Dream: The Bungalow of Normalcy
Luxurious but badly managed, the Alumni House was still my best bet for housing on short notice. It was either that or Super 8, which was almost cheaper, but not as nice and definitely unsafe. It's probably the first place They would look for me.
A pair of unconcerned adults staffed the desk at the Alumni House. One of the women suggested I was a junior, but someone else realized I was an alumnus. I got a room and asked about movies. A student worker lead me to a room filled with video racks, mostly empty. She helped me search for Highlander 3, but we could only find the original.
I walked to the rental place downtown, which was a bit of a gamble. I might have been noticed, but the crowd was thick this evening, so I doubted their spotters would have a good view, if they were even here. Cheapo Discs was the rental store in question; the building was twice as big in every dimension. I watched myself shop on the closed-circuit cameras.
I crossed a busy street at a strangely angled intersection on my way back to my room. When the light changed, a flood of people poured across. I overheard a woman from India telling a recent immigrant about the crossing signals.
"When it says LOOK," she said, "that's the same as 'pretty' at home."
I got distracted thinking about Indian crosswalks and didn't notice that I made a wrong turn onto Caballo Street, which was a rough neighborhood I'd never visit. It was all bourgeois street cafes, night clubs, apartment blocks, and muffler shops. Art-grad barristas and Filipino street toughs eyed me with open hostility, but I was only aware enough to see it as suspicion.
I turned around and retraced my steps, catching snippets of conversation as I passed outdoor tables. A kid on a restaurant deck enjoyed the night life his mother had warned him to avoid. Another boy swung himself down the sidewalk on crutches.
A shaggy man in his 30's climbed the stairs to the bungalow's bedroom. The other fellow limped a hello, half-using the crutches for a recent injury. Shaggy stood on the top step, leaning on the railing with one hand. He said something like, "It's too bad you're on crutches. You'll have to be careful. Someone might..." {cha-chink} "eliminate you." He swung the rifle up from under his arm and grinned. A .22 caliber bloodstain tore through Limpy's shirt.
Limpy hadn't seen it coming, and he knew he'd probably bleed out from his heart or a lung, but he wasn't about to give up. He dropped his crutches and produced a double-barreled shotgun from beside the bed. Shaggy took a couple steps back and licked his lips, then Limpy fired. A single piece of shot rattled out with a trail of smoke and bounced down to the floor--a bad shell. He fired again and got the same result.
Shaggy laughed at Limpy, at the BB's that had plinked off his chest; he threw his head back for a good guffaw and fell end-over-end down the stairs. He lay stunned on his back at the bottom. His legs ached like a giant bruise and refused to move. Every time he tried to sit up, his lower vertebrae screamed about the hernia they were planning. Limpy hobbled down the stairs.
Worried, Shaggy took another shot as Limpy neared the bottom, but it went wide. Limpy aimed and fired again, but there were only clacks and rattles as the same dud shells refused to fire. Shaggy chuckled with relief and pointed the rifle up in one hand. Limpy stepped closer and pushed it aside, then wrapped his hands around the warm muzzle of his shotgun. Shaggy figured out he was in trouble a half-second before Limpy's walnut shoulder stock kicked into the side of his head. A bleeding gash around his temple to his brow, he drunkly tried to aim for his opponent. The stock swung into his head again and he dropped the rifle.
I walked by most of my friends hanging out on the sidewalk on my way back to the Alumni House. I couldn't believe they'd all made it back to town at once. Was this for my birthday? I didn't think I'd merit that kind of a cross-country gathering. Like the time discoflamingo's two friends from Wisconsin drove out and built the set for his surprise birthday party. Those guys were amazing. This wasn't really for me, was it? Everyone had that "we're up to something and we're not telling you what... yet" look in their eyes... especially xcorvis and gunn. Of course, my birthday wasn't for months yet.
sinister_dr_x pulled up in his blue and violet Nissan 240Z. He shuffled some papers in the passenger seat as I walked by. I'd always wanted to tell him what a cool car I thought it was, but I kept going... I'd be embarrassed to just knock on his window.
Stuttering colors flashed in the Alumni House's darkened lobby, bathing the room in a television glow. A pale, skinny boy sprawled on the king-size mattress in front of the nine-foot plasma screen that hung in the center of the room. Anime played on the screen, a sappy high school romance that I'm sure is its own genre, there must be a word for it. The girl behind the counter was someone I'd seen at school... a friend of an older friend that I never got to know. She watched the action while she counted the money in the register. I remembered she had an identical twin, and wondered which one I'd almost met. Animated antics crashed across the screen.
"I'd so give that boy a chance," she said, referring to a character I thought remarkably similar to the boy on the mattress.
A pair of unconcerned adults staffed the desk at the Alumni House. One of the women suggested I was a junior, but someone else realized I was an alumnus. I got a room and asked about movies. A student worker lead me to a room filled with video racks, mostly empty. She helped me search for Highlander 3, but we could only find the original.
I walked to the rental place downtown, which was a bit of a gamble. I might have been noticed, but the crowd was thick this evening, so I doubted their spotters would have a good view, if they were even here. Cheapo Discs was the rental store in question; the building was twice as big in every dimension. I watched myself shop on the closed-circuit cameras.
I crossed a busy street at a strangely angled intersection on my way back to my room. When the light changed, a flood of people poured across. I overheard a woman from India telling a recent immigrant about the crossing signals.
"When it says LOOK," she said, "that's the same as 'pretty' at home."
I got distracted thinking about Indian crosswalks and didn't notice that I made a wrong turn onto Caballo Street, which was a rough neighborhood I'd never visit. It was all bourgeois street cafes, night clubs, apartment blocks, and muffler shops. Art-grad barristas and Filipino street toughs eyed me with open hostility, but I was only aware enough to see it as suspicion.
I turned around and retraced my steps, catching snippets of conversation as I passed outdoor tables. A kid on a restaurant deck enjoyed the night life his mother had warned him to avoid. Another boy swung himself down the sidewalk on crutches.
A shaggy man in his 30's climbed the stairs to the bungalow's bedroom. The other fellow limped a hello, half-using the crutches for a recent injury. Shaggy stood on the top step, leaning on the railing with one hand. He said something like, "It's too bad you're on crutches. You'll have to be careful. Someone might..." {cha-chink} "eliminate you." He swung the rifle up from under his arm and grinned. A .22 caliber bloodstain tore through Limpy's shirt.
Limpy hadn't seen it coming, and he knew he'd probably bleed out from his heart or a lung, but he wasn't about to give up. He dropped his crutches and produced a double-barreled shotgun from beside the bed. Shaggy took a couple steps back and licked his lips, then Limpy fired. A single piece of shot rattled out with a trail of smoke and bounced down to the floor--a bad shell. He fired again and got the same result.
Shaggy laughed at Limpy, at the BB's that had plinked off his chest; he threw his head back for a good guffaw and fell end-over-end down the stairs. He lay stunned on his back at the bottom. His legs ached like a giant bruise and refused to move. Every time he tried to sit up, his lower vertebrae screamed about the hernia they were planning. Limpy hobbled down the stairs.
Worried, Shaggy took another shot as Limpy neared the bottom, but it went wide. Limpy aimed and fired again, but there were only clacks and rattles as the same dud shells refused to fire. Shaggy chuckled with relief and pointed the rifle up in one hand. Limpy stepped closer and pushed it aside, then wrapped his hands around the warm muzzle of his shotgun. Shaggy figured out he was in trouble a half-second before Limpy's walnut shoulder stock kicked into the side of his head. A bleeding gash around his temple to his brow, he drunkly tried to aim for his opponent. The stock swung into his head again and he dropped the rifle.
I walked by most of my friends hanging out on the sidewalk on my way back to the Alumni House. I couldn't believe they'd all made it back to town at once. Was this for my birthday? I didn't think I'd merit that kind of a cross-country gathering. Like the time discoflamingo's two friends from Wisconsin drove out and built the set for his surprise birthday party. Those guys were amazing. This wasn't really for me, was it? Everyone had that "we're up to something and we're not telling you what... yet" look in their eyes... especially xcorvis and gunn. Of course, my birthday wasn't for months yet.
sinister_dr_x pulled up in his blue and violet Nissan 240Z. He shuffled some papers in the passenger seat as I walked by. I'd always wanted to tell him what a cool car I thought it was, but I kept going... I'd be embarrassed to just knock on his window.
Stuttering colors flashed in the Alumni House's darkened lobby, bathing the room in a television glow. A pale, skinny boy sprawled on the king-size mattress in front of the nine-foot plasma screen that hung in the center of the room. Anime played on the screen, a sappy high school romance that I'm sure is its own genre, there must be a word for it. The girl behind the counter was someone I'd seen at school... a friend of an older friend that I never got to know. She watched the action while she counted the money in the register. I remembered she had an identical twin, and wondered which one I'd almost met. Animated antics crashed across the screen.
"I'd so give that boy a chance," she said, referring to a character I thought remarkably similar to the boy on the mattress.