Now Hold It In

It was the oddest of feelings, Darren walked the aisles and looked at all the brightly colored packages, the foods and candies, and though the hadn't put so much as a bite of food in his mouth for over a week he was not moved to pick anything from the shelf. He passed his favorite crackers and though he could imagine the flavor and texture that they might possess he had no trouble refraining from making the purchase.















Darren was focused in on only a few items, a strange mix of disparate elements, that had become essential to his existence. He moved into the produce section of the store and the colors amazed him. Colors had become extremely vivid for Darren, it was almost as if he were tripping, in fact he had mentioned as such to a friend acknowledging this bi-product of his special diet. There were all manner of delicious beautiful fruits to be had, apples of all varieties, early season strawberries, bananas, but Darren only wanted the tartest of fruits; lemons.

The spice racks were bursting with chile powders, peppers, cumins, salts, garlic powders, dried oreganos, basil and thyme. Darren went down shelf by shelf with only one spice in mind, no other would do. It had to be a special pepper, not black, not white, not ground or pepper corn, Darren wanted only the cayenne pepper and when he found it he bought the largest size they had.

Darren became a bit confused, the syrups were not in the spice section. He saw the sugars in all manner, confectioners, brown, raw, were all there but there were no syrups save for the corn syrups used for cooking. Darren needed the real thing; maple. Perhaps, he thought, that subconsciously all this food in the market was breaking him down, the deep desire that he was sublimating was actually a real thing and so in revolt his mind was throwing him into confusion hoping to break him down in an effort to eventually get him to eat.

A clerk passed and asked in an overly cheery manner if Darren needed any help finding something. Darren relayed how he was confused that there was no maple syrup in this section and that it surely did belong there. The confusion, the clerk replied was well founded as far as he was concerned but he also offered that Darren would find the syrups in the pancake section. Darren asked if they had pure maple and once he was assured that there was he was off hurriedly to get it. There it was - pure maple syrup. Darren bought four bottles and then hurried to the checkout.

It was if he were in a virtual blackout, like a drunk, as he checked his purchase at the register and got in his car. He needed to get home fast to make his special elixir. It had been a long time since had eaten solid food and in its stead he had survived only on a mixture of lemons, maple syrup and cayenne pepper mixed with water. He had done this to cleanse himself. A master cleanse as it was called.

Darren had hoped that this cleansing would shift his life, would clear away literally and figuratively all the crap that had been building up inside him. It was a strange undertaking. He had been clearing out for the first five days and now there wasn't anything coming out of him anymore. It wasn't as if he were even hungry; he had developed a strange disinterest in food yet at the same time his mind was fully occupied with the thought that he wasn't eating. It had become hard for him to think of anything else besides the fact that he wasn't eating and that he was no longer hungry.

He rushed into his kitchen and as a junkie prepping a fix he made his concoction and drank a large glass full. It did nothing. He had hoped it would do something but the acid like trip continued. His mind raced and he was having trouble concentrating. Then the phone rang.















"Hello."

"Hey Darren it's Cory."

"Oh hey Cory."

"How ya doing man?"

"I guess I'm chill. I'm doing this master cleanse and it's getting pretty trippy."

"Is that the pepper and lemon syrup thing?"

"Yea, something like that."

"How long you been doing it?"

"Over a week."

"Fuck man, really? You haven't eaten for a week. That's sick."

"No it's all right."

"Why are you doing it?"

"Just wanted to clean myself out."

"Oh I'm all for that."

"You should do the cleanse."

"Are you nuts? I'm all for the cleansing part but not the not eating part?"

"It's not so bad."

"Fuck that a man has got to eat."

"You have to make a sacrifice if you want to do it."

"What do you mean I cleanse every few months."

"You do? How in the hell do you do that?"

"It's called a colonic."

"A colonic huh?"

"Yeah. It's a little uncomfortable but it sure cleans me out. Each time I do it I feel completely cleansed and you know it's funny after I do it my whole outlook seems to shift in a positive way."

"Really? A whole shift huh?"

"Yup."















"Do you think I can get the number of the colonic place?"

"No sweat."

"Thanks."

"What are you doing later tonight?"

"I don't know about tonight but right now I'm on my way to Taylor's Steak House."

Take A Deep Breath

"How does that feel?"

"Ummmm...real good."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No keep going, don't...stop."















"Are you sure? I can stop if you want me to."

"No. Right there. That's it just keep...going."

"I'm going to stop."

"No don't."

"What will you do if I stop."

"I'll hate you forever."

"No you won't."

"I know I won't but please just keep going."

"Does it feel good?"

"The best."

"Do you love me?"

"I love you so much."

"Will you love me if I stop?"

"Don't stop."

"But what if I do? Will you still love me?"

"Mmmmmm...ooohhhhh!!!"

"Will you still love me?"

"I...oh...love you sooooo!!!"

"I think I'm going to stop just to see what you will do."

"Please don't. Not now."

"How about this. Uh! Do you like that?"

"Yessss!!!"

"Really? How much?"

"The most. I love it...the most..."

"Do you want me to stop doing this and go back to what I was doing?"

"Don't stop."

"You know I can stop if I want to."

"I um...know, but please don't stop. I am...so...close to..."

"That's it. I'm going to stop."

"Don't talk. Just..."

"Really. What about this?"

"I..."

"Or this?"

"I'm...you...don't...uh...please...I'm..."

"I can't hear you."

"Uggghhhh!!!!!!"

"I'm going to stop."

"Go ahead."

"What?"

"You can stop now if you want."

"I can?"

"Sure. That was great."

"Well okay but..."

"I'm going to stop."

"Please don't."

"I can stop if I want."

"I know but...uh..."

"Will you still love me if I stop?"

"I...oh...love you so..."

"I think I will stop just to see what you do."

"I um...know, but please don't stop. I am...so...close to..."

"Does that feel good?"

"The best..."

"I'm going to stop now."

"Don't talk. Just..."

"That's it I'm stopping."















"Urrrrggghhhh!!!!!...okay you can stop now if you want."

"That's what I figured."

"That was the best."

"Do you still love me?"

"So much."

In Your Pidgin English

He wanted to make it fast, he always wanted to make it fast. He wanted to do everything as fast as possible. He wished to expedite matters personal to himself but this did him no real good so he obtained a job where he could expedite things for other people and get paid for it.















The limousine pulled curbside and he rushed to greet it. These people, these V.I.P.s as they thought they were did not like to be kept waiting and it was his task to make sure they didn't. He offered them a large smile and with assured tone made them know well that everything was to run smoothly. It was his job to see that things ran smoothly and efficiently.

The sky-cabs would be well warned and in motion before the bags had even hit the ground. He made sure of it. It was his job. Speed, celerity, motion. He would take over from the driver and quickly usher his ward into the terminal and once inside he would flash his credential and move them to the front of the line at check-in. The same for security, a flash of his airport issued credential and his well heeled clients could move through the common delays of travel.

He was a greeter. A man paid to facilitate the travel of others. Day in and day out they would exit those fancy autos and with only the least mind of him speed to some far locale. He was always in motion. Always smiling and always ready with the fix. All the premium airline lounges knew him for he would usher this importutante or this millionaire through their doors and then wait with them until the flight was ready for boarding.

He hated his clients to such an extent that they might never care to understand. He hated that they were in real motion where he was but a hamster on a wheel forever running but never getting anywhere. He was so close to the action but he was a bystander.

"Stop right there!"

"What the...? Who gives you the right to interrupt?"

"I'm doing you a favor."

"I beg your pardon."

"Give it up pal. What's with this bullshit about some greeter? I mean really how low can you slink? I have sat by peaceably as you blathered on and on about this streetlight and that beach, for christ sakes can't you get around to saying something substantive?"

"I don't see where it is any business of yours to sit in judgment."

"You don't? It seems we have this conversation every few months or so and the time in between is getting slimmer each time, just like the messages in your prose so don't start getting huffy with me bub."

"Bub? Holy shit you are upset."

"Of course I am. All this talk oh he did this or she did that. Who do you really think you are fooling? All this crap is about you and don't try to pass it off as some great fiction, as if you had an imagination, which you don't."

"Well I..."

"Why don't you just go back to your cute little tales about your friends and back off all the back handed self referential nonsense?"

"I thought I was."

"Oh and you're not the greeter?"

"In fact no I'm not."

"I don't believe you."

"The greeter was a guy that, well...greeted me at the airport recently."

"Maybe so but I'm sure you ascribed to him certain elements of character that were not really part of him that were in fact mirrors of your insides and not his."

"I didn't mean to, I mean I didn't know I was."















"All right no reason to get so bent out of shape, no harm done, just do me a favor and get back on beam, try a little harder for a while."

"I'll try. I swear I'll try."

She Never Spoke Spanish To Me

You take things in your hands, you hold them there and feel them. They are real and solid for all you can discern. There are things that you think, that you keep in your mind and you understand them. They are real and solid for all you can discern. There are phantoms and they live in your hand and in your mind as well.















He bent over and placed the key in the scooter's ignition. He sat upright and engaged the electronic starter button and breathed a sigh of relief as the engine sprang to life. It wasn't as if his late model Vespa ET4 had ever let him down in the past but there was always something just on the periphery of his consciousness that gave him pause each time that starter button was depressed. It would be just his luck that the scooter wouldn't start. He always was plagued, or so he thought, with misfortune. The scooter not starting would just be another indication that he was cursed.

The Mustang was born anew after the engine rebuild. It had cost more then had been estimated but after a long drawn out process the old Ford was back on the road. It ran swell for an automobile of its vintage. It still had pep and muscle and was a joy to look upon. Each time he approached a grade on the highway his stomach tightened. Would the Mustang overheat again as it had before the rebuild? Would it again blow smoke so bad that the police would stop him and issue a ticket demanding repair? Was this his curse? The Mustang hadn't overheated nor burnt oil but deep within him he expected that eventuality with tensed stomach.

He sat before the television and excited at the play of his favorite team. The Bruins were playing ball at a superb level and with them his hopes soared to the heavens. There was a chance that the team he had followed since youth might capture the NCAA tourney. As he watched the game he began to feel that the referees were calling the game unfairly. There were turnovers and the Bruins looked as if about to capsize. It would be just his luck, his curse, the referees would do his team in. Of course they would this was just the way his life was to play out. He would never be a winner but forever looking in from the outside as others danced triumphantly.















He had worked at his trade for a good long time and felt he had accomplished some good proficiency in his work. He gave what he believed to be the most he could but there was always more to be asked. His pay was not to the level he had hoped he might achieve but there, he thought, might be some hope and he continued to press on. Then he saw where someone much younger and inexperienced had coveted and obtained his goal, the goal he had worked so hard for. Now there was room for more then one at the top but in his mind he only figured that this was how his life was meant to play out. There was this curse and he fought to keep it from dominating him.

The dinner party was small and intimate and the food plentiful and delicious. The company was exceptional and there were even available women to entertain. He made light conversation and listened honestly to each detail and observation offered him. There was a beautiful woman who he felt was beginning to present an intention to him that was hard to be mistaken and so he obliged her detailed attention. She was comely and witty with a spark of intellect unpresuming. He had all but to seek and with that entreaty be rewarded. Inside him he heard the words of Yukio Mishima and he sought to comprehend them in the now. 'There is a time in a man's life where the memories of his youth immunize him from further experience'. He wanted to refute these words, to see things anew. He wanted to shake the curse free from within him. She was not the Vespa nor the Mustang. She was not the Bruins nor the work.

His stomach tensed again and he battled the curse within him. He looked into her eyes and tried to see as if he had never seen anything before. He tried not to see the ex-wife or the last girl he had known. He attempted to rejoin his body in that moment and to put asunder every thought that ever had taken root inside his mind.















You take things in your hands, you hold them there and feel them. They are real and solid for all you can discern. There are things that you think, that you keep in your mind and you understand them. They are real and solid for all you can discern. There are phantoms and they live in your hand and in your mind as well.

You Come Here From The Dark

There was no more talk of aliens or Scientologists, there was no tea left to drink and so the coffee had been strong and black and the words circumcised. The sun had shone bright all day and there was even talk of bypassing the springtime and proceeding directly to summer but she knew better. It was all so much talk, just words to fill the silence and no one really cared one way or another. There was a queasy feeling in her belly as the evening neared. She thought for a moment and tried to attribute her unease to the coffee and not to her emotion. It was hard to tell if it was the coffee or her feelings or perhaps the two combined that caused this sourness but not to worry she had to press on with this day for it had yet to end fully.















She crossed the room and picked up a volume from the small table set there. Amongst The Thugs , she knew this book, she had read its words. It described a world she could hardly relate to. A world of football hooligans and senseless violence. She remembered it being well written but why even read about this world. Did her knowledge of it shine any light on her understanding of this most foreign of concepts? The book had been presented to her as a great read but when she stopped and thought about it the recommendation had come from someone she knew to be accepting of a violent option. She could not abide violence, it was contrary to her every notion though at times she wished she had the capacity to respond in such brutality. The heft of the book in her hand felt good and she touched the cool slick paperback jacket to her forehead.

What if she were to take the book and just hurl it as forcefully as she might across the room? What if she were to then cross the room and head-butt him with such a force that a hairline fracture would ring his skull as the book had so described? What if there were a meaning and logic to violence that she, in her understanding, could not grasp? Was there something fundamentally wrong with her logic? For a brief moment she caused inside her a vision of such a violence. The thought dissipated quickly it was a phantom and found no root in her.

She placed the book back on the table making sure the cover now was facing down. She returned to her seat and felt as to how her stomach had settled. She had run out of options. In her mind, in her ordered way, she ran down a list of responses that she might consider. Of course violence was out, reason had failed so many times before that to offer it once again would be a exercise in futility. She thought to plead but she knew that to her desperation was one most wretched of all positions. She knew that she had to do something, say something in response, lest she recoil into the role of victim.

She seethed quietly in resentment towards him. The last of the light was now submerged and out the window she saw where the street lights were coming to life. Was it that long ago that he had held her under that very streetlight and without words said to her everything she had ever needed to hear? There was a tacit understanding related by his sway, by his touch that she now felt had been breached. She wished she could just roll back every word, every action he had undertaken since that street lit night.

"Do you want another cup of coffee?" he asked as dispassionately as one would offer another cup of coffee.

"No I don't want another cup of coffee" she replied with the venom one might reserve for a person when asked if they would appreciate another punch in the nose.

He shrugged her off and proceeded to pour another cup from his carafe. Why couldn't he just understand her? They had a tacit bond to love each other without reservation, he said so with that touch, with that sway, with that streetlight. She focused her attention at the tabletop and deep within her she hoped he might sense her fury, her sense of abandonment. To him it seemed she was only lost in thought. It was just an unseasonably warm spring evening and what with the Dodgers about to start the season all was fine.

In her the end was being planned. She could move out, she could move far away, start anew with someone who understood what love was. She could rescind her pledge right there and then and though she hadn't stated as such inside her she could feel herself withdrawing every word, every action. Was this what it felt like to put an end to a romance she thought.

He stood up from the table and placed his empty cup in the sink.

"I'll wash the cup later when I get back."

"You do that."

She seethed. She didn't know whether to cry, lash out, or... she just didn't know.

He left the room and when he returned she saw that he had dressed and as he grabbed his keys at the front door he looked back to her.















"Where are you going?" she said as if she didn't care if he were ever to return.

"I'm just going to the market to get a few things for lunch this week. Oh...what was the name of that tea you like so much?"

It was a tacit understanding but at times a few words helped to give it resonance.

Who Needs A Title

It wasn't his fault really. It was hard to say if it was anyone's fault really. Really who could explain his actions. There might have been some reason behind it but those reasons were best left to be uncovered by a psychotherapist or worse. It wasn't as if what amounted to a league of people hadn't pondered his predicament and it, his demeanor, had actually been the topic of quite a few post dinner conversations but to a man or woman no one was close to putting a handle on his behavior.















As the meeting ended and the plans were being formulated for the evening he could be found to be lurking over this shoulder or that, ear bent, keen on hearing of a plan or option that he might either invite himself to or better yet show up to unannounced. There wouldn't be much wrong despite the lack of manners in this behavior, it might even had been tolerated, but coupled with his propensity to insinuate himself into the most unsuitable of situations his totality had become something of a unbearable nuisance.

It wasn't as if people disliked him especially but to a great degree his behaviors were driving people away. For all intents and purposes he was the most normal of characters. He was well put together, well employed, well spoken but there was this one aspect to him that irked and confounded. It was if he had been gifted with all manner of success yet was bereft of even a hint of social grace.

He might show up to a restaurant where two couples planned a nice outing and upon arrival pull up chair for himself and then call the waitress for his order. In a larger group he might arrive a half hour late then wedge his place into the middle of the table, push plates away to make room and then begin to complain that there was not enough room.

He was always rude to the wait staff and his order was never without a substitution or dietary question. He wasn't vegan, he wasn't even vegetarian but he often asked if there was dairy in a dish or where the vegetables were grown. It was rare that an order wasn't sent back to the kitchen for an adjustment. While waiting for his food to return he would eat off the plates of those around him not asking permission and if the dish were not to his liking he would then make his feelings known in a loud manner.

He had an ability to say the most inappropriate of things. He could open a wound or slip an unintended insult from his lips and never be the wiser. He wasn't mean spirited nor evil he was just not skilled at human behavior. It hadn't always been that way. There had been a time where he was welcome at any table but as time wore on and his actions became known then the invitations began to dry up and he began his eavesdropping and snooping. It became so commonplace that voices were hushed when he was seen approaching. Entire dinners had been canceled when word leaked that he had overheard the planning.

So now he lurked and snooped. His desperation was chilling to witness. His clothes were right, his car the best, his motorcycle the latest and fastest but he was a drag. His old friends did there best to keep up his spirits for he had begun to feel the cold shoulders being afforded him. The sad thing was that no one wanted to hurt his feelings, no one would tell him he was unwelcome, but his presence drove more then one person from the room wherever he went.

So in this manner he continued on. Hushed words and secret plans, workers scurrying into the dark night fearful of being the one tailed. It was sad and no one felt good about it.

It wasn't his fault really. It was hard to say if it was anyone's fault really.

Too Now Forever

No matter he what he said to her all he could get back was another question. It wasn't as if he had any answers, any way of reasoning away what had happened, no he didn't have anything much like that for her.















What he did have was a profound sense of frustration and to a lesser degree remorse. He knew it incumbent upon him to be still and listen to each and every question she wished to lay before him and again knew enough not to answer as much to her liking.

There was a small amount of tepid tea left in the bottom of his cup. He abhorred the ends of a cup of tea but made do his best to drink it lest he find need to continue speaking. The tea was of course not the Pim's he enjoyed so much but an herbal tea, a tea that made him think of billowy flowered skirts, leather vests, patchouli oil, new age music and other things that he had mind to detest. He did not detest her, that wasn't the point, that wasn't why he did what he did in fact he could abide her retro tendencies, to a degree he found them quaint, he had done what he had done only because it was something that happened and that was as much reason as he could attach to it. She wanted answers.

He tightened his throat and forced the last of the tea down, he shivered. More questions. He tried not to speak for he knew when he did it wouldn't be the types of things she had wanted, expected, deserved to hear. How can you answer a question without giving an answer? He might have offered some explanation if indeed there was one to put forth but there wasn't so he did his best to use what words he did have to make her understand. Perhaps if she understood him then that would serve to answer her questions. Perhaps not.

He had always believed that a relationship was a leap of faith not unlike one might have for the god of their choice. Shouldn't a person just believe that their partner was for them and not against. That their every action was just a further expression of love no matter how unreasonable and confounding that action might be. He was who and what he was in totality as was she. He never gave thought to her serving him herbal tea as much as it made him sick. To him it was none of his business and in his acceptance of her desire for a tea other then Pim's he was sublimating self in honor of a greater holier union. All this but for a cup of tea.















Again the questions came pointed and accusatory. Again he challenged her conceptions of what a proper response might be by answering in non sequiturs and illusions. Didn't she understand that this was him? That this was what she was to love of him? That to him all of it, the answers, the seemingly oblique reasoning, was of him and he alone?

He had just finished a story contained of white flowers and ponies when she rose from the table at which they were seated and got up to retrieve more tea. She returned and filled his glass and to show his oneness he sipped the tea; it was lukewarm and had bits of herbs floating on the surface. The tea was awful and worse there were foul tasting remnants now lodged in his throat. Couldn't she know that in this act that he was confiding in her a deep trust and respect, a love as he could best understand it?

The questions came a little less frequently and with a softer point. He still hadn't an answer and began to tire of forcing his view from his mouth. Suddenly he found the words that had so long escaped him. He had an answer and though she might not fully understand he knew that he best tell her while the thought was solidified before his thoughts.

"I didn't buy the Camomile tea, even though you put it on the grocery list, because I prefer Pim's and if I bought the Camomile then you would serve it and if I refused it I would hurt your feelings and that is the last thing in this world I would ever want to do."















She was flustered. She had no more questions. What he had said shocked her and she was at a loss for what to do next so she got up again and again refilled his cup.

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

Reunited And It Feels So Good

They sat in a small semi-circle half believing what they were hearing. Calamadocious stood for a moment, he had been squatting cutting off the flow of blood to his legs, he felt the tingle, the pins and needles and shook his legs to get the circulation back.















Saggy Bottom ran a hand through his wild mane and licked his thick moustache a look of abject bewilderment spread over his face. The others, Pepper, Uncle Tony, Beany, Two Bags, Jeff Electric and Little Latin Jewish Lou sat quiet in various stages of confusion and consternation.

It was a cool night and there was a film of dew on the walls and pavement of the alley. They often met back behind The Choke to shoot the shit and hang but tonight was something altogether special. The Chief was on one, a real good one and had spent the better part of the evening expounding on his recent discoveries to anyone who might listen but as the night wore on and all other talk ceased he was now left alone, solo, orating.

There was a fired assurance to his timbre. It was if he had been handed down the word from a source mystical and real. He had ranted before, monologizing for hours about topics wide and varied but never with such conviction.

"There are seven alien elements and stages. There is a foundation alien that is basic and fundamental. It is a being made of only a few cells and though it has been identified by science it has been misclassified as merely a complex germ. It would be incorrect to believe that this apparently simple alien is anymore destructive or threatening then the more complex Level 7 aliens. These simple beings are far more common then the more advanced aliens and they have insinuated themselves into just about every human and animal on the planet at one time or another."

The Chief stared straight ahead unconscious to anything in his midst. Calamadocious lit a Lucky Strike and toyed with the idea of bailing out and he would have but for The Chief's next proclamations.

"Those Scientologists are fools. They are ruining it for everyone. They have constructed a fabricated view of the alien threat, their claims of long dead aliens is a disservice to the world. They have made a mockery of the threat to earth. I wouldn't be surprised if Scientology was actually some form of subterfuge used by the aliens to throw the world off their track, keep man thinking the whole thing is some Tom Cruise nonsense while actually plotting our utter demise."

Calamdocious was taken aback. The Chief didn't know words like subterfuge and fabricated. The Chief was functionally illiterate. The concepts he was broaching were miles beyond any ideas had had ever formulated, they were well and good beyond his intellectual grasp.

"The most advanced, the Level 7 species is the Gray. Everyone knows about the Gray aliens, I mean Steven Speilberg has made a career out of them. You know why they have those little mouths and noses? It is because they no longer speak it is all telepathy, they don't eat so they don't need to smell therefore a nose is redundant and those big heads and eyes, the head is large to house their enormous brains and those eyes are so big as to conceal their mammoth souls, I mean these beings live in space and everyone knows that the higher you are in space the closer you are to heaven. The Gray's are so advanced that it isn't even a joke."















There was stunned silence. The Chief was definitely on one and each man attempted to guess what substance had given him such a mental boost. Little Latin Jewish Lou acted shocked as much as the others but somewhere deep inside him he felt pangs of identification with The Chief's thesis. Little Lou had had similar thoughts but knew well enough not to give them voice, especially not in front of the guys. Two Bags reached in his pocket and checked his folding money. Two Bags was especially hung up trying to deduce the exact medication that might give The Chief this roll for as soon as he figured it out he'd angle to get The Chief to get him some, two bags if he could.

"I'm just saying that we have to stop being so complacent. I mean we could really do something about this menace. I think we should form a union, a group committed to stopping the alien threat. Us guys right here can save he world. I've been on antibiotics for two months now, no way any Level 1's are going to live in me. I suggest that if you want to save yourself and be a part of our world rescuing mission you start taking them as soon as you can. I wouldn't wait a day."

The Chief seemed to be losing steam. He had been going on well past an hour uninterrupted and for anything else better to do the guys had listened to every word but as he slowed the boys began to become uneasy.

"I think we should start in the obvious place; Scientology. We should expose them so that the people can get the real information and then rise up and of course they will be so appreciative of our guidance that we will become heroes."

Calamadocious had heard enough.

"I'm out guys. See ya Chief. Very enlightening."

"I'll run with you" said Pepper as he stood up.

Calamadocious and Pepper ambled down the darkened ally leaving the rest of the guys listening to The Chief's plans for the Union Of Alien Fighters.

"That was some kinda shit wasn't it Pepper?"

"Sure was, I mean yeah, The Chief was really on one."

"Dude was bugging."

"Yeah, I guess he was. Hey Calamadocious what are you up to tomorrow?"

"I don't know what about you?"















"I don't know I have this doctor's appointment I should go to."

"That's funny I have one, I mean I was thinking of going to the doctor's too."

"Yeah, I was thinking that maybe I might get me some of those antibiotics, you know just in case."

"Funny I was thinking the same thing."

How Can They Best Eat Yesterday

The water was more then lukewarm but less then hot. He thought he could feel a tingling in his testicles but couldn't be certain.















There was a chlorine smell but he had expected as much, contrary to claims made otherwise, being that any other baths he had visited prior, excluding those found in private homes, were also accompanied by that odor. He looked at his arms as they rested on the sides of the tub and pondered their fleshiness. There was more hair on them then he had remembered being there and the sight of his own body was making him uncomfortable.

He looked before him but the rest of his body was obscured by the green bath waters. These waters were meant to be restorative, to be infused with minerals and salts that would aid in recovery and speed up rehabilitation. He raised a foot and saw his nails long, unkempt, and in need of trimming. Was this something he needed to ask for or was this one of the needs that the brochure intimated were inclusive in the total deluxe spa package? Tired of his foot he went onto his knee. He surmised that his knee was really no problem whatsoever and thus further scrutiny could be bypassed. He stretched his pelvis upward so that his penis would emerge from the waters but this plan was much harder to achieve then was the thought of the design of it. His feet slipped on the slick tub and so he splashed back down into the tub with only the slightest glimpse of his manhood for his troubles.

It was in fact his penis that had landed him at this retreat; this spa. It seemed that over time, and with long periods of inactivity, the darn thing just wouldn't operate as it was meant to. Throughout the bulk of his life, and the life of his penis, it worked pretty much according to its design. As with most males in his youth the whole apparatus was a bit touchy, sensitive, and not all too dependable but with age came a certain command of its use. As the years wore on and the periods of activity and inactivity began to become longer with the periods of activity being incredibly active and counter to that the lulls even more desolate he began to notice a change. When moved to activity he began like a young man but not long after he was done and no amount of encouragement might rouse in him a reaction. The doctor was at a loss as to the cause and so he sought other remedies.

The brochure had made loud boasts as to the resurrecting powers of the natural waters found under its foundation. The spring was said to contain a singular mix of natural mineral deposits and sodiums where by certain herbal additives were made to create a magical bath whose success rate at treating a myriad of health maladies was nonpareil, or so it was claimed. He needed resurrecting. When he had first noticed that there indeed might be a problem he queried a few trusted chums and though none had admitted to experiencing anything even remotely similar to his circumstance one dear chap had notion to tell of this miracle spa, though not inexpensive mind you, that he had heard could treat an ill as so described.















The attendant entered the room. A fine lass dressed in the whites one might expect of a real nurse. She held her clipboard officiously to her chest and acted with cold restraint. He felt fat and bloated and slightly embarrassed upon her entry.

"Mr. Wittington?"

"Yes, that is me."

"Fine. And the bath? Are you experiencing any discomfort?" she said as she checked her log.

He thought to tell her that her presence was the only real discomfort he was feeling but felt better then to voice his concern.

"No. I mean the water seems a bit tepid but besides that I suppose no actual discomfort."

"That's good."

She reached down and grabbed his wrist and proceeded to perform a perfunctory test of his vital signs. Again she checked her log.

"Mr. Wittington do you believe you are experiencing any results from your treatment?"

He had paid well to be there and so thought that he may as well be as forthright as possible.

"Well I think I felt a tingling sensation at one point."

"A tingling sensation?" she said with clinical detachment.

"Yes, I think."

"A tingling sensation and where might have that been."

"In my, well, in my lower region."

"Could you be more specific?"

"In my testicles" he said surprised at the sound of his voice.

She made a note and then went to leave the room.

"Nurse."

She turned around to face him.

"I'm not a nurse but if it makes you feel better to address me in this manner I have no objection."

"Oh I'm sorry."

"That's okay no need to apologize."

"Okay."

"What was it? Did you have a question?"

"I was wondering. Is there someone available to tend to my feet?"

"In which way?"

"Well I feel rather strange mentioning this to you but it seems my nails are exceedingly long and I was wondering if there was someone that could see to them."

The woman moved to the end of the tub and lifted his foot out of the water. Her hand was cold on his foot.

He felt a stirring.















"Nurse?"

"Yes what is it?"

"I think I am beginning to feel some positive effects from the treatment."

G'day Digger

He leaned back and as he set his hand down upon the bed it found moisture, probably beer but if there were light enough he might have seen it for the red wine that it was. There were loud calls and laughter emanating from the party below, drunken howls and whistling. The music played echoing up to them some horrid eighties hit or another and none of this slowed him.















He could just make out the outline of her face and even in this dim light he could see that her eyes were focused somewhere irrelevant to the situation. His mind began to race, his mind was a useless impediment to the moment. It seemed as though they had just met and for enough drink she then became, perhaps unwittingly, amenable to his advance. He tried his best to just act but his mouth just wouldn't allow him to conceal the words.

"Are you ready for this?" he said and as he did he weighed his tone and thought it just a little heavy handed.

"I think so?" she said with nary a forethought.

He stood up and dropped his clothes to the floor. She didn't move.

"I want you to be ready."

"Okay, I'm ready."

He reached over and unbuttoned her shirt. She looked off into the distance. He had hoped that given the circumstance and the environment she might be a little more forthcoming in her actions.

He reached over and touched her. He didn't want romance or sensitivity, he only wanted motion without thought or reason. He pulled her off the bed and unloosed her bra. Her hands went to her chest and covered her breasts.

"I really want to."

"I know you do" he said trying to be both understanding and forceful.

He wanted to just consume but his brain wouldn't still. He sat beside her on the bed. Why couldn't this just be a drunken fuck he thought? Why couldn't they just take up where they had left off? Again he, against every intention, let words slip from his tongue.

"I have so much to give you."

"I know you do but it has just been so long."

"Are you afraid?"

"I don't know if I'm afraid or just so out of practice that I don't know how to do it anymore. It's been ever a time gone by and everything has changed."

"I've been away for a long time too."

"Why don't you tell me?"

He could have told her of a million things. The things he saw, the majesty and the beauty that he had encountered on his travels but he knew that those words represented something else entirely. He no longer wanted to reenact some experience but wanted to live anew. Couldn't he be left of the spectre of his remembrance. Therein lay the trouble he thought. It was like a book that he had read and in those pages, no matter the number or readings, the story never shifted.

He looked down at his hand and saw the bug bites that still mottled his wrist; more remembrances of previous experience. There was a loud crash from below and then screams followed by some yelling and then a chorus of applause and cheering.

She reached up to him and he fell down upon her.















They lay in the silence. The party having evaporated by hours.

"How much do you want to hear?"

"I want to hear everything" she said.

"I'll tell you everything but not tonight. I'm weary from travel."

She rested her head on his chest.

"Okay then. You can tell me when you're ready."

"I'll do that. I promise."