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More than most men get
Aug. 2nd, 2014 02:57 amIt's five to four and I've been on the road since a quarter after three, a forty minute commute the last twenty of which I've spent stuck two cars behind the apocalypse of the day. I'm on cigarette #3 of a one cigarette trip trying to drown the police siren and helicopter disco out of the ear with AM country music cranked to full holler. I'm at the abandoned Dairy Queen by the train tracks across the street from Agnes Scott stuck with all the other assholes who picked the wrong route home today. I'm watching the men in the hazmat suits work in conjunction with the local authorities to get everyone back in their car or failing that to at least take off running the other direction. Their efforts produce exactly the opposite result. Everyone's standing on top of their car or trying to sneak by the alarmed men in their bee-keeper from space suits each brandishing camera phones set to record.
And really who can blame them?
For just up ahead, standing on a MARTA bus that's now stuck dead center over the tracks, is a naked man waving around a large stick with what he claims to be a howler monkey infected with the kind of life-threatening disease that no one should even be joking about it at a time like this. The man, like the tragically infected howler monkey, both wear fake beards for the purpose of this dispatch in order that their identity may be protected until the results of the official report have been made public.
The man is clearly upset. He is just one more tax paying American who when he found it his turn to reach the top of the Golden Ladder of Eternal Liberty peering down not on perpetual capital and progress but the Shit Slide to Hell. Whether from there he was pushed or took the kind of leap of faith that only comes with hijacking a bus with a highly infectious primate, who can say?
Not me and even now the marksman hanging out the door of the chopper has the naked man in his sights. Even now the crowd chants take the shot along with the defiant naked man. Even now Dolly Parton sings about the 'lonely comin' down'. Even now there is a crack of thunder across the dry sky and a halo of blood puffs behind the skull before the naked man falls backwards off the bus before a candle light vigil of cell phones.
"Then I felt the lonely dripping down my face." One of the men in the hazmats suits sings through the electric speaker attached to his hood. "As I realized no one could take your place."
Everyone was so stunned they didn't notice the highly infectious monkey had escaped the stick it was bound to and had taken this moment to escape. A fact I was aware of only because the monkey now sat in the passenger seat beside me.
The howler monkey looked at me. I looked at it. We both sat there staring for another moment as the piano keys fall like raindrops and everyone around me begins to get back into their vehicles. The spectacle along with the show long over. Slowly I turn aside to the man in the hazmat suit humming along with the last chords of the song and yell for him to come here.
The man in the hazmat suit shambles over, leans down into the car and with a Darth Vader voice asks me what the problem seems to be?
I nod over to the monkey.
The monkey nods back over to the man in the hazmat suit.
The man in the hazmat suit nods to me.
"What should I do?" I ask.
The man in the hazmat suit yanks off his hood and it's not a man at all but a woman I am completely unaware of having a 83% compatibility score with OK Cupid. Her eyes are bright, her lips are full and the hair a crisp shade of anime.
"There's only one thing you can do." She tells me.
"What's that?"
And it is then that she grabs me by the back of the head and kisses me in a way that of late I've dreamt of being kissed. Long, deep as if there has never been a moment before this moment nor will there be another after. When she pulls back she smiles, slaps me in the face and orders me get out of here.
"What about you know who?" I whisper with fingers still pressed tenderly against the sting of her slap and nodding to my passenger.
"You look out for him." She says. "He'll look out for you. It's more than most men get in this world much less a kiss from a pretty stranger. Now get out of here the two of you before I order you probed, quarantined and executed. Not necessarily in that order."
She dons the hood back on. I roll up the window. The radio sings a jingle for a plumber. The monkey is staring at me. With a sigh I offer him a cigarette. A light and a lift to wherever he needs to be. The monkey takes off his false beard and with the car ahead of me finally moving I put the show back on the road.
Time. 4:08pm.
And really who can blame them?
For just up ahead, standing on a MARTA bus that's now stuck dead center over the tracks, is a naked man waving around a large stick with what he claims to be a howler monkey infected with the kind of life-threatening disease that no one should even be joking about it at a time like this. The man, like the tragically infected howler monkey, both wear fake beards for the purpose of this dispatch in order that their identity may be protected until the results of the official report have been made public.
The man is clearly upset. He is just one more tax paying American who when he found it his turn to reach the top of the Golden Ladder of Eternal Liberty peering down not on perpetual capital and progress but the Shit Slide to Hell. Whether from there he was pushed or took the kind of leap of faith that only comes with hijacking a bus with a highly infectious primate, who can say?
Not me and even now the marksman hanging out the door of the chopper has the naked man in his sights. Even now the crowd chants take the shot along with the defiant naked man. Even now Dolly Parton sings about the 'lonely comin' down'. Even now there is a crack of thunder across the dry sky and a halo of blood puffs behind the skull before the naked man falls backwards off the bus before a candle light vigil of cell phones.
"Then I felt the lonely dripping down my face." One of the men in the hazmats suits sings through the electric speaker attached to his hood. "As I realized no one could take your place."
Everyone was so stunned they didn't notice the highly infectious monkey had escaped the stick it was bound to and had taken this moment to escape. A fact I was aware of only because the monkey now sat in the passenger seat beside me.
The howler monkey looked at me. I looked at it. We both sat there staring for another moment as the piano keys fall like raindrops and everyone around me begins to get back into their vehicles. The spectacle along with the show long over. Slowly I turn aside to the man in the hazmat suit humming along with the last chords of the song and yell for him to come here.
The man in the hazmat suit shambles over, leans down into the car and with a Darth Vader voice asks me what the problem seems to be?
I nod over to the monkey.
The monkey nods back over to the man in the hazmat suit.
The man in the hazmat suit nods to me.
"What should I do?" I ask.
The man in the hazmat suit yanks off his hood and it's not a man at all but a woman I am completely unaware of having a 83% compatibility score with OK Cupid. Her eyes are bright, her lips are full and the hair a crisp shade of anime.
"There's only one thing you can do." She tells me.
"What's that?"
And it is then that she grabs me by the back of the head and kisses me in a way that of late I've dreamt of being kissed. Long, deep as if there has never been a moment before this moment nor will there be another after. When she pulls back she smiles, slaps me in the face and orders me get out of here.
"What about you know who?" I whisper with fingers still pressed tenderly against the sting of her slap and nodding to my passenger.
"You look out for him." She says. "He'll look out for you. It's more than most men get in this world much less a kiss from a pretty stranger. Now get out of here the two of you before I order you probed, quarantined and executed. Not necessarily in that order."
She dons the hood back on. I roll up the window. The radio sings a jingle for a plumber. The monkey is staring at me. With a sigh I offer him a cigarette. A light and a lift to wherever he needs to be. The monkey takes off his false beard and with the car ahead of me finally moving I put the show back on the road.
Time. 4:08pm.
