a greasy man with a moustache and a bald head got up.

When he was finished Val himself hopped up onstage and squinted from the bright lights. This is about my ex-girlfriend, he said, and smiled at his friends. You bitch, I would kill you twice if I could, he started. And the rest of the poem pretty much had the same tone to it, a hectic collage of Val reciting how much he hated her, and what he would do to her given the circumstances for revenge, whether it be physical or verbal. All in the name of art, of course. Right, Art? Arthur noticed as Val waved to everyone and stepped back to his seat amidst thunderous applause that Jane, his sister, was sitting at a table in the back alone. She huddled over a leather journal and did not clap for her melodramatic brother. But this thought, like many others before, was interrupted by Val slapping Arthur on the shoulder. Why dont you read something? No, I uh, I dont have my stuff with me. Oh, thats too bad. In truth, Arthur had some stuff, in total being a dozen or so notebooks filled with various writings, scribblings, personal observations, small drawings, and homework scribbled in bus ride frenzies. But Arthur dared not read his work aloud. They all left before the poetry reading ended. Too many poems about love, Arthur thought. The van passed noisily through the night. Are you sure it should be making that sound? the drummers girlfriend asked. Her voice was an out of tune violin playing two strings at once. Both sharp.

The drummer, the owner and driver of the van responded hastily. Yes, thats the sound it makes all the time, no matter whats wrong. Suddenly a thud under the tires could be heard. And that sound? Roadkill. Another thud, from under the hood. And that one? Um,. was all he could say before the engine began sputtering and dying. The van slowed and bucked, and the drummer turned it into the shoulder, flicking on the hazard lights. Shit, he said, tapping the gas gauge. What? Val asked, nudging the red-haired groupie out of the way. Uh, I forgot to mention that my van has been acting a little fucked up recently. Fucked up how, exactly? Val inquired with an evil eye. Uh, fucked up in the way that the gas gauge shows I have gas when I really dont. There was a dumb silence in the van as everyones life flashed before their eyes. So what youre saying, Val finally spoke softly, is that were out of gas? Yeah, thats about the size of it. Probably something else, too, but were definitely out of gas. Val turned quickly but calmly to the lead guitarist, seated a few feet from him with his fat girlfriend in his lap. Dont you have a cellular phone? He uses the whole word. Most here would as of yet. Technically, yes.

Val was losing his patience and levity. Technically? Well, I do own a cell phone, but I dont have it with me. Val sighed and dropped his head, and the blonde groupie seated next to Arthur spoke daintily, raising her hand a little before speaking. I have a phone, she said, but it has this, like, lock-thing that my parents put on it, and I cant call out or receive calls after midnight or before five in the morning. She smiled. Val cupped his hands, and rubbed his head. Don't you think thats a really stupid idea considering your curfew is two in the morning?! Or was that just what you fucking said, not what fucking is?! They were all shocked at Vals sudden anger, and the dumb silence returned again. No one realized he was also quoting a song of theirs. He let it go. Arthur, Val said. I dont have a phone, or own a phone, or even have a sometimes phone. I, Val started laughing. I know. What do you think we should do?

Arthur thought, and looked around at all the blank faces staring at him, waiting for an intelligent plan of action. He looked at Jane, and she remained apathetic, looking up at the full moon through the window next to her. Well, is that a field over there? Everyone looked, and the lead guitarists girlfriend responded, Yes.

We could slip the van into neutral and roll it into the field. I noticed you have sleeping bags, blankets, and lawn chairs back here, so I say we have a little slumber party there under the moon. Jane looked over to Arthur at the mention of the moon. Val looked at Arthur with an impressed look on his face, and smiled. This kid is a genius! This is exactly why I bring him around! You guys wanted to know why, for situations exactly like this one! Suddenly the van was full of movement, everyone racing around to try to help with something, to make that dream a reality. The van was rolled. Its careening down the hill. A slow speed for a flat plain, but a shaky 3-D horrorshow effect for the passengers. The lead guitarist clutched his fat girlfriends tween-the-bra-and-waistline rolls for his life as her entire body gyrated like a jelly mold on a paint can shaker. Her arms flap with every bump, and everything lurches one way, with gravity. The map lights flickered, and because all of the windows were open seemingly every piece of paper of plastic was flying around the van like it was possessed by poltergeist. The fat girlfriends starts to scream as they approach the bottom of the hill. The lead guitarist grits his teeth. The driver/drummer sucks in his teeth and braces his foot on the floor behind the pedals. The van rolls in, turns suddenly, and skids out to stop, tossing up divots of greenery. The tire tracks are skid marks almost all the way down the hill, and reveal moments where only halves of wheels were on solid footing.

The party atmosphere took hold well. The sleeping bags were unrolled. Val slipped the drummer ten dollars for the use of the van with the two groupies, and the drummer nestled into one sleeping bag with his waifish girlfriend. Arthur turned and saw Jane sitting away from the group, in a lawn chair. She faced the huge white moon, and Arthur began walking towards her. He picked up a chair and lit a cigarette on the way, and sat down next to her, but behind her a little. Hi, he said as he leaned back. Hello, she said, still looking up at the moon. What did you think of the cafe? It was okay. She still looked up at the moon and seemed uninterested in making conversation with Arthur. Arthur fiddled with his cigarette. I think your brothers music really sucks. The girl burst into laughter, and looked at Arthur for what seemed like the first time. He smiled at her and offered her a cigarette. Thanks, Jane said, still smiling. She looked back to see if Val was looking at her, not wanting to smoke in front of him. Where is that melodramatic bastard anyway? He, uh, disappeared into the van with the groupies. Both of them? Arthur blushed a little, Yeah, both of them. Im sure Ill get to hear all about that, shortly followed by a speech on how I should wait until Im married. Shes talking about sex, oh god, change the subject. So, you write?

She paused before saying anything, usually for just as long as the words would take to come out of her mouth. Arthur didnt know how she did it. Yeah, she sighed, a little. Well, a little can be a lot sometimes. Yeah, she said, understanding his meaning. She turned and took a quick drag. Theres this one song I wrote called Flying Penguins that I sort of recorded with Vals band without him knowing. She didnt tell him not to tell Val, but he wouldnt. Oh, you write songs too? When I write poetry I have a rhythm in my head, and the one to that poem matched a beat the guys were jamming on. Cool, whats the song about? Its about me, she said deadpan. Oh. Arthur thought about it. Flying Penguins? Like, she sighed, you know how penguins cant fly? Well its like how everyone in my family expects Val to be this huge rock star, but at the same time expects me to be satisfied with some shitty nine-to-five job at a bowling alley. You work at a bowling alley? Yeah. Arthur waited for more. I have this joke about it that I hate but I use it all the time: its funny how one gets used to the stench of smoke and beer and sweat after a while. People laugh because they think its true, but its not. Uh, yeah. Right? Arthur lit another cigarette, subtly sniffing his own armpits.

So, Jane brushed her hair back with her hand, how do you know my brother, anyway? Youre not his usual type. Arthur stretched his legs and groaned as he spoke. Met him in a pool hall. How? I was sitting outside writing under the yellow lights, and he treated me to a few games. He even drove me home after I kicked his ass three games in a row. He was never very good at games or sports. I dont know, Arthur joked with an implicating smirk, both groupies? That bastard, surely his conquest of the year, she joked back. Arthur could see as her eyes turned back to the moon her thoughts had turned inward again, and he found himself leaning over and kissing her. She kissed him back, then hugged him.

FRIDAY
At around 5:15 Val emerged from the van with his shirt undone howling about the tow truck coming soon. They all gathered their things, and when the truck came the dirty man filled the tank. The drummer paid him (partly with the ten dollars Val had given him), and they were on their way home. Arthur had to be at work at seven that day, and had the drummer drop him off at the bookstore. He bid Charlotte a tired hello and called his mother. Are you okay? she asked. Yes, Im sorry I couldnt call you until just now. Oh, thats okay. There was a pregnant pause. She didnt know he had been gone. Theres also a silver present for you here, waiting until you come home. Huh? with four wheels Oh! Cool! Ill be home when Im done work.

As he hung up the phone, he turned and saw that Charlotte had an interested eye. What was that all about? she asked. Oh, my car is waiting for me at home. What?! Charlotte got up excitedly and hit her leg against the desk doing so. She spoke between groans. Go now, get you car and come back. A man shouldnt be without his own transportation! But youre hurt Oh hush! she spoke. Ill be all right. Go get your wheels, man! All right, Ill be back soon. Arthur walked out the door.

He rode the bus home, reflecting on this hopefully being the last time he ever had to do so. He looked around at the inside, happy that he would no longer be dependent on the rarely trusted public transportation, but stricken with sorrow because there were so many times when he was alone on the bus with his thoughts. He was ambivalent to see this chapter end so suddenly. He saw the old man who had walked with his granddaughter earlier in the week, only he sat with a younger man today. Arthur wondered where the little girl was, with her bright eyes and soft cheeks. Arthur heard the younger man say, Im sorry Bill. How did it happen? as the bus stopped in front of the farm house. As the two mean walked away he could hear the old man start bawling in his handkerchief and mumble the words freak accident. At home Arthurs mother tried to be cute, and wrapped a large pink bow around the hood of the car. She took pictures of Arthur standing next

to the car, sitting in the drivers seat, and starting it. The engine purred slightly, and Arthurs parents waved as he pulled out of the development. Arthur turned the corner, and his mother started sobbing about her little baby being a man now and whatnot. Arthurs father finished his glass of Scotch with one last gulp, and walked back towards the house. Now thats a fine automobile! Charlotte cheered as Arthur walked in the door, trying to stuff the keys into the pocket of his black jeans. But dont get too comfortable here, she added. I have an errand for you. Now that you have a car, you can make the daytime deposits instead of me taking them in at night. Okay, Arthur smiled, happy to be of service. Charlotte unlocked the safe and placed a small potato sack on the counter. She shoved several neatly sorted stacks of cash into the sack, and handed it to Arthur. Do you know the bank on Frankfort and Crescent? she asked. Yes. Good. Tell them I sent you with this day deposit. Make sure you tell them its the day deposit, theyll be impressed. Okay. Now get going, we just got the Books of The Year, and a whole new Vonnegut collection, so theres plenty of work for you to do when you get back. Arthur left, holding the heavy sack with both hands. He pulled his car into the convenience stores lot, and shut off the engine. Out of idle curiosity he decided to count the money in the sack.

When he was through, he sighed, leaned back, and whispered. Four thousand, seven hundred, thirty-three dollars and sixty-two cents, and he took a cleansing breath. He threw a jacket on top of the bag to keep it out of sight, and exited the vehicle. Inside the store, he roamed the aisles looking for anything that might catch his eye. He knew all he was buying was a pack of cigarettes, but he wanted to look like a normal customer. He turned the corner at the salsas and saw Cynthia reading the back of a box of condoms. She saw him and immediately put it down. Hi, she said nervously. Hello, Arthur replied back in a cool and calculated way. They interrupted each other a few times. Cynthia seemed to want to explain about the condoms, and Arthur wanted to tell her about the cafe. Then she started speaking. I think my mom knows about Sid and Sketch, so shes suspicious now. Damn, that sucks, Arthur responded with indifference. Yeah, are you going to be around tonight? I dont know. I might go to the diner. Cynthia seemed confused. The diner? Yeah, you know. The diner; where they serve endless amounts of coffee and people with no lives sit around talking about the old days when they had lives Oh, she responded hesitantly. Which one? The one on Park Line Oh, okay. I guess Ill see you tomorrow then. Well, maybe you could come sometime

Cynthia agreed in a flushed and lovestruck way, and Arthur (of course) played it cool. She glanced at the condoms when she couldnt look at Arthurs face, and he almost laughed every single time she did it. She left and Arthur bought the pack of cigarettes. The Indian man behind the counter gave him his change, and said, You and that girl go out? Uh, no Why? She look nice, at you looked like love. Well were friends. She buy condoms. Arthur smiled, then laughed a little. The proprietor laughed, too, because no one can resist the giggles. Hah, uh yes she did. Arthur gasped for breath, then coughed up something. He swallowed it back down, and started marching out of the store. The Indian man laughed some more, and turned up some music.

Arthur strode out into the sunlight, lit a cigarette, and twirled his keys in his hand. He opened the door and got in gracefully. He pulled out into traffic and approached the green light. It turned yellow, then red, and Arthur slowed and stopped. He was the first in line, and swung the sun visor around to do its job more effectively. He thought about Cynthia, and how she knew him so perfectly. and Jack, how he needed a devil/angel. and Val, how he needed a friend who wasnt in his stupid band. and the bank, to the right, on the left. and Charlotte, how she needed someone who knew past her pristine image.

and the ramps for I-95 about a hundred yards past the bank Florida or Maine, far beyond a blurred horizon. and his parents, how they cant wake up from the American Daydream. and all that money sitting on the passenger seat. and Jane, her eyes, lips, soul how she knew what no one else did; that she could fly. Can I? Arthur closed his eyes and decided what to do.

And as the windswept bouncing traffic light turned green, the car to Arthurs rear violently jerked forward, jarring Arthurs thoughts and bumper. The man behind that shamed wheel assumed that the driver of the car in front of him would have the exact same reaction time and pickup as he did, or that the driver would at least have his eyes open. Arthur opened his eyes, looked in his side mirror and saw his apparent nemesis, a fat man, get out and start examining what little damage there must have been. The boy took his foot off the brake and applied the gas, moderately. The fat man looked shocked as the scuffed and dinged car pulled away, squinting through his own sweat. There was nothing at all fancy about the getaway. The right blinker went on, the tires pointed the car gently around the corner. The silver car seemed to disappear into the sun, perhaps forever.