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The Absurdity of Existence in the Heart of Santa Fe: Part 1

By Dalton Rees
The sound of the big mans boots against the hardwood floor permeated throughout the
room with each deliberate step closer to the table in the center, its overwhelming presence
piercing through the silence like a needle suddenly stuck into a balloon, inviting the same
explosive effect. Never glancing away from the subjects enveloping, bloodshot eyes, he quickly
flipped the chair backwards, positioning himself in the hackneyed front-facing style he fancied
using to instill a sense of insecurity and reluctance in the hot seats respective occupants. With
the bitter taste of black coffee resonating in his throat, he leaned forward, inhaling deeply in an
attempt to detect the familiar aroma of fear and regret in the criminal as any good police bloodhound would.
Standing on greenery with a clearly labeled Do Not Stand on Grass sign is a very
serious offense, he said, his raspy voice assuming an eerily menacing, procedural air, you
could be facing some very serious time, kid.
Intensifying his deathly stare, Officer Brown begin to twirl his finely-groomed mustache
with evident satisfaction; its moments like this that make being an officer of the law so
rewarding- another day in paradise.
Let me axe you something, punk, Officer Brown leaned in closer, invading his captors
bubble with his stale breath, why, are you wearing a God damn stalking-cap during the
summer!?
Just, let me go home, man. I didnt do anything. The millennial had the vague feeling
that waking and baking that day would be a bad idea, right from the get-go. Now, he found

himself at the mercy of Santa Fes most ruthless police officer, stuck in the interrogation room
with the hyperventilating authoritarian.
You ever seen one of these here gadgets, boy? the officer withdrew an X26 Taser from
his utility belt, tilting it towards the toasted youth so he would pay special attention to the clumsy
sharpie-drawn tally marks on the side, you know what them there markings dig-ni-fy?
The young man squinted closely and shook his head.
One tally for every grass-standin slacker Ive tased! the bumbling oppressor squealed
as he leapt from his chair, pushing the table forward with his triumphant gut as he projected
50,000 volts of electromagnetic force into the young mans left shoulder blade, throwing him to
the ground. Like a football star who had just won the game-winning touchdown, Officer Brown
spread his legs over the downed cannabis enthusiast, postured up, and extended his arms like a
pudgy falcon, Woooooh! Thats how we do it, baby! Two other officers of the law stood
outside of the one-way mirror, sipping their coffees and engaging in another routine round of
affirmative nodding and grunting. I hear hes going to be promoted to sergeant any day now,
the trooper on the right nodded in admiration, damn fine officer, damn fine.
With the midday sun shimmering brightly against his reflector sunglasses, Officer Brown
waddled to his cruiser, eager to find another dirty liberal to fry. Despite all of his accolades and
milestones in the Santa Fe police department, he couldnt help but feel insufficient, something
was missing in his life; a void that he found not even a third Krispy Kreme would be able to fill.
After a long period of introspection and soul-searching, Officer Brown found the answer: he was
destined to find and taser the one filthy tree-hugger that has always alluded him in the past, the

great white whale of leftist coffee shop poets, the enigmatic drifter standing between him and
ideological fulfillment: The New-Age Vegan Wizard.
The New-Age Vegan Wizard has become a thing of legend in the greater Santa Fe area
since his first fateful appearance in the local Olive Garden on Cerrillos Road in 2011. According
to witness testimony, his presence was accompanied by the thick aroma of incense and the sound
of flip-flops slapping against the hardwood floor. The hostess found herself ripped away from her
starry-eyed daydreaming, fixated on his array of Indian beads, hemp jewelry, and slouched drawstring yoga pants. Oh, h-h-hello sir! Would you like a table or a boo with a slight flash of his
palm, he stopped her midsentence and found a single seat near the window. The waitress
approached with caution as he adjusted his multicolor-patterned headband to allow his dirty
blond hair to flow over his raised eyebrow, ever so slightly. She handed him the menu.
Can I get you anything to drink today, sugar?
What are your options on tea?
Uhm, we have Earl Grey and iced.
The mighty wizard gazed off into the distance for a moment and directed his attention
towards the shaking waitress, Are they Fairtrade-certified organic?
No, sorry sir. The mystic was visibly unsatisfied with her response and began passiveaggressively flipping through the meal options.
Where are your gluten-free options? Is your marinara sauce vegan? Why is there no
nutritional information posted!? The Olive Garden patrons set down their dining utensils and
watched in awe as the waitress began to pout and flip through her notepad.

I dont know, okay, she began to bawl, What do you want from me? Im just trying to
support my children!
Exerting the full extent of his new-age vegan sorcery, the wizard shifted into the hipopening Warrior 2 yoga pose, effortlessly sweeping the decorative table settings onto the floor.
I demand dietary justice and obliteration of the speciesist oppressors regimen of high-carb
subjugation! In an instinctual rush of adrenaline and trendy unity, the restaurant guests began
dancing around the tables and throwing everything in their immediate vision to the ground,
joyously howling with each loud fracture. The serving staff ran for safety as the health mob
rushed the kitchen. In the midst of the chaos, the New-Age Vegan Wizard clenched his wise eyes
shut and continued to strike different poses with unprecedented grace and flexibility. The Olive
Garden now exclusively serves organic olives and Fiji water- it has become to the single most
popular restaurant in Santa Fe County.
When Officer Brown received the phone call from his superior alerting him to the
possible whereabouts of the occult yogi, he squeezed the processed sugar paste from his jellyfilled donut with anticipation- the time had come. It was insinuated in the call that a successful
bag and tase was the only thing standing between him and the juicy promotion he had been
waiting for since ascending his mall cop status and becoming a bonafide officer of the law. The
department had received an anonymous tip that the New-Age Vegan Wizard was running amuck
in a downtown Starbucks, allegedly sighing loudly at customers and ranting about how the
Seattle-based coffee conglomerate was an evil corporation trying to monopolize the coffee
industry with their shitty, streamlined products and systematically killing small business or
some liberal hocus-pocus along those lines. After self-righteously running several red lights,

exceeding the speed limit by 40 mph in some instances, and possibly splattering a wayward
pedestrian or two, Officer Brown had reached the Starbucks with time to spare.
Beads of sweat permeated from his cherry red forehead as he galloped to the entrance and
threw open the door. Where is that Wholefoods-lovinson-ova-bitch!? he roared. From behind
his laptop and thick-rimmed glasses, a small man with gauged earlobes frowned and pointed
towards the backroom, Just get him out of here so I can continue working on my novel.
Knocking over a couple of chairs and the promotional chalkboard in his wake, Officer Brown
strong-armed his way to the back of the venue and flung open the door. Without a moment to
spare, the pre-diabetic goliath withdrew a pair of handcuffs after spotting the wizard smoking an
American Spirit cigarette and lecturing the manager about income inequality, his back turned.
With the equivalent passion and satisfaction his father had once known when tumbling student
protestors with a firehose, Officer Brown tackled the mystic to the ground and promptly cuffed
him- it was the happiest moment of his life. Get off me, you fucking fascist! the sorcerer
shouted, as the mustached Donald Trump doppelganger huffed and puffed over his struggling
form. Officer Brown dragged the mystic to his cruiser, his flushed cheeks curling upright with
smug satisfaction. He slammed the car door and pressed his nose against the window, Im
gonna give you a real good tasin, his grin intensified as he slid his nose down the windows
surface, leaving a residual streak of sweat and mucus, Wheres your peace and love now, boy?
The cruiser sped off into the distance, finally allowing the Wi-Fi camper to continue working on
his novel.
Smoking wheels on temperate desert pavement as the squad car sped east, towards the
police department. The New-Age Vegan Wizard attempted to dissuade his captor with dark
liberal magic like reason and individual rights, repeating words like probable cause and

constitution, complex diction foreign to Officer Browns known vocabulary. Feverishly

dancing to his favorite Dolly Parton songs, the good officer was oblivious to the wizards cries
and already arms deep in a family-size bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. His celebration was
interrupted by the Santa Fe Police Department dispatcher, raining on his parade through the
small speaker on his dashboard- evidently there was a group of protestors disturbing an outdoor
business luncheon. Hot damn, youre gonna have to wait, boy! My services are needed, muy
importante! Without a mere glance at his rearview mirror, Officer Brown jerked the wheel
clockwise and sped through a small park and playground, onto a side street shortcut. The
handcuffed mystic verbally objected to his reckless behavior but was met with several sprits a
spray bottle for his insubordinate demeanor. Already virtually falling to pieces, the cruiser
slammed against the curb adjacent to the gazeebo in which the luncheon was being held. Officer
Brown two-stepped to the trunk of the vehicle and withdrew a semiautomatic beanbag shotgun,
an industrial size can of mace, and a riot mask with a clumsily-painted skull for aesthetic valuehe took his work very seriously. The wizard utilized his clairvoyant ability of sight to peak
through the windshield and observe the dire situation unfolding before him. His eyes widened as
he realized that these werent just any ragtag protestors- they were the Circular Vibrations, a
guerrilla hula-hoop organization that he had known long ago.
Since their first appearance at a small-scale wedding in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1992, the
Circular Vibrations have grown in infamy and allure with each random event they crash. Under
the pretense of disrupting the materialist social order and instilling a state of cognitive
dissonance within the drones of American society, the organization has been known to
inappropriately appear at get-togethers of all varieties with an excessively loud speaker system,
collection of Electro Dance Music CDs, and array of hula-hoops of all shapes and sizes. In the

majority of situations, theyve ceased their hooping and dispersed when enough police had
arrived or when the respective attendants of the event get fed up and chased them off with
broomsticks, though there have been some instances when they have militarized and knocked
opponents to the ground with their well-developed hips. Before the New-Age Vegan Wizard had
left his old life behind to ascend the world of dairy-eating mortals, he had played a pivotal role in
the organization, documenting their advancements under the medium of abstract poetry. Before
obtaining his divine, gluten-free title, he was known by many as the Intrepid Traveler- though
that time is long since forgotten.
In an act of desperation, the mystic rolled onto his back and kicked at the window to alert
the Circular Vibrations to the imminent threat of Officer Browns wrath, but the musics
overwhelming presence drowned out his pleas. Without glancing up from their smartphones, the
monetary elitists drifted away from the scene to allow the good officer to humanely deal with the
recreants so they can carry on with their luncheon without having to modify their schedules.
Overcome by primal excitement and adrenaline, Officer Brown ripped off his dress shirt and
allowed his horrid facemask to fall into place as he released a joyous yeeeeee-hah!, rushing
into the open field surrounding the gazeebo. Before the hula-hoopers were able to react, the
hyperventilating brute stumbled into the mass and began to indiscriminately open fire on anyone
within his field of vision. The tragic scene assumed an eerily biblical demeanor as the clouds
closed in, casting forth a heavy downpour. Thunder clashing with the sound of the beanbag
cannon reverberated throughout the field as hula-hoops were flung in every direction. The
protestors that attempted to subdue their gung-ho attacker were sprayed with mace, some were
kicked. In the midst of the cries of her comrades, the encumbering downpour, and the ultimate
decimation of her marginally righteous cause, Lilly Weir stood docile as she met eyes with the

petrified guru weeping in silence behind the fogged window of his metallic cage. She opened her
mouth, as if to speak, before the fatal beanbag projectile collided against her right temple,
propelling her into the muddy red soil below. Sinking into oblivion, her consciousness departed
from her dwindling physical form, spiraling through space into a time now foreign- the day she
met death in savage desert starlight.
In recognition of an enduring clich: to be continued