unabstracting the abstract

FEAR - Walk down an empty hallway at night. Moonlight from the window is all there is. Complete silence except for the creaking of floorboards. There are maybe two doors, one on each side of the hallway. They are both closed. Walk closer to the door on the right. Now there's a faint sound from behind it; it can't be made out, but it's there. White noise. Slowly and carefully turn the knob. The hinges sweak; WD-40 is in order. There is a clear view into the room. It's dark, but there is a small desk lamp that outlines the back of a figure. The sound is an odd hum that emanates from the figure. It sounds mechanical, not human. Approach the light and the figure. Sweaking again; the door closes behind you. The hum stops. Open up and try to say something, but words don't come out. Mute. The figure taps a foot on the floor. Notice a thick liquid pushing up through a crack between boards. The figure slowly turns. Stand paralyzed. Its face is pale and adorned with white pupils. The light brightens. A white eye blinks, producing a dark red tear. Hear a loud scream of a child or an animal. Butchered. The crack splits wide open and blood fills the floor. The walls seep red. The figure's hand reaches forward. Eyes closed. Eyes open. Sit up in bed, covered in sweat. Soaked. Look precariously around the room. Alarm clock says 3:43 AM. Turn on the bedside light and sit. Turn on the TV and sit. Don't sleep and just sit until the clock reads 7:00 AM. Nightmare.

LOVE - It's all you need... according to John and Paul.

*a work in progress - not finished yet*

NATURE - Overwhelmed by green and brown. Breath in the air and truly realize the surroundings. There is the smell of timber, the chirp of birds, and the feel of dirt below. Imagine a city without any people or pollution. That would be like this. Skyscrapers that are home to all except the human race. Without the threat of man, their magnificent structure can only be ruined by time. Kneel down and examine the grass. The fallen leaves. The weeds. The mushrooms. The animal shit. The bugs. Stand back up and continue on. There's a spring a little farther on. Look closer. Fish swimming. The grass gets taller. Take another deep breath. The air is light. Walk into the clearing and spot a still deer. Step on a branch and break it. The deer raises its head and stares. Go closer. It raises its tail and runs away, flashing white. Sit on a log in the middle of the clearing. Suddenly, there is a foreign sound. Grasp the log tightly. The loud sound gets closer. Steel. Fuel. Control the racing heartbeat. Overhead, a plane flies over, rumbling everything. Breath out. The sounds fades away. Back to normal. Flick the frog off the shoe. Laugh. Forest.

a precious prey

He crouched behind the bush, sweat droplets sliding down his forehead. He didn't dare make a sound. The sun blazed. As they cradled the steel-barreled elephant gun, his hands began to quiver. He could barely grasp the trigger with the moisture on his fingers. 100 yards out was his prey. He had ventured into the jungle before, but never to hunt such magnificence. His cold blue eyes widened as he glimpsed the beautiful ivory that would soon be his. The natural sounds drowned out; he could only hear the cocking. With the target in his sight, he caressed the trigger.

remains, human

The room is cold, dark, and concrete. No windows. A dirty white surgical light sits in the middle, illuminating an empty steel table on wheels. The far wall contains a door, six inches thick and made of some rusted metal. It gives the appearance that if one even touched it with bare skin, infection would be instantaneous. There is a steel padlock fixed on the door; it looks new and stands out from the door. The lock glimmers as dirty light hits it. It is unlocked. On the opposite wall, there is a long desk with shelves and drawers, a medicine cabinet, a sink, and a pale red light coming in from above. One might says it gives the appearance of a darkroom, but there are no photographs to be seen. In the right corner, there is a refridgerator, colored pink only from the overhead light. The two remaining walls are empty save for a few detailed posters and drawings of the human anatomy. The room is empty.

Suddenly, the door opens with a loud screech of old metal on concrete. For a moment, a light from the hallway outside brightens the entire room. On the floor, very apparent in the light, there are dark red stains scattered around the central table. A figure enters from the doorway and immediately closes it, securing the padlock with precision. The figure is carrying a large black garment bag. It is full of something and seems very heavy. As the figure sets the bag down and walks to the surgical light, a face is revealed. It is a man, probably mid-40s, with thin brown hair and grey eyes. He is wearing light teal medical scrubs under a black rubber apron. He whistles and casually walks over to the desk. From one of the drawers, he pulls out latex gloves and puts them on. The whistle now turns into a gentle hum.

He opens the medicine cabinet and a weak light inside comes on. There are seven small glass jars lined up on one of the shelves. Each one is has a handwritten label and resembles a baby food container. Also, each one appears to be filled with a yellow-colored liquid. Upon closer examination, there are objects in the jars, floating in the liquid. From left to right, the objects appear to be: ear, eye, finger, tongue, nose, teeth, and... empty. The gentle hum continues, only at a faster pace and with more enthusiasm. The man picks up the empty jar and holds it up. In the glass reflection, a wide smile appears on the his face. He purses his lips and kisses the jar. The medicine is closed and the jar it set on the desk.

The man now dances his way over to the refridgerator. As he opens the ice box, he sings an inaudible song. In the ice box, on a steel tray, is a frozen human head. The head is missing all of its distinctive features. The only thing remotely distinctive about it now is the number 31 carved into the forehead. The man breaks into a falsetto version of his song and closes the ice box. He skips back to the desk and opens another drawer. In this drawer there is an assortment of knives, scalpels, pliers, forks, and hammers. He extracts a curved blade and a small mallot and lays them out on the desk. Closing that drawer and opening the one below it, the man taps his foot, the rubber boot squeaking on the concrete. He takes out a power drill from the drawer and tosses it back and forth in his hands. Now, the song has reverted back to a whistle. He gathers his tools and carries them over to the metal table in the middle of the room. Then, the whistling stops. The man's smile fades and his eyes narrow. He reaches in a back pocket and brings out a tape recorder. Holding it to his mouth, he says:

"The sedative is wearing off."

The bag near the door begins moving.

restless: an excerpt from Sleep Away

Laying on the ground, looking at the sky and counting clouds, her eyes matched the grass. The park had always been Heather's favorite place to go when she wanted to clear her head. On her twelfth birthday, Heather's parents had given her two wheels, a green Schwinn Frontier Mountain Bike. Since then, she had biked to the park every day after school just to lay on the grass and sometimes, fall asleep and dream. After about 27, she lost count of the white bodies above her. At that moment, she would have given anything to be able to close her eyes and rest, but that was nothing but wishful thinking. This was the fifth day in a row that Heather had come to the park to try and fall asleep like she used to when she was younger...

Heather pedaled down the sidewalk with a swiftness unmatched. Her destination was the only thing on her mind.

*not finished yet - a work in progress*

we’re gonna need more than just a bigger boat…

“How do I look?”

I could have used this opportunity to tell her “Just like my mother” but I didn’t know whether this was a good time to poke fun at my wife. Oh, what the hell, why not? Carpe diem. Seize the day. I gave her a wide smile.

“Just like my mother.”

You know those Visa “Priceless” commercials? Airfare to Madagascar: $1400. Seven night stay at a resort on Nosy Be island: $5500. Scuba diving trip on a nearby coral reef: $300. My wife’s face after I say she looks like my mother in her bikini: Priceless.

“Asshole.”

“Oh, come on, honey. You look fantastic, really hot. No one could pull off that suit like you, not even me.”

So I’m a joker, what can I say? That’s why she married me. I always put a smile on her face. And I wasn’t kidding just there, she really did look beautiful. She was standing on the edge of the boat that had carried us out into the ocean from Nosy Be, glimmering. I could sense the sun’s envy.

Who scuba dives on their honeymoon? Honestly. Yeah, I know, it was what she wanted, and I wasn’t about to tell her no. Marriage is a compromise. She was gung-ho about the whole thing while I, on the other hand, was a trifle nervous. Let’s just say I was one of the many that was scared shitless of the ocean by the movie Jaws. Damn Steven Spielberg. Anyway, as I was donning the provided wetsuit, the scuba “guide” was a telling the rest of the group some simple guidelines about diving. I say the rest of the group because I was too busy putting myself in Roy Scheider’s shoes to pay anything remotely close to attention. Our guide was a local, a tall black man by the name of Jake. Before I knew that, though, I had imagined his name to be something more like Kimbo or Mogamba, or something like that. But I guess my stereotyping side didn’t win this round. I glanced slightly over the edge of the boat at the water; it was deep. We were supposed to be on a coral reef, but I didn’t see anything that would indicate so. Maybe I was a little paranoid, but I couldn’t let the wife know that. However, my trembling legs were making that difficult. I was prepared to blame the shaking on all the coffee I had consumed that morning if she happened to notice.

My fears aside, this was a very special moment for me. It was the first time, really, that Jessica and I were alone as a married couple away from any friends or family. It almost felt like we had just met; it was a new beginning. I don’t want to sound sappy, but it was true. I was a new man.

Splash!

Oh shit, here we go. The first of the group had just dived in with Jake. I watched them disappear completely in the blue abyss; they were dead. It was now our turn. Trying to delay the inevitable as much as possible, I double-checked my wet suit and my air tank. Everything seemed fine, giving me no real reason not to jump in to my doom. Damn you, Spielberg.

“Come on David. Let’s go. We’re gonna get left behind if we wait any longer.”

My eyes were fixed on the now calm blue surface of the ocean. The wife’s words entered my left ear and got lost somewhere on the way to the brain.

“David! What’s wrong?”

The words stopped at some sleazy gas station and asked for directions. The pump operator told the words about a shortcut back onto the main road. The words were at first hesitant to listen to Dale, the gas station grease monkey that clearly hadn’t showered since the 70s, but finally decided to take his advice. After a few moments, they did indeed find themselves back on a road. They could only hope that it somehow led directly to the brain.

“David! David! For the love of god, answer me!”

Celebration! The words rejoiced. They had reached their destination. My gaze on the water was relinquished. I turned to my wife and laughed. Her face was one of confusion.

“Jess, I’m fine. I was just messin’ with you. Come on, let’s go wild.”

She nervously laughed along with me for a second, but I could tell she didn’t quite know what had just happened. And then, the most amazing thing occurred. All of my fear of the ocean vanished; I was fine. Hell! I was better than fine. I couldn’t wait to make contact with the blue. I turned to Jessica and nodded. She held out her hand and looked at me with wanting eyes. That was another thing I had promised her – we would hold hands when we jumped in. So be it.

Hands joined, we went for it.

Splash!

As it happened, we entered a foreign world. It was magnificent. Blues, reds, greens – the coral reef, which I had doubted earlier, was now presenting itself right if front of me. There were schools of fish everywhere, half of which, I had never seen before. It was like a living rainbow, underwater of course. The bulk of the group was just a little ahead of us, so we slowly swam towards them. Below us, gliding on top of the dark infinity, there was a large sea turtle. It was easily as big as my torso. We drew closer to the group, as did the turtle. I felt like it was following us, its greenish-grey shell remaining directly below me for some time. As I looked up, Jake was giving some sort of hand signal to the group. Unfortunately, during scuba practice the day before, I completely zoned out during the sign-language session. I was too busy thinking about Robert Shaw getting torn to pieces by the giant great white. Damn it! I was back on that movie again. What the hell was wrong with me?

My wife tapped me on the shoulder. I looked at her to see that she was holding out the underwater camera we had brought along. She wanted me to get someone to take a picture of us. So I swam over to the nearest person, a young woman not much older than my kid sister. I got her attention and showed her the camera. She got the picture, and then swam over to take the picture. Jessica and I treaded around until we were side-by-side and ready to say cheese, or at least think about saying cheese. It was hard to speak underwater. We smiled and the young woman snapped the camera. This was going to make for a one hell of a photo album.

Just out of habit, I looked down below me expecting to the see the turtle anticipating my next move. However, the old hard-shelled lug wasn’t there. All I could see was the black void that went on for who knows how far. I wondered where he went. My wife was tapping me on the shoulder again. Before I could see what she wanted. My gaze was distracted, something was different. The schools of fish that were gently swimming along were now dashing frantically in all directions. There was no order to their motion. It was a prison riot, complete chaos. The water was getting cloudy and I was having trouble seeing the entire group.

The 12-foot tiger shark came from the right at light-speed. For a heartbeat, I though it was just chasing after the fleeing fish. But I was wrong. The monster speared right into Jake, clamping his body in its razor jaws. The once majestic blue was now changing its hue. It was an elaborate crimson symphony. I couldn’t see Jake anymore. The massive shark was circling and thrashing violently. Red clouds were moving in. Our group had scattered, just like the fish.

After breaking free from the rapture of Jake’s gruesome end, I looked around for Jessica. Where had she gone? I found her slightly above me trying to get my attention. What happened next, I have trouble remembering. There was a lot of noise, mostly muffled by the water. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said that I was swimming in a sea of cranberry juice. Everything else was hazy. When I hit the surface, I was blinded by the sun. The barely audible noise now became very intelligible human screams. Once I got my bearings straight, I grabbed my wife’s hand and swam like hell to the boat.

Over the next few minutes, the boat rapidly filled up with mortified passengers. I couldn’t tell if people were screaming, crying, or laughing. I sat next to Jessica and wrapped her in a towel, trying to give some comfort. Just then, someone caught my eye. It was the young woman who had taken the picture, sobbing uncontrollably. She was white as Christmas. And I could tell that she, as well as everyone else, had gotten their presents early – life. Few words were spoken by anyone, but those that were once again got lost in my head. Not even Dale could help them.

The water was calming, but there was still that ominous, red cloud sitting silently on the surface not too far away. Voices remained drowned out by my thoughts. I must say I was quite glad to be alive, but I couldn’t help but feel the irony of this whole situation. I had my fears and doubts about the ocean, but I put them aside for my wife. And then, sure enough, shark attack! I wanted to say “I told you so”, but seeing as my wife never knew I was scared of the ocean, I really didn’t know who to say it to.

“Some honeymoon, David, huh?”

Had my wife just said something… semi-sarcastic? I couldn’t believe it, she would never be as insensitive as me. But I knew the only way to make her happy right now was to use some of my odd sense of humor.

“You know, I never knew that animals could be racist. Did you?”

Stop.

Anyone with any kind of moral structure and good sense would have condemned me for saying that, but my wife was different. I’m not saying she was an immoral person, not at all. She was just someone who understood me and my dark humor. She never laughed as hard or smiled as wide as when I was joking around.

Resume.

As I had thought, she let out a chuckle at my comment. No matter how horrible the circumstances were, I was determined to make her happy. Luckily, none of the others heard her laugh. As far as everyone else was concerned, this was no time for laughter. And they were right for the most part; I mean, a man had died for Christ’s sake. At that moment, I remembered something.

“Honey, why were you trying to get my attention back there?”

She wiped the tears of joy out of her eyes and paused for a second.

“Oh, well, I wanted you to get a picture of the sea turtle before he swam away. He was swimming around above us.”

“Oh. But I didn’t have the camera.”

As I said this, the pale young woman walked over to me and held out her hand. In it was the underwater camera. I looked at her with astonishment. She wasn’t crying anymore, but instead had a satisfied face.

“I got a picture of the turtle.”

I didn’t respond back to her in words, it was more of a silent gratitude. As she walked away, I handed the camera to Jessica and saw that she was just as surprised as I was. Then, I miscalculated and saw another opportunity to throw in one of my tasteless jokes.

“It’s too bad she didn’t get a picture of Jake and his shark.”

My wife glared at me with daggers.

“No? Okay. You’re right, you’re right, that was one hundred percent inappropriate. I take it back.”

Timidly laughing, I leaned over and gave her a comforting hug.

Just married. It’s a shame we couldn’t drag a bunch of tin cans behind the boat.

the tool man's rocks

He couldn't believe it had come down to this. Back on the streets, after so many years. Dressed incognito, which consisted of a drab brown trenchcoat and a pair of Blues Brothers black sunglasses, Tim Allen walked causally down a semi-empty sidewalk, gray suitcase in hand. This was the best place in the city to do business, not a lot of people who cared. The people who were around were all potential customers, Tim just had to find the highest bidders. One man, who had a silvery beard and was leaning up against a street lamp in a torn flannel shirt and matching flannel pants, seemed desperate for some of the Allen's medicine. Tim looked up and down at the man and decided he didn't feel like dealing with a lumberjack in a onesie today. Further down the street, there were two younger men playing some kind of hitting game. The first guy would hit the other in the face and then the second guy would slowly pick himself up off the ground and retaliate by hitting the first guy in the stomach. Tim slowed his pace so he could more carefully watch this odd game. It seemed that there were more to the rules than just back-and-forth punches because by this time the second guy had drawn out a shiny butterfly knife and was waving it from side to side. It was then that Tim realized this wasn't a game at all, but that these two must actually be fighting. He went from somewhat of a crawl to a dead stop while his eyed viewed in wonderment the scuffle taking place before him. Tim was close enough to hear parts of a dialogue between the two combatants. The guy with the knife said something about "gutting you from left to right" while the other guy came back with "not before I fuck your mother". At this moment, the knife guy lunged forward and drove his blade into the lower abdomen of the first guy. Tim watched in astonishing horror as the blood flowed from the stomach to the sidewalk. The owner of the knife looked absolutely shocked and took off running down the sidewalk right past Tim while the receiver of the knife collapsed in a crumpled, crimson mess. Tim knew he had better get the hell out of there before any fuzz arrived and he was wrongfully involved in something. It had been a long time since Tim thought of police as "fuzz". Without anymore hesitation, Tim blindly darted away from the crime scene out into the street. There was a loud crash and a shooting pain from Tim's ankles to his chest. He could see black.

The driver of the car got out and ran to Tim sprawled out on the pavement. The driver shook Tim and tried to get some kind of sign of life. After a few long moments, Tim sluggishly rose to his feet stilling feeling a sharp pain in his body, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact location. The driver couldn't believe his eyes and opened his mouth in excitement.

"Oh my God! You're Tim "the Tool Man" Taylor! I can't believe it, of all the people I could have run into!"

Still a bit disoriented, Tim somehow had a feeling that this man wasn't referring to actually "running into him" with a car. It didn't bother him though, Tim had felt this lack of compassion before.

"Oh, Tim Taylor! I am a huge fan, can I have your autograph? Oh wait, better yet, can I buy you a cup of coffee? I know a place just down the street, and they make the best damn coffee in the whole city. I go there all the time. My brother actually slept with one of the employees there. Yeah, you'll never believe this, he told that this girl is complete slut. She's slept with, like, forty seven guys in the past year. She even had a threesome with another girl once. I think her name's Alison, or maybe Vickie, I don't know. So what do you say?"

This man spit words like a machine gun. Tim felt like the best way to deal with this was to back the conversation up a bit.

"I'm Tim Allen, actually. My name's Tim Allen, the actor. Tim Taylor was my character on Home Improvement. I'm not actually a tool man. The show's been off the air for about seven years now. And I'm going to have to pass on coffee, I'm kind of in a hurry. Sorry."

"Oh, sure, not a big deal. So what are you doing here in the city?"

"I'm here on business."

Tim looked around suspiciously.

"Yes, I'm here on business, and I really am in a hurry so I need to go. Thanks for helping me up."

Tim turned and walked away. The driver threw in one final remark.

"Okay, bye! It was nice to meet you. Sorry I hit you. I'll be sure to tune into Tool Time next week!"

Tim only had one word on his mind regarding that man, and the word was "jackass". He knew that he had to focus all his engery now on business. If he didn't make a deal today, he would definitely pay for it tomorrow. He entered a somewhat desolate park just across the street from where he was run over. The leaves on the trees had all but died and fallen off and snow would be here soon. Tim had never liked how quickly Autumn came and went, but he had to think about business and nothing else. Customers, he thought to himself, were all around, he just needed to find the right ones. Tim was desperate for some extra money. His past few films hadn't garnered him nearly enough and he was feeling the impact. Christmas with the Kranks, The Shaggy Dog, Zoom... the last actor that had a string of movies that shitty was Carrot Top... or maybe Pauly Shore. Either way, Tim needed money, and the only way to get money now was to do business. And the only way to do business was to find customers. There was a young woman who was grossly underdressed for this time of year wandering down the park path. She was attractive, but still a little homely. Tim decided that she was more prostitute attractive than anything. The kind that was wrong for a relationship but perfect for a one night stand. Tim knew he couldn't do business with her or he might end up having more extra-marital sex. He saw a man dressed in an awful maroon tartan suit sitting on a bench watching the ducks skate on the neaby pond. He too had a briefcase and there was no one around him. The man was balding but tried to cover it up by slicking the thin strands of graying hair over his scalp. He was older and his face definitely showed it; there was something about him. He was also a little on the heavy side, not that Tim could say anything seeing as he himself wasn't exactly cut like a rock anymore. The guy probably eats a lot of donuts in the morning, Tim thought to himself. Despite his poor choice of clothing, the man looked respectable, he looked like he had money. This was exactly what Tim had been hoping for, he had found his customer. The Allen nonchalantly strolled down the path towards the man. As he got closer, the man looked up and Tim smiled at him; the man smiled back and then went back to watching the ducks. Tim now walked over to the bench where the man was sitting and stopped just a few feet away.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I have a seat?"

The man looked up again and gave another smile, this smile even bigger and more satisfied than the last.

"Of course not. Please, do sit down. It'll be nice to have some company."

Tim sat down and proceeded to have small talk with the man. Several minutes passed and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Strangely enough, this whole time, the man never recogized Tim. It seems as though the sunglasses and trenchcoat worked to Tim's advantage. The conversation slowed and reached a point where Tim saw fit to try and make a deal.

"You know, it's been great talking to you. You should let me buy you a drink some time. Anyway, more to the point, I was wondering if you were at all interested in a little thrill."

The man gave Tim a blank and somewhat odd look.

"Oh no, you don't understand. I'm not... you know, I'm not gay or anything like that, if that's what you were thinking. No, no, you don't have to worry about that, I wasn't trying to pick you up or anything. I was hoping to make a deal with you, though. You know, maybe have Christmas come early, you don't have to wait until December to have a little snow. Hell, Columbia has snow all year round, if you know what I mean."

The man now seemed to understand what Tim was saying.

"So what do you say? Are you in or out?"

There was a long silence between them that had Tim wondering whether or not he made a mistake revealing his true intentions to the man. After what seemed like a solid minute of nothingness, the man responded very calmly.

"Alright, I'm in. How much are you selling and what am I going to pay for it?"

Tim was very relieved.

"Hoo! Okay, my man! You made the right choice. I can set you up for a whole kilo at a hundred thousand, or I can do a half kilo at fifty. It's up to you."

"I'll go for the whole kilo. I'm gonna need it, ha! What with my dull life and all, the more bang the better."

"A kilo it is."

Evening was drawing closer and the park was empty except for Tim and his buyer. Tim grabbed his briefcase and set it on his lap. He put in the lock combination, 202, and carefully opened it up. Inside was a large, thick, and rectangular white block. At this point, the buyer had also set his briefcase on his lap and was putting in his own lock combination. Tim glanced down and caught a glimpse of the number the man was putting in, 911. Suddenly, a shiver of terror ran up Tim's back. The man opened his breifcase only to reveal a single handgun and a badge next to it. The man swiftly pulled the gun out, cocked it, and pressed it to Tim's face.

"Ken Woodard, Narcotics, Division 12. And you're going down you rock-peddling motherfucker."

Tim Allen awoke with a jolt in his brain. He sat up in bed covered in sweat and looked down at his pillow to see that it was equally soaked in fear. It was still early morning, the sun wasn't even up yet. The dream had felt so real Tim was having a hard time believing that it never actually happened. He couldn't go back to sleep, not now. So Tim opted to get up, put his robe on, and start the day early. He made himself some coffee and sat massaging his head. He knew that today was going to be hard. He was desperately in need of some money. His latest movies hadn't grossed even half as much as they were projected to. Tim needed a source of money fast. Today was going to be a difficult and long day. However, Tim knew that he could ease the stress and possible agony of the coming day just a little bit. He knew he could ensure this day wouldn't be the worst he's ever had. He went into his foyer and opened his coat closet. He then turned around and grabbed the drab brown trenchcoat that he had set out the night before and tossed it into the closet and slammed the door. Then he went back into his bedroom and turned on the bedside light. There was a gray suitcase lying at the foot of his bed. Tim walked over to it and kicked it far under his bed, burying it in shadows like a time capsule for another generation to find. He then proceeded to shower, get dressed, and have breakfast. He knew that today wasn't going to be that good, but he also knew that it wasn't going to be bad. He not only needed money, but he also needed a new way to get some.

Maybe he'd fire his agent and hire a better one...

Barry Anders: portrait of a pseudo-cynical, lone ex-rocker on the verge of a life-changing moment

Top-floor apartment suite, downtown Chicago, mailbox 627. This is the home of man, a man who is currently saying goodbye to a woman that he met at a club the previous night. And he's still not sure why she even came home with him in the first place. This sort of thing was becoming more and more common in the man's life - he feels like he needs it. It isn't about sex, well... maybe it is, but it's more about companionship. He is showing his one-night stand the door and she gives him a goodbye kiss. He reluctantly accepts it like a boy who gets the less-expensive G.I. Joe Communism Containment Commando than the one he really wanted. The woman tells him to stop acting like he doesn't trust people because he clearly does, or he wouldn't have let her play with his '91 tour guitar. Barry Anders closes the door behind the woman and walks to his living room. The place is really nice - furniture, lighting, view, the works.

In the economic world, Barry is very well off. The far left wall in the living room contains several gold records and tour posters. Money has been able to buy Barry everything except satisfaction... and those classic Ray Ban aviators that he got from a navy pilot who happened to be his father. It's not like Barry isn't happy, he's just not satisfied. He begins to think carefully about what the woman said to him. It's true, since 1992, he has always tried to give off the vibe that he mistrusts people, although he isn't all that good at it. Ever since the band broke up, for many years, Barry has been trying to move on - he even bought his own club. Barry has friends, they just don't seem to call him that much, or at all. In fact, the only person that calls Barry frequently is Stacy... who is a man. Stacy Sterling is the bassist in the rock trio that no longer exists. Barry admits that he could care less if the third member dropped off the face of the earth. Though when alone, so most of the time, Barry still wonders where that man is.

Barry now finds himself on his small but adequate deck, lighting up a cigarette. All of a sudden, there is a heavenly sound eminating from inside the apartment. Barry hears the phone ringing and runs to it. He is now on the streets of Calcutta, barefoot and dressed in rags, reaching for a loaf of bread, a rolex off the arm of a businessman, spare change, anything. He puts the receiver to his mouth and answers. Someone kindly tosses him a used pair of sandals.

"Hello?" Barry says.

There is a short pause.

"Darell, hmm... I'm not sure I remember you."

There is a long pause.

"Oh wait..."

Barry's life has changed.

the christening of a new blog

This is my first post on the blog, it's like breaking a wine bottle on a new ship.