the story is in the soil
"In the history of the world, you came first," said The Joker to The Thief.
Two young men sat delirious on a dead tree, watching hikers pass by on the trail through their smoke, scornfully.
"I wish I were born a Koala," said The Joker.
"I desperately want to be a Koala," said The Thief simultaneously.
One grinned at the other. The other blew smoke at one.
"You look like a porcupine with a hangover," The Thief finally spoke. He passed the pipe.
"You're a freak of nature, teetering on the brink of idiocy," The Joker replied.
He passed the pipe.
"You fucked Alice in the broom closet."
He passed the pipe.
He passed the pipe, but The Joker hesitated to take it. Alice was a sweet, dreadfully blond boy from the southernmost part of Detroit. Once upon a time, The Joker and The Thief had crossed paths in the United States, and now they worked for the same bakery in Paris. The Thief was a Parisian. The Joker was some guy from some part of England. The Thief thought Alice was simply a visitor to The States like himself. The Joker guessed he was Swiss or perhaps German. The Joker also thought Alice was a somewhat androgynous young lady with the haircut of a confused, crazed, and clearly delusional young man. As it turned out, Alice was a disconcertingly androgynous young man with the haircut of exactly what he was.
He was a gardener. He grew mushrooms in his closet. The Joker had wandered off, telling The Thief he was going to eat Alice's mushrooms, going pleasantly out of his mind. Four hours later The Thief found The Joker in Alice's closet sitting on top of him, insisting he was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.
Alice was the most beautiful girl The Joker had ever seen, with no evidence of being female whatsoever.
"I swear we didn't have sex," The Joker choked on a fit of laughter.
"I don't trust mushroom memory." The taste of lighter fluid. "It's cashed."
The Joker pulled a cigarette from behind his left ear, then reached out to The Thief and pulled a cigarette from behind his right ear.
"If you did fuck him, he doesn't remember it, or he's denying it too."
"I didn't fuck Alice."
"I really hoped you didn't fuck him." The Thief's phone rang, an unnatural sound in a supernatural place. "Hello--"
"I didn't fuck Alic," The Joker insisted.
"Yes, this is he..." The Thief went on into the phone. With his fingers so close to his face, he discovered there was no escape from the smell of flour and tobacco stained into his hands. He watched a new and unfamiliar pair of eyes watching him from under the dead tree. A squirrel. He listened to the grating filter of the phone destroying the speaker's voice. Then he listened to a terrible crack, snap, break, followed by a panic-stricken "Oh shit!" and then he listened to nothing at all.
Two young men sat delirious on a dead tree, watching hikers pass by on the trail through their smoke, scornfully.
"I wish I were born a Koala," said The Joker.
"I desperately want to be a Koala," said The Thief simultaneously.
One grinned at the other. The other blew smoke at one.
"You look like a porcupine with a hangover," The Thief finally spoke. He passed the pipe.
"You're a freak of nature, teetering on the brink of idiocy," The Joker replied.
He passed the pipe.
"You fucked Alice in the broom closet."
He passed the pipe.
He passed the pipe, but The Joker hesitated to take it. Alice was a sweet, dreadfully blond boy from the southernmost part of Detroit. Once upon a time, The Joker and The Thief had crossed paths in the United States, and now they worked for the same bakery in Paris. The Thief was a Parisian. The Joker was some guy from some part of England. The Thief thought Alice was simply a visitor to The States like himself. The Joker guessed he was Swiss or perhaps German. The Joker also thought Alice was a somewhat androgynous young lady with the haircut of a confused, crazed, and clearly delusional young man. As it turned out, Alice was a disconcertingly androgynous young man with the haircut of exactly what he was.
He was a gardener. He grew mushrooms in his closet. The Joker had wandered off, telling The Thief he was going to eat Alice's mushrooms, going pleasantly out of his mind. Four hours later The Thief found The Joker in Alice's closet sitting on top of him, insisting he was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.
Alice was the most beautiful girl The Joker had ever seen, with no evidence of being female whatsoever.
"I swear we didn't have sex," The Joker choked on a fit of laughter.
"I don't trust mushroom memory." The taste of lighter fluid. "It's cashed."
The Joker pulled a cigarette from behind his left ear, then reached out to The Thief and pulled a cigarette from behind his right ear.
"If you did fuck him, he doesn't remember it, or he's denying it too."
"I didn't fuck Alice."
"I really hoped you didn't fuck him." The Thief's phone rang, an unnatural sound in a supernatural place. "Hello--"
"I didn't fuck Alic," The Joker insisted.
"Yes, this is he..." The Thief went on into the phone. With his fingers so close to his face, he discovered there was no escape from the smell of flour and tobacco stained into his hands. He watched a new and unfamiliar pair of eyes watching him from under the dead tree. A squirrel. He listened to the grating filter of the phone destroying the speaker's voice. Then he listened to a terrible crack, snap, break, followed by a panic-stricken "Oh shit!" and then he listened to nothing at all.