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"Sanity Screens" by Alivian

Category: Short Story

Tags: Experimental Fiction

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Eight days without an assignment. I could get use to this. Yes, this is quite agreeable. Not working. No profiles to sift through. No new faces to be acquainted with. No dialogues where the only purpose is to extract information.

Nex thought this way very often between cases. Rarely, did he posses the time to think about his own existence. Cigarette smoke rose to the air as he commenced a nightly ritual. Possible remedy for insomnia: a cigarette and a glass of cranberry juice. A little ascorbic acid to counteract cancer. An appropiate balance of health and self-destruction. What bizarre philosophies I have. He grabbed a pen and his journal, also a nightly practice. He wrote: There are two things both the female praying mantis and the black widow have in common. After copulation they both devour their mates. He tossed the journal on his bed. Paige, why'd I ever entangle my thoughts with you? During his last assignment he had befriended the ex-lover of his fugitive, the elusive Chemist. Paige participated in many brief affairs with eccentric men. They would shortly afterwards disappear from the maps, but (an artist) you could find them all in her sketches and paintings, transmutated. The Chemist was already a shadow when he met Paige. No one had seen him since their relationship had ended. Nex resumed his writing: Shadows can't be destroyed. They can only be banished.

With a touch of the stereo console Shumann began playing. Paradoxical piano works full of fluidity and disconnection. Nex lit another cigarette. The tobacco allowed his thoughts to diverge, to uncover all the leaves underneath the rug. A conversation. Yes, an important conversation materialized. It occured when Paige first invited him to her loft apartment. Or, as he thought of it, open space reached full capacity. Every object in her room told a story. An antique bed acquired at an auction. Drapes designed from her grandmother's old dresses. A stand for sheet music. She played the violin. A bizarre door unhinged leaning against the wall. "My friends, and I drove around one night and came across an abandoned house. Most of it had burned to the ground, but this door was still intact. We took it, and I've been meaning to paint it ever since." she had explained. And of course, her personal gallery of paintings. Nex had pondered on how such a small space could have stirred and unsettled his emotions so vivaciously. "This is an eerie place, timeless." he had breathed inaudibly. Delicately touching his hand she had asked, "Well, Agent Wurthers, would you like to see a sketch of your suspect? Perhaps, it could be helpful." She reached for a bag splattered with acrylics, an array of colors. The sketch pad in her hands, she turned to the proper page and handed it to him. Nothing but untouched white. He had grimaced and responded, "As artistic as this is, this sheet appears to be blank." Her response: a confident giggle. "I could never sketch him. And I tried countless times, but it was always *****." She giggled more powerfully. "And, god, did that upset, San." San. San Shydeff, possible birth name of the Chemist. A man whose face can't even be drawn. And that's the type of guy I'm hunting. With something that might be called a sigh Nex burrowed into bed. He was feeling less awake - less awake to attempt sleep again. "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." Recalling a verse from one of his more preferred parts of the Bible, he closed his eyes.

A warm alarm sounded to precede a sterile automated voice. "I apologize for the disturbance, Mr. Wurthers, but you have a message from Chief Inspector London. Will you accept the transmission?"

Goddamn infoscreen. Nex lifted his torso brushing aside blankets to run his fingers through his hair. "Yes, I accept."

The infoscreen immediately flashed to a live transmission of Chief London drinking coffee from a cup with pink elephants on it. "Hey, my daughter gave me this cup!" he would always suggest to defend against curious comments, although inarguably he was childless and probably just enjoyed the idea of pink elephants. He greeted Nex from the other side of the screen. "Good morning, Agent Wurthers."

"Jesus, Russ. It's almost 4 AM. What is it?"

"Now don't act as if I'm interrupting something. We both know you rarely sleep. And you sure as hell never have a woman over there."

Nex ignored the stabs at his private life. They both participated in endless competitions of irreverence and general wit. It was their mutually accepted idea of friendship.

"Well," Nex paused, unable to parry and strike back. "What the hell do you want, Russ?"

"Ok, I get it. This is day eight of your requested two weeks off, and you're just a little pissy that you have to see my face. I understand. My face does that to people. Just ask my wife."

"Russel, we both know you don't have a wife. So, what is it for christ's sake?"

Slightly disheartened by Nex's absence of playfulness, Russ London frowned and assumed a facade of seriousness.

"Well, Agent Wurthers, it is something important. Very important actually. Earlier today we received a package from the Chemist. No return address unfortunately." London chuckled at his own obvious humor. "But there was a short note attached. It read: 'To my weary friend Nex Wurthers. May this gift and my messenger find you well.' Isn't that curious? I would have contacted you sooner, but we had to run your 'gift' through all the necessary scans."

"Scans?"

"Yeah, you know, to make sure nothing would explode upon opening. All tests proved negative."

"Well, that's comforting, I guess."

London, determined to act like a real Bureau Chief, proceeded with his monologue. "So, basically, get your ***** down here immediately. I'm dying to see what's inside."

The transmission ended darkening the room - the quiet violence of discarded clothes, neglected books, and lusterless dishes. Eight days. Nine would have been better. Nex stood up to stretch. He recalled how London had doomsayed his initial request for time off - for a fragment of well deserved freedom. "Free?" London had scoffed with timely hand guestures. " Let me tell you something, boy. Whether you're here or out there, you are never free."

Nex began to faintly ignite the mechanisms of morning. It was too early, and the engine was frigid. He entered the washroom and switched on the light, but the light bulb failed, flickering dead. I thought these bulbs lasted for years. What a nice surprise. Probably similar to how my life will end. I'll go to turn on the light and nothing will happen. He grinned to himself while lighting a few scattered tea candles; and turning on the sink faucet he cupped water in his hands. The mirror appeared more embittered than usual by the opposing face. Well, what can I do about it? Abruptly Nex tossed the cool water against his face. The small collision, a magical act of cleansing, de-centralized into swift droplets from eyelids to cheekbones, from cheekbones to the corners of his lips. Then, came a realization: it was time to get dressed and go.

It's such a pitiful hour to have an agenda. Nex peered like a statue outside the entrance of Riverview Tower, a living complex where all the forlorn, single men and women of importance seemed to congregate. Drawing a 555 from his cigarette case, he lit up to momentarily admire the picturesque quietudes. The sun would not join the sleeping city for another two hours. Nonetheless, one could spot the few unlucky emerging from caves to meld with the sidewalks and the buses. A fog settled and shed its ethereal properties upon everything and everyone. The final business hours for ghosts until sunlight, when humans would assume control of the marketplace and create an equally lonely world. God, the stillness is incredible. Why do we construct these secondary homes? These churches, banks, universities, office buildings, etc. All of these erected into stupendous testaments of human power and ingenuity. Yet only to be abandoned at night for families, friends, lovers, and warm beds. From where did this division originate? Why do these double lives occur? And will they ever be bridged to make us feel whole again?

Patrolmen monitored each block of the metropolis day and night. According to recent, strict anti-vagrancy and anti-drug legislation they were a necessity to keep the streets "clean." Random and occasionally brutal drug searches had transformed public urban life into a single wry expression. Tourists were considered less suspicious than working citizens since they with their cameras and city maps constantly moved, seeing the things designed to be seen. A tall, bald patrolman approached Nex.

"You!" he half-shouted using the Stern Voice of the law. "What business do you have at this hour?"

Great. The best way to be targeted by these morons with badges is to look like you have no destination. And here I am standing about daydreaming.

"Well, officer...Coleman." Nex replied amusedly, examining his nametag. "I was about to walk to the Inner City Transit. I'm agent Nex Wurthers of the BNI. " And to solidify that statement Nex revealed his badge to the officer.

"Regardless, under such circumstances, I'm required to search you."

"The hell you are, officer. I'm a government employed agent of the BNI. Do you understand? Now let's have a look at your badge if, in fact, you have one."

The patrolman grew doubly hostile and belicose. "Listen, *****, you're taking orders from me. Do you understand? Now place your hands in the air. Immediately!"

Nex suppressed several, unwise urges to open fire upon the bald-headed obstruction. ***** this guy. He has no rank or power over me, and I have a bus to board. Nex casually walked away eliciting an inhumanly emotional response from the officer.

"Well, since you won't comply, Agent Wurthers, I'll just have to kill you."

With unforeseen celerity, more swiftly than a "***** off" could be spoken, a gunshot fired into the back of Nex Wurthers. A miasmic explosion. Nex sensed his consciousness expand as his body diverged, transformed into the bodies of a hundred moths, all of unique colors and shades. Their wings fluttered secreting a poisonous vapor. Through two hundred eyes Nex witnessed the patrolman cough, asphyxiate, and fall dead on his face. A triumphant north wind swept through like a net capturing all the hovering colors, and together moth and wind alchemically birthed a rainbow that arced high above the city. Nex felt exultant. The universe unfurled before him, and as he looked down illuminating and animating the towering buildings, they cowered and spoke," Forgive us, Lord, our nakedness." The rainbow beamed toward the Inner City Transit completing its arc inside the frame of a traveling bus.

The bus halted jarring Nex from his unconscious fantasy. He stiffened and viciously wiped clean the drivel pasted on his left cheek. "Tricity Trails, everyone." announced the driver. "All on board for Tricity Trails, please disembark." Men and women stood shuffling their way through the transit door as different men and women boarded the bus. -1 +1. Endless math. Endless equations. Each passenger seated himself. The bus quaked and resumed its course. Forlornly, Nex gazed out the transit window. Shop after shop polluted, crowded the streets. Convenient stores advertising inexpensive alchohol and cigarettes. Pawn shops full of stolen property and useless, outdated technology ( like CD and DVD players). Hair and Nail salons everywhere. Numberless Vietnamese soup houses. Neighborhood churches with futile electronic marquees. One reading: "Free space trip to heaven. See details inside." Whatever the establishment, whoever the vendor- these were all strategically designed and located to target the lost, bemused masses. Someone, somewhere, is making a profit off you.

Meanwhile, inside the bus chatter accumulated into a monstrous pile of sound. An undesirable synthesis. Like afterhours television, the channels are open, but the broadcasts have ended. This is only static. Unfortunately (and always lamented), Nex had the ears trained to eavesdrop, to dissect the collective body of monologues and dialogues, laughter and shouts. His hearing panned omnipresently if not involuntarily about the bus.

"Did she tell you that you weren't invited?"

"You pay your bill through the..."

"That's exactly why I did that!"

"I think we allocated the Mathers Fund quite nicely."


Then, a rare alloy of subject matter. A young man with an undeniable southern accent spoke smoothly and methodically. He was talking to his friend. "I have this one reoccurring dream, right? I live in this city which has all the elements of these tiny nowhere towns I used to live in. My past friends and I will drive around and find some adventure. Something's always happening there. Things I've experienced, and things I've yet to experience. The new and the old meeting each other every night I sleep. It's amazing." The young man paused and chuckled insecurely. "I think I prefer my dream city over this one."

Nex felt shamed by the man's candid speech. It pierced his cynicism. Here I am casting stones at every stranger I see when I'm not the only who'd prefer some happier plane of existence. Like some deranged physician I've been diagnosing everyone with an illness, with a disorder, when I'm most likely the one who's sick. Who can't relate or express simply how he feels. Nex relaxed slouching in his seat, an attempt to dull his own thought razors and to slip peacefully into the static around him. He reached into his coat pocket for the notepad that supported him on each interview and investigation. He flipped to an unused page and wrote: When observing the city, one must be aware of all that foreign consciousness pouring down like hail against glass windows. It's a tragic weight to see all things. With your sanity screens firmly fastened, confront the absurd and fare the weather.



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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

Mechanics includes sentence structure, verb agreement, grammar, spelling, voice, punctuation and aspects of basic style.

Note: The purpose of ReviewFuse reviews is NOT to provide comprehensive copy editing, but rather to "ignite creativity." Reviewers should not feel obliged to point out every grammar or spelling error (though they certainly can if they wish), but should focus on this area only to the degree that errors make a story hard to follow or understand.

Inline comments are the most helpful and important aspects of your review.

Click on a paragraph or highlight text from the paragraph to provide inline comments. While detailed grammar correction is welcome, the purpose of inline commenting is to spark the author's creativity. This is best done by expressing feelings, questions, and concerns you have about the story while you are reading.

1. Eight days without an assignment. I could get use to this. Yes, this is quite agreeable. Not working. No profiles to sift through. No new faces to be acquainted with. No dialogues where the only purpose is to extract information.

2. Nex thought this way very often between cases. Rarely, did he posses the time to think about his own existence. Cigarette smoke rose to the air as he commenced a nightly ritual. Possible remedy for insomnia: a cigarette and a glass of cranberry juice. A little ascorbic acid to counteract cancer. An appropiate balance of health and self-destruction. What bizarre philosophies I have. He grabbed a pen and his journal, also a nightly practice. He wrote: There are two things both the female praying mantis and the black widow have in common. After copulation they both devour their mates. He tossed the journal on his bed. Paige, why'd I ever entangle my thoughts with you? During his last assignment he had befriended the ex-lover of his fugitive, the elusive Chemist. Paige participated in many brief affairs with eccentric men. They would shortly afterwards disappear from the maps, but (an artist) you could find them all in her sketches and paintings, transmutated. The Chemist was already a shadow when he met Paige. No one had seen him since their relationship had ended. Nex resumed his writing: Shadows can't be destroyed. They can only be banished.

3. With a touch of the stereo console Shumann began playing. Paradoxical piano works full of fluidity and disconnection. Nex lit another cigarette. The tobacco allowed his thoughts to diverge, to uncover all the leaves underneath the rug. A conversation. Yes, an important conversation materialized. It occured when Paige first invited him to her loft apartment. Or, as he thought of it, open space reached full capacity. Every object in her room told a story. An antique bed acquired at an auction. Drapes designed from her grandmother's old dresses. A stand for sheet music. She played the violin. A bizarre door unhinged leaning against the wall. "My friends, and I drove around one night and came across an abandoned house. Most of it had burned to the ground, but this door was still intact. We took it, and I've been meaning to paint it ever since." she had explained. And of course, her personal gallery of paintings. Nex had pondered on how such a small space could have stirred and unsettled his emotions so vivaciously. "This is an eerie place, timeless." he had breathed inaudibly. Delicately touching his hand she had asked, "Well, Agent Wurthers, would you like to see a sketch of your suspect? Perhaps, it could be helpful." She reached for a bag splattered with acrylics, an array of colors. The sketch pad in her hands, she turned to the proper page and handed it to him. Nothing but untouched white. He had grimaced and responded, "As artistic as this is, this sheet appears to be blank." Her response: a confident giggle. "I could never sketch him. And I tried countless times, but it was always *****." She giggled more powerfully. "And, god, did that upset, San." San. San Shydeff, possible birth name of the Chemist. A man whose face can't even be drawn. And that's the type of guy I'm hunting. With something that might be called a sigh Nex burrowed into bed. He was feeling less awake - less awake to attempt sleep again. "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." Recalling a verse from one of his more preferred parts of the Bible, he closed his eyes.

4. A warm alarm sounded to precede a sterile automated voice. "I apologize for the disturbance, Mr. Wurthers, but you have a message from Chief Inspector London. Will you accept the transmission?"

5. Goddamn infoscreen. Nex lifted his torso brushing aside blankets to run his fingers through his hair. "Yes, I accept."

6. The infoscreen immediately flashed to a live transmission of Chief London drinking coffee from a cup with pink elephants on it. "Hey, my daughter gave me this cup!" he would always suggest to defend against curious comments, although inarguably he was childless and probably just enjoyed the idea of pink elephants. He greeted Nex from the other side of the screen. "Good morning, Agent Wurthers."

7. "Jesus, Russ. It's almost 4 AM. What is it?"

8. "Now don't act as if I'm interrupting something. We both know you rarely sleep. And you sure as hell never have a woman over there."

9. Nex ignored the stabs at his private life. They both participated in endless competitions of irreverence and general wit. It was their mutually accepted idea of friendship.

10. "Well," Nex paused, unable to parry and strike back. "What the hell do you want, Russ?"

11. "Ok, I get it. This is day eight of your requested two weeks off, and you're just a little pissy that you have to see my face. I understand. My face does that to people. Just ask my wife."

12. "Russel, we both know you don't have a wife. So, what is it for christ's sake?"

13. Slightly disheartened by Nex's absence of playfulness, Russ London frowned and assumed a facade of seriousness.

14. "Well, Agent Wurthers, it is something important. Very important actually. Earlier today we received a package from the Chemist. No return address unfortunately." London chuckled at his own obvious humor. "But there was a short note attached. It read: 'To my weary friend Nex Wurthers. May this gift and my messenger find you well.' Isn't that curious? I would have contacted you sooner, but we had to run your 'gift' through all the necessary scans."

15. "Scans?"

16. "Yeah, you know, to make sure nothing would explode upon opening. All tests proved negative."

17. "Well, that's comforting, I guess."

18. London, determined to act like a real Bureau Chief, proceeded with his monologue. "So, basically, get your ***** down here immediately. I'm dying to see what's inside."

19. The transmission ended darkening the room - the quiet violence of discarded clothes, neglected books, and lusterless dishes. Eight days. Nine would have been better. Nex stood up to stretch. He recalled how London had doomsayed his initial request for time off - for a fragment of well deserved freedom. "Free?" London had scoffed with timely hand guestures. " Let me tell you something, boy. Whether you're here or out there, you are never free."

20. Nex began to faintly ignite the mechanisms of morning. It was too early, and the engine was frigid. He entered the washroom and switched on the light, but the light bulb failed, flickering dead. I thought these bulbs lasted for years. What a nice surprise. Probably similar to how my life will end. I'll go to turn on the light and nothing will happen. He grinned to himself while lighting a few scattered tea candles; and turning on the sink faucet he cupped water in his hands. The mirror appeared more embittered than usual by the opposing face. Well, what can I do about it? Abruptly Nex tossed the cool water against his face. The small collision, a magical act of cleansing, de-centralized into swift droplets from eyelids to cheekbones, from cheekbones to the corners of his lips. Then, came a realization: it was time to get dressed and go.

21. It's such a pitiful hour to have an agenda. Nex peered like a statue outside the entrance of Riverview Tower, a living complex where all the forlorn, single men and women of importance seemed to congregate. Drawing a 555 from his cigarette case, he lit up to momentarily admire the picturesque quietudes. The sun would not join the sleeping city for another two hours. Nonetheless, one could spot the few unlucky emerging from caves to meld with the sidewalks and the buses. A fog settled and shed its ethereal properties upon everything and everyone. The final business hours for ghosts until sunlight, when humans would assume control of the marketplace and create an equally lonely world. God, the stillness is incredible. Why do we construct these secondary homes? These churches, banks, universities, office buildings, etc. All of these erected into stupendous testaments of human power and ingenuity. Yet only to be abandoned at night for families, friends, lovers, and warm beds. From where did this division originate? Why do these double lives occur? And will they ever be bridged to make us feel whole again?

22. Patrolmen monitored each block of the metropolis day and night. According to recent, strict anti-vagrancy and anti-drug legislation they were a necessity to keep the streets "clean." Random and occasionally brutal drug searches had transformed public urban life into a single wry expression. Tourists were considered less suspicious than working citizens since they with their cameras and city maps constantly moved, seeing the things designed to be seen. A tall, bald patrolman approached Nex.

23. "You!" he half-shouted using the Stern Voice of the law. "What business do you have at this hour?"

24. Great. The best way to be targeted by these morons with badges is to look like you have no destination. And here I am standing about daydreaming.

25. "Well, officer...Coleman." Nex replied amusedly, examining his nametag. "I was about to walk to the Inner City Transit. I'm agent Nex Wurthers of the BNI. " And to solidify that statement Nex revealed his badge to the officer.

26. "Regardless, under such circumstances, I'm required to search you."

27. "The hell you are, officer. I'm a government employed agent of the BNI. Do you understand? Now let's have a look at your badge if, in fact, you have one."

28. The patrolman grew doubly hostile and belicose. "Listen, *****, you're taking orders from me. Do you understand? Now place your hands in the air. Immediately!"

29. Nex suppressed several, unwise urges to open fire upon the bald-headed obstruction. ***** this guy. He has no rank or power over me, and I have a bus to board. Nex casually walked away eliciting an inhumanly emotional response from the officer.

30. "Well, since you won't comply, Agent Wurthers, I'll just have to kill you."

31. With unforeseen celerity, more swiftly than a "***** off" could be spoken, a gunshot fired into the back of Nex Wurthers. A miasmic explosion. Nex sensed his consciousness expand as his body diverged, transformed into the bodies of a hundred moths, all of unique colors and shades. Their wings fluttered secreting a poisonous vapor. Through two hundred eyes Nex witnessed the patrolman cough, asphyxiate, and fall dead on his face. A triumphant north wind swept through like a net capturing all the hovering colors, and together moth and wind alchemically birthed a rainbow that arced high above the city. Nex felt exultant. The universe unfurled before him, and as he looked down illuminating and animating the towering buildings, they cowered and spoke," Forgive us, Lord, our nakedness." The rainbow beamed toward the Inner City Transit completing its arc inside the frame of a traveling bus.

32. The bus halted jarring Nex from his unconscious fantasy. He stiffened and viciously wiped clean the drivel pasted on his left cheek. "Tricity Trails, everyone." announced the driver. "All on board for Tricity Trails, please disembark." Men and women stood shuffling their way through the transit door as different men and women boarded the bus. -1 +1. Endless math. Endless equations. Each passenger seated himself. The bus quaked and resumed its course. Forlornly, Nex gazed out the transit window. Shop after shop polluted, crowded the streets. Convenient stores advertising inexpensive alchohol and cigarettes. Pawn shops full of stolen property and useless, outdated technology ( like CD and DVD players). Hair and Nail salons everywhere. Numberless Vietnamese soup houses. Neighborhood churches with futile electronic marquees. One reading: "Free space trip to heaven. See details inside." Whatever the establishment, whoever the vendor- these were all strategically designed and located to target the lost, bemused masses. Someone, somewhere, is making a profit off you.

33. Meanwhile, inside the bus chatter accumulated into a monstrous pile of sound. An undesirable synthesis. Like afterhours television, the channels are open, but the broadcasts have ended. This is only static. Unfortunately (and always lamented), Nex had the ears trained to eavesdrop, to dissect the collective body of monologues and dialogues, laughter and shouts. His hearing panned omnipresently if not involuntarily about the bus.

34. "Did she tell you that you weren't invited?"

35. "You pay your bill through the..."

36. "That's exactly why I did that!"

37. "I think we allocated the Mathers Fund quite nicely."

38.

39. Then, a rare alloy of subject matter. A young man with an undeniable southern accent spoke smoothly and methodically. He was talking to his friend. "I have this one reoccurring dream, right? I live in this city which has all the elements of these tiny nowhere towns I used to live in. My past friends and I will drive around and find some adventure. Something's always happening there. Things I've experienced, and things I've yet to experience. The new and the old meeting each other every night I sleep. It's amazing." The young man paused and chuckled insecurely. "I think I prefer my dream city over this one."

40. Nex felt shamed by the man's candid speech. It pierced his cynicism. Here I am casting stones at every stranger I see when I'm not the only who'd prefer some happier plane of existence. Like some deranged physician I've been diagnosing everyone with an illness, with a disorder, when I'm most likely the one who's sick. Who can't relate or express simply how he feels. Nex relaxed slouching in his seat, an attempt to dull his own thought razors and to slip peacefully into the static around him. He reached into his coat pocket for the notepad that supported him on each interview and investigation. He flipped to an unused page and wrote: When observing the city, one must be aware of all that foreign consciousness pouring down like hail against glass windows. It's a tragic weight to see all things. With your sanity screens firmly fastened, confront the absurd and fare the weather.

41.

42.

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