"Blade Runner was here!" He held out his arm and there, sitting in the plastic dustpan was a little origami figure. With a flourish Russ picked it up and deposited it with the others.
"You've got quite a collection going there." Aimee had been juiced about getting a job at the theater but barely a month into it she was looking anywhere she could for diversion, including the top of the popcorn machine. "How many have you found?"
"Ten, although I threw out the first couple. I didn't realize the scope of Blade Runner's obsession."
She stood on her tiptoes and examined the line. "They're all cranes, though. Doesn't he know any others?"
"I dunno. Maybe he's a moron. Or an idiot savant."
She shrugged and dumped a cup of kernels in the machine. "Maybe you should call him 'Rain Man' then. Besides, wasn't it the Edward James Olmos cop who made the origami?"
Russ was adding weenies to the wiener-go-round. "Duh, Edward James Olmos was the blade runner. Harrison Ford was a replicant. Everybody knows that! Jeez."
"Sorry." Aimee looked out at the lobby, filling up with the dinner show crowds. She dumped the popped popcorn out of the hopper and started a second batch. "So why are you saving them?"
"Because. Welcome to the Multiplex 24. What can I get you? You must've figured out by now. The extra large is only 19 cents more. How freakin' boring. Butter topping? This job is. If it weren't. Plain or peanut? Two? For little mysteries like Blade Runner. Tea bags are at the end of the counter. I'd go postal.
"The best part is. Your total's $19.75. Trying to figure out who he is. I get. It's butter flavoring. Maybe two or three cranes a month. The bathrooms are upstairs next to Theater 6. Donte, Alex, and Kelee save 'em when they find them. No, 'tub' is our largest size. That co—Two tubs? Uh, okay. Ben won't save them, or even tell me if he sees any. Theater 4 is at the end of the hall.
"I've got ideas about who it could be, people who are in here all the time. Me wondering which one is the real Blade Runner is what makes it bearable."
"So what are your theories, Sherlock?"
"Blade Runner digs the sci-fi flicks, but not so much the fantasy stuff. Blade Runner is not a tween girl; I've gotten nothing out of anything with Hillary Duff, Mandy Moore, or the Olsen Twins. With the sci-fi geek factor, that really points away from teen or pre-teen girl. No Harry Potter, no Star Wars, so probably not a kid. But anything animated is pretty much guaranteed to result in a find, which is another point in favor of geek. Cartoons, origami; maybe the guy's oriental."
Aimee sighed. "So what movie did you find crane number ten in?"
"Corpse Bride. Easy pickings. Down front, as always. Hey," Russ looked over at Aimee leaning over the candy counter. "What are you doing?"
"If it's alright with you I want to get in on this game, too." She held up an abandoned receipt. "So I'm gonna make a little bait for your mystery man. Here." She handed him a small white iris. "Put this down front about 20 minutes before 'The Nightmare Before Christmas' starts, on one of the aisle seats."
"Excellent." Russ looked worried. "Does this make me Holmes, then?"
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Rose Berdoo 2, ongoing
During the day Mira felt that the ship was like all the best parts of Disneyland, picked out from the dross to be enjoyed on its own. Like a small teacup of fruit cocktail cherries that she could stretch out and make last all day. Like the first Saturday of summer vacation, Mira woke up each morning knowing the only purpose of the day was to spend it playing. Sunday afternoon’s dread of Monday morning was unimaginable on this floating Treasure Island pet shop filled with laughing, talking animals.
At night, though, when the headaches sometimes kept Mira awake and she lay in her hammock, or sat and watched the water from the deck, then the ship seemed like something altogether different. In the nighttime quiet, it was the ship and the water Mira could hear talking in creaks and whispers. The ocean and the ship talking back and forth might as well be two old relatives talking about who was dead and who was sick, and deeper, adult mysteries of the world.
She was sitting on the deck tonight, her face pressed to the cool of the cabin wall. The water was shushing against the hull and the clouds were gone so that she could see the colored stars against the black sky. Somewhere out at sea a lighthouse shone faintly on the horizon. Mira sat on the deck for what felt like a long time, hoping the cold against her head would let her sleep, and as she sat there in the dark she realized that the light on the horizon was not a lighthouse but a pair of eyes in a small, pointy-earred head slowly swivelling its gaze across the starlit sea. She got up and walked to the prow and sat down in the dark next to Rose Berdoo.
She smiled as the cat stood up and sat down closer to Mira, just touching her leg.
“I thought you were a lighthouse, Rose.”
The end of Rosy’s tail flicked back and forth in amusement. “I’ve been mistaken for hood ornaments and mastheads, but never a lighthouse. Tell me: do I look particularly pharonic sitting here?” He stuck out his chest so far his fur puffed out in a decidedly Elizabethan fashion. “Call me Farolito!”
Mira patted smooth Rose’s fur. “Tell me, Rose, why do cat’s eyes shine in the dark? Do you know?”
Rose squinted his cat’s smile and said, “Dear little girl, all cats know this!” He paused, sniffed Mira’s arm and licked his side before looking out over the water again. “Would a story help you sleep, do you think? It’s a long one; let’s go sit on that rope and be comfortable.”
Mira picked Rose up and carried him over to the loops of rope the monkeys had been working on during the day. It was a big enough pile for Mira to snuggle down on it, curled into its coils. With Rose settled on her lap like a tabby muff, she said, “Okay, I’m ready for my story.”
“It’s said by the ignorant that cats are creatures of the night. We ourselves know better, from the stories passed down from mother to kitten, back to the time of the 90,000th mother. We have many stories about the long-ago times. Some are funny. Others are terrible.
“But you asked why the eyes of cats shine in the dark, so that’s the story I’ll tell you tonight.
“A long time ago, there was a brother, the earth, and his sister the sun. The earth is a very large place, so I’m thinking that this brother, whoa, he must have been one fat baby, but in any case he was too large to visit his sister in her sky house. And you’d never know it because she lives so far away, but she was a big baby, too, and grew up to be much to large to visit her brother in his house. So the brother took little pieces of himself and turned them into falcons so he could fly up and visit his older sister. And the sister took little pieces of herself and threw them to some of the beasts that lived in her little brother’s house so that she could visit him there.
Mira looked down at Rose Berdoo. “And did the cats eat the pieces of the sun?”
“My dear, you’re a sharp one. The earth brother kept many kinds of animals in his house, birds and dogs and horses and whatnot, but it was the cats who reached the rainbow nuggets of sun first and ate them all up.”
“Why didn’t the dogs get any?”
“Some mothers say it’s because Earth brother kept the dogs inside at night and the cats outside, so that when the Sun sister rose and strewed the yard with pieces of herself, those cats sleeping outside saw them first and didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. However, some mothers say it’s because the dogs, given a choice between snacking on sun nuggets or (ahem) cat nuggets, chose the latter, as they do to this day.
During the day Mira felt that the ship was like all the best parts of Disneyland, picked out from the dross to be enjoyed on its own. Like a small teacup of fruit cocktail cherries that she could stretch out and make last all day. Like the first Saturday of summer vacation, Mira woke up each morning knowing the only purpose of the day was to spend it playing. Sunday afternoon’s dread of Monday morning was unimaginable on this floating Treasure Island pet shop filled with laughing, talking animals.
At night, though, when the headaches sometimes kept Mira awake and she lay in her hammock, or sat and watched the water from the deck, then the ship seemed like something altogether different. In the nighttime quiet, it was the ship and the water Mira could hear talking in creaks and whispers. The ocean and the ship talking back and forth might as well be two old relatives talking about who was dead and who was sick, and deeper, adult mysteries of the world.
She was sitting on the deck tonight, her face pressed to the cool of the cabin wall. The water was shushing against the hull and the clouds were gone so that she could see the colored stars against the black sky. Somewhere out at sea a lighthouse shone faintly on the horizon. Mira sat on the deck for what felt like a long time, hoping the cold against her head would let her sleep, and as she sat there in the dark she realized that the light on the horizon was not a lighthouse but a pair of eyes in a small, pointy-earred head slowly swivelling its gaze across the starlit sea. She got up and walked to the prow and sat down in the dark next to Rose Berdoo.
She smiled as the cat stood up and sat down closer to Mira, just touching her leg.
“I thought you were a lighthouse, Rose.”
The end of Rosy’s tail flicked back and forth in amusement. “I’ve been mistaken for hood ornaments and mastheads, but never a lighthouse. Tell me: do I look particularly pharonic sitting here?” He stuck out his chest so far his fur puffed out in a decidedly Elizabethan fashion. “Call me Farolito!”
Mira patted smooth Rose’s fur. “Tell me, Rose, why do cat’s eyes shine in the dark? Do you know?”
Rose squinted his cat’s smile and said, “Dear little girl, all cats know this!” He paused, sniffed Mira’s arm and licked his side before looking out over the water again. “Would a story help you sleep, do you think? It’s a long one; let’s go sit on that rope and be comfortable.”
Mira picked Rose up and carried him over to the loops of rope the monkeys had been working on during the day. It was a big enough pile for Mira to snuggle down on it, curled into its coils. With Rose settled on her lap like a tabby muff, she said, “Okay, I’m ready for my story.”
“It’s said by the ignorant that cats are creatures of the night. We ourselves know better, from the stories passed down from mother to kitten, back to the time of the 90,000th mother. We have many stories about the long-ago times. Some are funny. Others are terrible.
“But you asked why the eyes of cats shine in the dark, so that’s the story I’ll tell you tonight.
“A long time ago, there was a brother, the earth, and his sister the sun. The earth is a very large place, so I’m thinking that this brother, whoa, he must have been one fat baby, but in any case he was too large to visit his sister in her sky house. And you’d never know it because she lives so far away, but she was a big baby, too, and grew up to be much to large to visit her brother in his house. So the brother took little pieces of himself and turned them into falcons so he could fly up and visit his older sister. And the sister took little pieces of herself and threw them to some of the beasts that lived in her little brother’s house so that she could visit him there.
Mira looked down at Rose Berdoo. “And did the cats eat the pieces of the sun?”
“My dear, you’re a sharp one. The earth brother kept many kinds of animals in his house, birds and dogs and horses and whatnot, but it was the cats who reached the rainbow nuggets of sun first and ate them all up.”
“Why didn’t the dogs get any?”
“Some mothers say it’s because Earth brother kept the dogs inside at night and the cats outside, so that when the Sun sister rose and strewed the yard with pieces of herself, those cats sleeping outside saw them first and didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. However, some mothers say it’s because the dogs, given a choice between snacking on sun nuggets or (ahem) cat nuggets, chose the latter, as they do to this day.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
The Princess & The Minotaur. Ongoing.
“I think your girlfriend is looking for you.”
Lee blinked up from his beer into a swirl of dark makeup and shining eyes. "What?"
The girl pointed with her chin. "Your girlfriend's paging you. She looks irritated."
Lee looked over his shoulder. It was only a little before 7 but the bar was crammed with junior account managers and web monkeys venting steam over booze and buffalo wings. Sure enough, Tania was at the table he and his officemates staked out every Thursday evening, waving her arm and calling his name with a frown on her face, though nothing penetrated the downstairs din of the bar or the two pints he'd already drunk. He waved hi and turned back to his drink.
"That's not my girlfriend. I just work with her." Lee didn't know whether to be amused or pissed that now even people outside the office assumed he and Tania were dating. He found the attention flattering, especially since it raised his status among his almost-completely male workgroup. But lately he'd begun thinking of her flirting and attentions around the office as the stink of territorial pissing. What had his dad always said? Better to be pissed off than pissed on.
A lot about work had been stinking to Lee these days, turning their weekly bar runs desperate, and the next morning at the bank, a cluster of hung-over heads bobbing over half-height cube walls, verging on the pathetic. Some Fridays, after a night of beers and depth charges, Lee was pretty sure any verge he'd been toying with was way behind him, up the hill and over the road and into the last town. Would a jump off the edge be any worse than a sour stomach and pounding head?
"Why are you laughing?"
With a flourish half-drunk and half all-out balls, Lee tipped his mostly-fresh pint in the direction of the girl with too much makeup and said, "When she finds out I'm going out with you she'll really be pissed."
“I think your girlfriend is looking for you.”
Lee blinked up from his beer into a swirl of dark makeup and shining eyes. "What?"
The girl pointed with her chin. "Your girlfriend's paging you. She looks irritated."
Lee looked over his shoulder. It was only a little before 7 but the bar was crammed with junior account managers and web monkeys venting steam over booze and buffalo wings. Sure enough, Tania was at the table he and his officemates staked out every Thursday evening, waving her arm and calling his name with a frown on her face, though nothing penetrated the downstairs din of the bar or the two pints he'd already drunk. He waved hi and turned back to his drink.
"That's not my girlfriend. I just work with her." Lee didn't know whether to be amused or pissed that now even people outside the office assumed he and Tania were dating. He found the attention flattering, especially since it raised his status among his almost-completely male workgroup. But lately he'd begun thinking of her flirting and attentions around the office as the stink of territorial pissing. What had his dad always said? Better to be pissed off than pissed on.
A lot about work had been stinking to Lee these days, turning their weekly bar runs desperate, and the next morning at the bank, a cluster of hung-over heads bobbing over half-height cube walls, verging on the pathetic. Some Fridays, after a night of beers and depth charges, Lee was pretty sure any verge he'd been toying with was way behind him, up the hill and over the road and into the last town. Would a jump off the edge be any worse than a sour stomach and pounding head?
"Why are you laughing?"
With a flourish half-drunk and half all-out balls, Lee tipped his mostly-fresh pint in the direction of the girl with too much makeup and said, "When she finds out I'm going out with you she'll really be pissed."
Thursday, October 20, 2005
AC Transit #1
Mercedes swung onto the 72 through the back doors. The 6:19 bus. A crowd at the front doors. He quietly slipping inside, flashed his pass and slipped to the back of the bus and into one of the few remaining seats. The crowd, all men, and almost all black, was quiet, gazing out the window or nodding off.
Somebody in the back was talking; Mercedes looked up from his lap and across the aisle. The man was talking to himself; not on the phone or to the guy sitting uncomfortably next to him, but to the space between all the passengers. Preacher talk.
"The Bible says fornication is a sin! And that he who sins calls down a plague upon his house. That fornicator Clinton--"
A man behind Mercedes spoke. "Don't you go saying nothing against Clinton! I got a job these days. Don't you bad-rap him."
Preacher man looked slyly at the great fornicator's defender, then continued in a similar vein. "The man who fornicates is unclean! Unholy! Ungodly! Far from God, brother. A man who would be clean needs to read his Bible..."
On and on and on, block after block. Christ, how far is Preacher man riding this bus? Mercedes, and several men around him, figeted in pained silence.
"The sin of the fornicator--"
A white guy in front of Mercedes spoke up suddenly. In a very loud voice, he cut off Preacher man by saying, "Hey, who on this bus would rather read the bible...or get some pussy?"
Preacher man couldn't make himself heard over the raucous laughter, and was off the bus at the next stop.
Mercedes smiled as he text-messaged Shanice. I'll vote for pussy every time.
Mercedes swung onto the 72 through the back doors. The 6:19 bus. A crowd at the front doors. He quietly slipping inside, flashed his pass and slipped to the back of the bus and into one of the few remaining seats. The crowd, all men, and almost all black, was quiet, gazing out the window or nodding off.
Somebody in the back was talking; Mercedes looked up from his lap and across the aisle. The man was talking to himself; not on the phone or to the guy sitting uncomfortably next to him, but to the space between all the passengers. Preacher talk.
"The Bible says fornication is a sin! And that he who sins calls down a plague upon his house. That fornicator Clinton--"
A man behind Mercedes spoke. "Don't you go saying nothing against Clinton! I got a job these days. Don't you bad-rap him."
Preacher man looked slyly at the great fornicator's defender, then continued in a similar vein. "The man who fornicates is unclean! Unholy! Ungodly! Far from God, brother. A man who would be clean needs to read his Bible..."
On and on and on, block after block. Christ, how far is Preacher man riding this bus? Mercedes, and several men around him, figeted in pained silence.
"The sin of the fornicator--"
A white guy in front of Mercedes spoke up suddenly. In a very loud voice, he cut off Preacher man by saying, "Hey, who on this bus would rather read the bible...or get some pussy?"
Preacher man couldn't make himself heard over the raucous laughter, and was off the bus at the next stop.
Mercedes smiled as he text-messaged Shanice. I'll vote for pussy every time.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
The heart of Texas. HOT. We escape the tv by driving to Groesbeck to see Fort Parker. That took us through the lunch hour, and when we were back in the car a dependable voice piped up: ribs. But like the much-needed rain that always falls a few towns over, bbq in Limestone County is never in the town you're in. But the word was Buck was back from Iraq and had reopened his pizzaria and that got three yes votes and we were off to the little strip mall next to Wal*Mart, the one with the Radio Shack and Curves and the video rental store. And Bucks Pizza. But being overseas a year and a half took its toll on Mexia fine dining, and the storefront was empty, the sign gone. So we drove down Main Street to Jim's Krispy Fried Chicken, the one with catfish and gizzards and today ma'am I'm sorry we're out of chicken legs and catfish, it'll be a ten-minute wait, so we got chicken wings instead and went home to make ice tea.
Dribs and Drabs #3
It'd been months since he'd gotten out of San Diego, so when Doug asked him to go to Fresno and retrieve his car, he didn't stop to think that a repo job maybe wasn't the best excuse for a road trip. He wasn't one of those guys who enjoyed the kind of confrontational, macho antics that could well develop by asking someone for their car keys, even without implicitly saying anything about their credit-worthiness.
He had seen Karen, the woman with the car keys, around town with Doug once or twice, though he couldn't really say she'd made any kind of impression, aside from her towering blonde hair and prominently-displayed boobs. Deke smiled. San Diego always was a good town for boobs. He wasn't too surprised when his friend told him that Karen was taking over the payments on his Camero while he was on WestPac. Doug wasn't the first petty officer trying to figure out how to keep from going broke from bills back home while out at sea.
He walked past the rinky-dink baggage claim and looked around for Karen. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if she didn't show; he didn't have her address or phone number. He shrugged; he could probably take the bus home if it came to that.
When he had seen Doug and Karen going out together, he'd assumed that she was just another easy lay in Sailor Town. When he read the letter from Doug explaining the situation—that Karen and her boyfriend had neglected the last two payments—and asking Deke to go to Fresno and get the car, he wondered, Boyfriend since when? Knowing Doug, Deke could imagine this cabron might not be too happy to lose his (borrowed) ride back to the man humping his bleach-blonde beach babe.
"Hey, Karen." Christ, that was lame. He was torn between forced cheerfulness and grim responsibility, and ended up sounding stupid.
"Hey, Deke. Do you just want to take the car keys, or...?"
An out! Karen looked, if not pleasant, at least not hostile like her silent, sullen boyfriend. "Yeah, if that's okay." Stupid! "I've got a long drive back."
"Sure thing." She nudged her boyfriend and he reached into his pants and pulled out a keyring. He handed it to Karen and she silently handed it to Deke.
"Thanks. I guess that's it, then." Deke thought about extending his hand for a friendly, no-hard-feelings handshake, took a second look at the now-scowling boyfriend, and turned it into a half-hearted wave as he turned around and got the hell out of there.
It'd been months since he'd gotten out of San Diego, so when Doug asked him to go to Fresno and retrieve his car, he didn't stop to think that a repo job maybe wasn't the best excuse for a road trip. He wasn't one of those guys who enjoyed the kind of confrontational, macho antics that could well develop by asking someone for their car keys, even without implicitly saying anything about their credit-worthiness.
He had seen Karen, the woman with the car keys, around town with Doug once or twice, though he couldn't really say she'd made any kind of impression, aside from her towering blonde hair and prominently-displayed boobs. Deke smiled. San Diego always was a good town for boobs. He wasn't too surprised when his friend told him that Karen was taking over the payments on his Camero while he was on WestPac. Doug wasn't the first petty officer trying to figure out how to keep from going broke from bills back home while out at sea.
He walked past the rinky-dink baggage claim and looked around for Karen. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if she didn't show; he didn't have her address or phone number. He shrugged; he could probably take the bus home if it came to that.
When he had seen Doug and Karen going out together, he'd assumed that she was just another easy lay in Sailor Town. When he read the letter from Doug explaining the situation—that Karen and her boyfriend had neglected the last two payments—and asking Deke to go to Fresno and get the car, he wondered, Boyfriend since when? Knowing Doug, Deke could imagine this cabron might not be too happy to lose his (borrowed) ride back to the man humping his bleach-blonde beach babe.
"Hey, Karen." Christ, that was lame. He was torn between forced cheerfulness and grim responsibility, and ended up sounding stupid.
"Hey, Deke. Do you just want to take the car keys, or...?"
An out! Karen looked, if not pleasant, at least not hostile like her silent, sullen boyfriend. "Yeah, if that's okay." Stupid! "I've got a long drive back."
"Sure thing." She nudged her boyfriend and he reached into his pants and pulled out a keyring. He handed it to Karen and she silently handed it to Deke.
"Thanks. I guess that's it, then." Deke thought about extending his hand for a friendly, no-hard-feelings handshake, took a second look at the now-scowling boyfriend, and turned it into a half-hearted wave as he turned around and got the hell out of there.
Dribs and Drabs #2
Deke thought he was running for a plane, but the man he was following was closing in on a van. What have we here? The man threw open the back doors and told Deke to climb in and find a seat. Deke stepped in to the back of the cargo van; the man closed the doors and got in the driver seat. He lurched the van into gear while Deke, hunched over, scrambled around the back, barely avoiding falling over before landing his ass on a wheel well.
They drove across the airport in silence for several minutes, then the van stopped and the man once again threw open the rear doors. "Hurry or you're going to miss it!" Deke peered out toward a small commuter jet. The airline man gave him a hand out. He tossed a "thanks" over his shoulder and ran to the plane. As he took a seat a crewmember shut the door and they began to taxi down the runway.
This next part wasn't going to be easy.
Deke thought he was running for a plane, but the man he was following was closing in on a van. What have we here? The man threw open the back doors and told Deke to climb in and find a seat. Deke stepped in to the back of the cargo van; the man closed the doors and got in the driver seat. He lurched the van into gear while Deke, hunched over, scrambled around the back, barely avoiding falling over before landing his ass on a wheel well.
They drove across the airport in silence for several minutes, then the van stopped and the man once again threw open the rear doors. "Hurry or you're going to miss it!" Deke peered out toward a small commuter jet. The airline man gave him a hand out. He tossed a "thanks" over his shoulder and ran to the plane. As he took a seat a crewmember shut the door and they began to taxi down the runway.
This next part wasn't going to be easy.
Dribs and Drabs: I'm on Dial-up
"Where are you going?"
"Fresno!"
"Well, we're not."
Deke looked around the almost-empty plane, then back at the co-pilot's head poking through the curtain dividing the cockpit from the cabin, shrugged his shoulders and grabbed his duffle. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking around, but the few folks who had been on the flight from San Diego with him were already out of sight. He shrugged and headed across the tarmac to the terminal.
He was almost to the door when an airline employee came out and made a beeline towards him. "Are you the passenger continuing on to Fresno?"
"Uh, yeah, I'm just not sure which plane I'm supposed to take." He had been sure in San Diego, however, as his ticket indicated a direct flight. Landing at Burbank had been a complete surprise, but if a road-trip didn't throw a few curveballs your way, it wasn't really a very good trip in Deke's book.
"The plane to Fresno is getting ready to leave. Did you check any luggage?"
"No..."
"Okay; let's go!" The man took off at an almost-run, away from the terminal and toward the empty expanse of asphalt. Deke followed, jogging along with his duffle wedged under his arm.
"Where are you going?"
"Fresno!"
"Well, we're not."
Deke looked around the almost-empty plane, then back at the co-pilot's head poking through the curtain dividing the cockpit from the cabin, shrugged his shoulders and grabbed his duffle. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking around, but the few folks who had been on the flight from San Diego with him were already out of sight. He shrugged and headed across the tarmac to the terminal.
He was almost to the door when an airline employee came out and made a beeline towards him. "Are you the passenger continuing on to Fresno?"
"Uh, yeah, I'm just not sure which plane I'm supposed to take." He had been sure in San Diego, however, as his ticket indicated a direct flight. Landing at Burbank had been a complete surprise, but if a road-trip didn't throw a few curveballs your way, it wasn't really a very good trip in Deke's book.
"The plane to Fresno is getting ready to leave. Did you check any luggage?"
"No..."
"Okay; let's go!" The man took off at an almost-run, away from the terminal and toward the empty expanse of asphalt. Deke followed, jogging along with his duffle wedged under his arm.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
I Remember You
He thanked everyone for coming, a small touch of civility when sitting in the dark, in the dirt, buck-naked. While getting dressed, his friend turned and said, “Thanks, that was a great sweat! But his name is Earl.”
”It is? Shit, man, I’m sorry!”
A third man spoke up. “I called him Eric when I first met him, too.”
Earl said, ”It’s okay. Everybody does. That was my name during the Civil War.”
Nobody guffawed, this being that kind of place, and Earl went on. “I fought in the Civil War, but I don’t know if I died in it. I asked a psychic, who told me that I was a warrior in 23 of my past 25 lives. When I met my girlfriend the first time, we saw each other in Civil War-period clothing.”
”So it’s okay if you call me Eric.”
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