New Serge Installment
The Saga of Serge continues...
Part One is Here
Part Two is Here
...hope you're ready...
The tram ride gave Serge a little time to think about his direction in life, but not much. After about a mile, a legless man wheeled into the car and began wailing on a harmonica. A sultry version of “Imagine.” Serge started laughing and held a five down to the disheveled man.
“You play a mean blues harp, my friend”
“And you a jackass. What, you think I’m homeless or sump’in’? Fuck off,
man, I just practicin’. Shit, wit’ the Emperor’s plan the only people wit’out homes are the ones who don’t want ‘em, right? I mean, lookit you, you know dat shit. You got Imperial Service wrote all over you. Tou ain’t foolin’ me wid’ dem shoes, man.”
“I wasn’t trying to fool anybody,” Serge protested, not pulling back his cash. “And who says I’m taking pity on you? You think you’re the only man in the world without legs and I feel like giving them all a fin? You performed; I was the audience; now I’m paying. That’s it.”
“I don’t need yo money, man.”
“I don’t care if you don’t. If you don’t accept it, I’ll be insulted. Playing music for me and then refusing compensation. The Guild of Artists wouldn’t be to happy if I didn’t pay you,” Serge said, pulling out and flipping open his cel phone with his free hand, “but they’ll be even less happy if I tell them you didn’t accept it.”
The performer’s eyes went dim as he realized he was beat. As the little man reached up and grabbed the money, Serge’s wood-paneled phone began to ring. The legless man looked startled, and as though it were the Guild calling to speak with him, he sped off into the next coach.
“Mike,” Serge said as he accepted the call, “what’s up?”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Who else would spoof my Caller ID with “Your Mom, 758-8224?”
“It's a fair cop. Look, I gotta yen for Japanese food, Serge. Get it? Yen? Japanese?”
“Yeah, I got it. But did you know that having a yen for something is Chinese in origin? It came from a yen-yen, a mispronunciation of in-yan, the word used for an opium addict.”
“Why you gotta show me up like that?” Mike laughed.
“Because I can. Why are you calling me so late? I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“No, you’ve got to get some food. Meet me at Sushi Bastard.”
“Nah, last time I went there one of the busboys was setting a customer’s tires on fire in the parking lot. I have no idea how, either, it was raining like crazy.”
“How about noodles at Moon Turk’s? This late at night the owner gets creative with his recipes, I’ve had some really good shit there. His okra and chipped soy beef ramen, though…I can still smell my vomit from after that one.”
“Alright, I’m almost there anyway. If there’s no sake waiting for me, though, I’m bailing.”
“Bitch bitch bi…” Mike’s voice clipped as he hung up.
Serge leaned back in his seat and watched the city go by, suddenly happier than he figured any man should be allowed to be. In the next carriage down, the conductor was tazing himself and laughing hysterically. Serge flicked his artificial hand and grinned.
It was, he decided, a good time to be alive after all.
Serge ducked off the tram a block from Turk’s and could already hear the gunfire. He could make out a man’s silhouette in the distance, gun in hand, pointing down an alley. Serge started running at a steady clip and drew his own recoilless pistol. He was happy to learn it was only Mike, shooting sqrats that were running between dumpsters.
“The owner said he’d knock a dollar off my tab for every one I get.”
“Mike, you’re a vegetarian.”
“Yeah, that’s means I don’t eat animals. It doesn’t mean I won’t kill ‘em.”
“You are a man of singular values. Thank God,”
“Help me pick these things up, I think I’ve paid for my food by now,” he smiled, slipping his gun back into its holster. “What the hell kinda gun is that you got?” he asked as he threw sqrat bodies into a plastic take-away bag, “It’s shaped like a hairdryer.”
“It’s a Gutpunch 712. Fires a blast of hard air with the speed and power of a weightlifter socking you. Untraceable, should I ever need to kill a man with it.”
“Keep it close, man. I think the Moon Turk’s tweaking pretty bad today. If he doesn’t keep his end of this bargain,” he lifted the sagging , red-stained plastic, “I’ll be very cross.”
“Shut up, you filthy bastard, your sake is getting cold and I’m not going to reheat it for you!” came a shout from the roadside ramen bar. The Moon Turk was a great guy most of the time. He claimed he was Turkish, but a Turk from the moon. Hence Moon Turk. Serge once asked him why he ran a ramen stand if he was Turkish and he explained that his mother was Japanese. He decided not to press the issue, nor the fact that him coming from the moon would actually make him Lunar Turk.
“You brought me here to eat, Mike, so I’m gonna eat,” Serge said and walked over to the nearest stool. “And I’m gonna drink your sake, too, you weird son of a bitch.”
---
benjamin sTone
4:50pm, 02/15/05, Urbana, IL
Current Music: "To Be With You Again" - Level 42
Last Book I Read a Page of: THE SPIRIT ARCHIVES v.1, Will Eisner
Last Movie: THE PHILADELPHIA STORY (USA, 1940)
Next Movie: SHAOLIN IDIOT (H.K., 2004)
Part One is Here
Part Two is Here
...hope you're ready...
The tram ride gave Serge a little time to think about his direction in life, but not much. After about a mile, a legless man wheeled into the car and began wailing on a harmonica. A sultry version of “Imagine.” Serge started laughing and held a five down to the disheveled man.
“You play a mean blues harp, my friend”
“And you a jackass. What, you think I’m homeless or sump’in’? Fuck off,
man, I just practicin’. Shit, wit’ the Emperor’s plan the only people wit’out homes are the ones who don’t want ‘em, right? I mean, lookit you, you know dat shit. You got Imperial Service wrote all over you. Tou ain’t foolin’ me wid’ dem shoes, man.”
“I wasn’t trying to fool anybody,” Serge protested, not pulling back his cash. “And who says I’m taking pity on you? You think you’re the only man in the world without legs and I feel like giving them all a fin? You performed; I was the audience; now I’m paying. That’s it.”
“I don’t need yo money, man.”
“I don’t care if you don’t. If you don’t accept it, I’ll be insulted. Playing music for me and then refusing compensation. The Guild of Artists wouldn’t be to happy if I didn’t pay you,” Serge said, pulling out and flipping open his cel phone with his free hand, “but they’ll be even less happy if I tell them you didn’t accept it.”
The performer’s eyes went dim as he realized he was beat. As the little man reached up and grabbed the money, Serge’s wood-paneled phone began to ring. The legless man looked startled, and as though it were the Guild calling to speak with him, he sped off into the next coach.
“Mike,” Serge said as he accepted the call, “what’s up?”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Who else would spoof my Caller ID with “Your Mom, 758-8224?”
“It's a fair cop. Look, I gotta yen for Japanese food, Serge. Get it? Yen? Japanese?”
“Yeah, I got it. But did you know that having a yen for something is Chinese in origin? It came from a yen-yen, a mispronunciation of in-yan, the word used for an opium addict.”
“Why you gotta show me up like that?” Mike laughed.
“Because I can. Why are you calling me so late? I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“No, you’ve got to get some food. Meet me at Sushi Bastard.”
“Nah, last time I went there one of the busboys was setting a customer’s tires on fire in the parking lot. I have no idea how, either, it was raining like crazy.”
“How about noodles at Moon Turk’s? This late at night the owner gets creative with his recipes, I’ve had some really good shit there. His okra and chipped soy beef ramen, though…I can still smell my vomit from after that one.”
“Alright, I’m almost there anyway. If there’s no sake waiting for me, though, I’m bailing.”
“Bitch bitch bi…” Mike’s voice clipped as he hung up.
Serge leaned back in his seat and watched the city go by, suddenly happier than he figured any man should be allowed to be. In the next carriage down, the conductor was tazing himself and laughing hysterically. Serge flicked his artificial hand and grinned.
It was, he decided, a good time to be alive after all.
Serge ducked off the tram a block from Turk’s and could already hear the gunfire. He could make out a man’s silhouette in the distance, gun in hand, pointing down an alley. Serge started running at a steady clip and drew his own recoilless pistol. He was happy to learn it was only Mike, shooting sqrats that were running between dumpsters.
“The owner said he’d knock a dollar off my tab for every one I get.”
“Mike, you’re a vegetarian.”
“Yeah, that’s means I don’t eat animals. It doesn’t mean I won’t kill ‘em.”
“You are a man of singular values. Thank God,”
“Help me pick these things up, I think I’ve paid for my food by now,” he smiled, slipping his gun back into its holster. “What the hell kinda gun is that you got?” he asked as he threw sqrat bodies into a plastic take-away bag, “It’s shaped like a hairdryer.”
“It’s a Gutpunch 712. Fires a blast of hard air with the speed and power of a weightlifter socking you. Untraceable, should I ever need to kill a man with it.”
“Keep it close, man. I think the Moon Turk’s tweaking pretty bad today. If he doesn’t keep his end of this bargain,” he lifted the sagging , red-stained plastic, “I’ll be very cross.”
“Shut up, you filthy bastard, your sake is getting cold and I’m not going to reheat it for you!” came a shout from the roadside ramen bar. The Moon Turk was a great guy most of the time. He claimed he was Turkish, but a Turk from the moon. Hence Moon Turk. Serge once asked him why he ran a ramen stand if he was Turkish and he explained that his mother was Japanese. He decided not to press the issue, nor the fact that him coming from the moon would actually make him Lunar Turk.
“You brought me here to eat, Mike, so I’m gonna eat,” Serge said and walked over to the nearest stool. “And I’m gonna drink your sake, too, you weird son of a bitch.”
---
benjamin sTone
4:50pm, 02/15/05, Urbana, IL
Current Music: "To Be With You Again" - Level 42
Last Book I Read a Page of: THE SPIRIT ARCHIVES v.1, Will Eisner
Last Movie: THE PHILADELPHIA STORY (USA, 1940)
Next Movie: SHAOLIN IDIOT (H.K., 2004)