Mugshot

Talus hadn't been to work in two weeks. Had given-up on that job, called-in for five days claiming sickness, only to be told on the fifth day that his job was longer available. After hearing the news, he wandered around the neighborhood on a regular basis. His grandmother had left a small fund for him, but he found he needed a job, however small. He had stopped playing the violin as well. For the most part, his life was silent. Quiet, all around him was a loud silence. He found himself on one of his walks standing in front of the radio station. It was early, 6AM or so, and he walked into the station, perhaps for a job. Perhaps to quiet the silence. The manager said he could clean some floors, the bathrooms and maybe re-stack records. Perfect.

His day started at sunset and ended at sunrise. He wasn't too fond of the music played on the graveyard shift, but music was music. He walked for a good hour before going into work. Walking is good for the soul, yet on this day -- probably like many other days, Talus saw an altercation in the parking lot next to the strip club. He wished that the club had burned down instead of the Forever 21 shop. Both were obnoxious, but at least the shop only sold clothes, not real human beings. No one bothered to slow down to see what was happening. A knife, maybe a bottle? Didn't matter. Familiarity breeds apathy. Talus walked past and to his work. Toilets didn't wash themselves.

It's not a wonderful life...

The room was lifeless except for the eerie flashing lights from below. Christmas. Snow. Talus thought of the beach. His grandmother always wanted to go to the beach. Kept insisting to Talus that the sun, sand, and water would be just the elixir he needed. He said he loved the city. The grime and dullness kept him focused on his music. The beach would only distract him. Talus watch the motionless world outside his window. Then it started. The incessant clanging of the bell. Looking out the window only made it worse. The blind man was raising money for the Salvation Army. Talus needed salvation from the bell. He dressed and walked slowly down the stairs, out into the street and stood in front of the blind man.
"Please, if I give you $100 dollars will you go away and stop with the bell ringing?"
"Darkness is cheap" replied the blind man. "And Scrooge liked it."
"No really. I will go insane if you continue with this incessant bell ringing."
"Humbug!"
"Okay, if that's what you want." Talus reached for the bell, the blind man jerked his hand away and yelled for the police. Talus knocked over the kettle running away. As he ran he heard people shouting behind him.
"Hey you ass-hole!"
"Really? Trying to rob the Salvation Army?"
Talus ran into the cemetery. "Appropriate," he thought.
He turned to see if anyone actually was pursuing him and to his surprize, two guys were following him. As he turned he hit the corner of a grave, lost his balance, and nearly impaled himself on a small rusted cross protruding from a small headstone. The cross instead nicked his coat and only scratched his ribs. He looked at the grave stone.
Anna Fugue May she rest in peace.
"Peace, peace, peace. Mother I need peace."

The streets have no name

Talus was propped-up on the side of the Motel 2. He was actually laying next to the motel and his head happened to be against the side of the building. He had not intentionally done so, he was too drunk to do anything intentionally. His head wobbled as he tried to turn it toward the noise. A party was in the streets. He squinted to see, but the effort only made him more confused. With his eyes closed, he searched for the bottle next to him and drank the last of whatever was in the bottle. He tossed it rather weakly aside. The rain confused him. He felt the wind and heard the laughter from the crowd and nothing made sense. Particularly why he was laying next to the motel on wet pavement, with no coat. He shoved himself up to his elbows only to discover that he was missing his left shoe. Did he not put on another one after he threw the first one into the street? Confusion returned with a gust of wind and the rain annoying his face.

"Up, Talus, up." He murmured. "Up." As he got to his feet feeling as if the ship just left the dock, he saw Schaffer the writer, hurrying down the sidewalk toward the Waffle House. Schaffer had told Talus about his novel once while they were riding in the elevator. Trying not to look drunk, Talus took a step forward hoping to get Schaffer's attention, but he stepped on a piece of glass with his shoeless foot and cursed. He lost his balance and fell over, landing on his shoulder in a puddle. The rain kept up its pace. Talus couldn't remember whether or not he had put on another shoe after he had thrown the first one in the street. He again pulled himself up by using the rough edges on the bricks of the building. A gust of wind pushed Talus against the building, wafts of smoke, and a group of homeless men stumbled by gesticulating and talking about the lights, the "spaceship," and eying each other as if they were looking at each other for the first time. Talus thought the apocalypse had arrived. His head started throbbing. If he didn't find shelter he knew he would die. Hungover, shoeless, blown about by the tempest like a discarded newspaper he made his first move. Then he saw a tent tumbling toward him. As he tried to move the tent followed his movements. As he ran toward the apartments, the tent followed wobbling and lulling like a pirate ship chasing its bounty. From a distance, both man and tent looked as though they were caught in a turbulent sea heading into the unknown.