A Softer World

A Softer World

A Softer World is a very interesting blog/webcomic.

It feels like Haikus on LSD.

Sometimes its hilarious,  thoughtful and sweet and then sometimes
incredibly inappropriate or vulgar. Not for kids that's for sure.

Here's one I stumbled on today that made me happy.

Right Now...

Right now, a man is kneeling on the ground, filling his tire with Fix-a-Flat he bought from Wal-mart.

His hands are dirty and sticky from the tire and the white foam spewing from a leak in the hose on the can. His wife sits in the front seat trying to comfort a crying baby with an ear infection.

He thought he could make it til payday with the slow leak, but now it won’t wait and the baby needs to go to the emergency room because the fever has been too high for too long.

Right now, a tired man in a charcoal suit returns the keys to his rental car to an employee at the Avis counter at the Atlanta airport. He makes the long walk to the Delta Terminal for his flight home. As he walks, he calls his wife’s cell phone…it goes to voicemail repeatedly. He finally puts the phone away and wonders where she is.

Right now, three teen-age girls are stuffed into a ten year old compact car. They are heading to a movie at the dollar theatre. They scream lines from their favorite song as they miss their exit on the freeway. They scold the driver and then laugh as they turn around at the next exit.

Right now, a man struggles with a bra clasp in the dark while a woman giggles.

Right now, a woman opens the door to her apartment, seeing it’s her ex she turns away from the door and yells, “Brandon, your dad is here!! Hurry up!”. She walks away, leaving him standing in the doorway without inviting him in. He glances to the side like he’s inspecting the carpentry work of the door frame.

Right now, an older couple dressed in their Sunday best sits in a diner enjoying a cup of coffee and sharing a piece of peanut butter pie. She wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and smiles.

Right now a college freshman studies evolutionary biology. Why he ever believed in God is becoming a mystery to him. He’s content that his world is finally making sense.

Right now a young man is studying the Bible in his room. He feels inspired, charged up and just plain happy. He’s at peace and has finally got a message to share with the world. He’s content that his world is finally making sense.

Right now a Buddhist meditates in a temple, smelling the incense, listening to the deep chimes and chanted prayers. He feels that greater enlightenment is very near. He’s content that his world is finally making sense.

Right now a withered old man sits on a stool in a cool, dark bar in the middle of a bright day. He thinks of all he has seen and heard in this world. He empties his glass and wipes his mouth on his cuff. He turns to an older woman with bright pink lipstick who is smoking a cigarette on the stool next to him. “Remember when we were young and thought everything in this world made sense?” They laugh long and he orders another round for the both of them.

Right now, a man has been let go after twenty years at the factory.

Right now, a young woman has been promoted to head of marketing.

Right now, a child has been told he has to go to summer school or repeat the fourth grade.

Right now, a single mother finds out she won a full scholarship to a community college.

Right now, the administrative assistant is told that wages are frozen at this time.

Right now people are looking for hope to carry on.

Right now people are looking for something to put their faith in.

Right now people are looking for someone to love them no matter what.

Right now, these three remain—but  the greatest of these is love.

Right now, choose love. 

Ben Folds Five and Fraggle Rock "DO IT ANYWAY" [Official Video]

Any day starting with waffles has increased potential to be a good day. Just sayin...

Tip o' the hat to Jack Kerouac's American Haikus

Laying on my side, I stroke the ear of my purring cat. Almost a haiku.

Happy Birthday William Carlos Williams

Today is the birthday of poet William Carlos Williams (1883-1963). He was a pediatrician at a hospital in New Jersey and a poet. I first read about him in Garrison Keillor's awesome book, Good Poems, and also encountered him in a lovely little Dover Book called 101 Great American Poems that was compiled by the American Poetry and Literacy Project. His style is very unique and reminds me of the "American Haikus" of Jack Kerouac. Here are 2 of his poems that I really like:

The Red Wheelbarrow

So much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens.

This is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox


and which
you were probably
saving 
for breakfast


Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold


In Garrison Keillor's book Good Poems there is also a response to this previous poem
from a writer named Erica-Lynn Gambino.


This is Just to Say

(for William Carlos Williams)


I have just
asked you to
get out of my 
apartment


even though
you never
thought
I would


Forgive me
you were
driving
me insane
      

The Sign of a Good Writer

The sign of a good writer is not always that he can tell you something you did not Know. I think that a good writer is one That can tell you something you always knew but were never able to put into words.

Why I Was Late Today

Dear Human Resources,

I wish to claim my lateness this morning to be covered under FMLA, due

to time spent caring for a sick member of my family.

As you can see from the attached photo, my cat Lucy, was afflicted by

a horrific case of extreme cuteness. The only remedy for this malady

is extended skritching of the ears and making various “Awww” noises

until it passes or until the cat becomes bored and goes and finds a

jingleball to bat around the floor.

Luckily this attack passed fairly quickly today and I was able to get to work

with a minimum of work loss, it was also raining, and there was a rabid

warthog at the corner of Simpson and Middlebury that was slowing the

movement of traffic.

I will stay late to make up for this.

Regards,

John Homan

To Risk

“To Risk”

by William Arthur Ward

To laugh is to risk appearing a fool,
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out to another is to risk involvement,
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.

To place your ideas and dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss.

To love is to risk not being loved in return,
To live is to risk dying,
To hope is to risk despair,
To try is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow,
But he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or live.

Chained by his servitude he is a slave who has forfeited all freedom.

Only a person who risks is free.

The pessimist complains about the wind;

The optimist expects it to change;

And the realist adjusts the sails.

"Winter Winds Cold and Blea" by John Clare

Winter winds cold and blea
Chilly blows o'er the lea:
Wander not out to me,
    Jenny so fair,
Wait in thy cottage free.
    I will be there.

Wait in they cushioned chair
Wi' thy white bosom bare.
Kisses are sweetest there:
    Leave it for me.
Free from the chilly air
    I will meet thee.

How sweet can courting prove,
How can I kiss my love
Muffled in hat and glove
    From the chill air?
Quaking beneath the grove,
    What love is there!

Lay by thy woolen vest,
Drape no cloak o'er thy breast:
Where my hand oft hath pressed,
    Pin nothing there:
Where my head droops to rest,
    Leave its bed bare.


(Kind of scandalous for an 18th century English poet, but no more so than
Song of Solomon and some parts of Proverbs. ) 

"Leisure" by W.H. Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smiles her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Frank's Bad Day Part XVI

"Yoo hoo...Sleeping Beauty? I say, perhaps you could endeavor to join us for a moment?"

The voice entered the oblivion of sleep Frank had been enjoying for an unkown period of time. It was a British voice, thick with sarcasm and a lower middle class accent. Frank had spent a summer with his aunt Daisy in the south of Great Britain. She had always described herself as "dead common", but she loved to make a game  of "playing posh" when they would go shopping or out for tea. She would act like an Earl's wife from Cornwall and introduce Frank as her nephew from Barcelona and he would speak what little Spanish he learned from his Mom and Grandma, and they would have a great time. They would laugh when they fooled people and laugh even harder when they were found out, generally by a sharp-eared Cockney that noticed that Aunt Daisy's "aitches" were not up to standard. After a summer with Aunt Daisy Frank could pick out the most common accents in the UK like an intern to Professor Henry Higgins.

"Do wake up now, please. We need to get started."

Frank had hoped the voice would go away, but after several minutes it returned. Most put-on accents start to show little cracks in their uniformity and this voice was no exception.

"Oy! Ah'm talkin' to you, mate! Wakie, wakie!"

The voice punctuated the last phrase by poking Frank's nose, not in a hard or painful way, but incredibly annoying nonetheless.

"I'll wake up if you stop poking me!", Frank groaned.

 "There's a good man! Can I get you a cuppa'?"

Frank raised himself to his elbows and paused while the pain subsided.

"A cuppa?...Oh, yes, tea...Sounds great, two sugars, no milk please" , Frank propped himself up in bed and took a cup and saucer from the grey haired man sitting next to his bed. The man  had long unruly white hair, pulled back in a pigtail, but little wisps of hair had broken free and hung limply on the side of his head. His skin was very pale, as white as Frank had ever seen on a living person. He wore a three piece charcoal pinstripe suit. It was showing its age, but was well taken care of. Attached to his vest was a long, jangly chain, presumably for a watch, but the links were as thick as a chain you would use to secure an enthusiastic junkyard dog to  steel stake buried in cement. The man had shiny black shoes with large brass buckles and a hint of white silk stockings.

"Right-o, sorry its not proper tea, just packets down here...probably won't matter that much to you, being an American."

"I've had proper tea before, but I prefer coffee. Mmmm, that's pretty good for packets."

"Thanks. Horrible stuff coffee, in my day it was only drank by nervous Frenchman and rich layabouts trying to seem more Continental than British."

"I don't know about that, but coffee gets ya goin' faster than tea... Maybe that's not always a good thing though. I spent my life rushing around. I don't have much to show for it. Maybe I should have had more tea and more chats, more friends and less earthly success."

"Yes, rather...Good thing that, giving thought to your ways. Shame we didn't do more of that while we were on earth, what, what? Might not have ended up here, eh? You got it right enough to end up here instead of the fiery furnace. Lack of real tea is the least of those poor bugger's problems...ah well, good chat, lets get to business then. I am Mr. M, or simply M for the overly casual Americans. I've given up some measure of decorum since so much of my work force is polluted", he grinned a slightly wicked smile and winked. Frank immediately liked his new boss.

"I'm Frank Hernandez, Mr. M. I'm glad to meet you." The two men shook hands firmly.

"I'm afraid I have no resume or application to hand you. You'll have to ask me any questions you may have about me."

"Mr. Hernandez, SMI is actually part of Purgatory, so we have access to their sources of heavenly information. I have already spent some time looking at your files. We have looked at your history,  accomplishments, failures and have a fairly good idea of who you are and where you can fit into our organization."

"First off, if you know everything about me, please call me Frank. Of course, I will still call you Mr. M. Secondly, are you going to give me a summary of what you have discovered about me so I can understand why I'm here, and what I need to do to leave here?"

"Of course Frank, we'll start with that first off."

"You Can't Always Get What You Want."

Peggy was not the prettiest girl in eight grade.  Come to think of it, she didn't have a nice personality to fall back on either. No, she was probably the least liked girl in my class. She could be mean, she always gossiped and told outrageous stories that few people believed. To this day I can't believe why I thought it was a good idea to ask her to be my girlfriend that Friday afternoon, but I'll never forget her answer as long as I live. 

In the small church school we attended, Peggy was at the bottom of the Jr. High food chain. I was somewhere near the top. I was the class clown, had lots of friends and was pretty sure I was on my way to being a lover-boy. Not that I had any real experience to speak of, but I could make the girls laugh and my Mom said I was charming, and she seemed to be a reliable source on that sort of thing so I knew love was just around the corner. 

One day at lunchtime I sat with some of my friends who happened to be girls, it was all disgustingly platonic. Anyway, as a I munched my "meat" pizza, one of the girls named Tania leaned in and said, "Is it true about you and Peggy?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." 

"She told me that you guys had gone on a date and that you liked her."

"Nope, I don't know anything about that."

"I thought so. I told her I didn't believe her." Tania looked pleased, like she would enjoying picking on Peggy about this. The thing is, picking on Peggy was too easy. She had none of the poise and social prowess to 

defend herself. I had picked on her and used her as the butt of jokes like everyone else did. We all seemed to have the social niceties of a pack of hyenas in matching plaid uniforms. 

I continued thinking about Peggy that night. If I was ever going to start my career as a lover boy, I had to start somewhere. Why not with her? She did qualify as a girl. She smelled better than a boy and had some of those curvy parts I was interested in.Why not throw her a bone since its obvious she must like me if she's spreading rumours. Yes, I would do it. I would ask her to go with me. I could start on my career as a great lover with little trouble and bring some joy to the underprivileged. 

The very next day was Friday. I found her when no one else was around and asked her the big question. I expected her to squeal with delight and say "YES, YES, YES!". Instead she looked at me blankly and said she would have to "pray about it". In all of the possibilities I had expected this was not even on the list. Yes, no, maybe, not now, all perfectly normal. But this was just nuts. I was deflated like a two week old helium baloon. 

"When will you know what your decision is?", I asked sheepishly.

"I'll tell you Monday." she said in a business-like fashion and walked away. 

Monday took forever to arrive. Finally, I tracked her down and asked her what her decision was. 

"God said we aren't supposed to go together."

I stammered out a weak "Ok..." and turned an walked away. It may have been the worst day in my 8th grade career. Word spread all over the small school about it. Since I didn't want to talk about it, that made it true and not just another one of her stories. 

It also opened all kind of theological questions, "So God won't let me have even the least pretty girl in class as a girlfriend? Am I supposed to be a monk or something? They never said anything about this in Sunday school, what sort of crazy world is this?"

Years later, I finally realized several things. Number 1,  God really did not have anything to do with it.  and number 2, Between the 2 of us, Peggy had got what she wanted. She had been the winner. Everyone had always been mean to her, including me, and had said unkind things about-but this time, she had won. When I look back on it now, it makes me happy to see someone who was on the bottom come out on top. That doesn't seem to happen that often enough. 

Me? What did I get? I got what I desperately needed: a reality check, a little perspective. I needed to know that relationships with women were not going to be something I could manage and that it wasn't all about me. So for that, Thanks Peggy. I hope you got everything you wanted in your life. 

I'm @walmart & heard them page "Nigel come to the front." I wanted to find Nigel and tell him not to go. They are just making plans for you-its a trap!

Frank's Bad Day - Part XV

Frank woke up to a grey ceiling. He tried to sit up, but his body explained to him in a very succinct way that getting up was not an option at this time. He let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper and closed his eyes tight waiting for the pain to subside.

Leslie's voice came from somewhere in the room,"I told you that would happen...but you didn't listen, did you?". There was a good-natured tone of teasing in her voice. "I also remember telling you to look straight ahead, not make eye contact. A sensible person would have determined that those instructions meant it was a bad idea to start a theological discussion with a demon. Do you remember any of that conversation Frank?"

Frank opened his eyes and turned his head slowly so he could see Leslie sitting next to his bed.

"Yes ma'am...I really screwed up and put everyone on the bus in danger. I'm really sorry."

"Glad to hear you may have learned something from your little adventure", she smiled a little and tilted her head slightly in a charming way.
"Was Charon angry?"

Leslie straightened up and took on a look of seriousness.

"Oh, he was furious! I have never seen him so angry before! Oh, and the language he used! I think he may have added six months to his time in purgatory just based on that tirade alone."

"You're putting me on."

Leslie's face grew very serious, "Nope. What made him the most livid was the fact that you  got to be the one to take Tarriq out. Though he did enjoy throwing Taariq from the bus, but you could see his disappointment. Such a sad moment. I think I saw his lip quiver and a single tear roll down his crestfallen face...so tragic".

Leslie bowed her head a little, and was silent so that Frank began to actually think she was serious, but then she began to shake a little. Finally, she could stand it no longer and began to giggle which soon turned into a full laugh.

"I'm sorry Frank. I couldn't help myself. Charon was a little annoyed at first, but the more he thought about you punching Tarriq in the throat, the happier he was. When they threw him off the bus, a cheer went up from almost everyone. It was a happy bus until we reached the distribution center. Then another demon picked up the lost souls and took them to their ultimate destination and we started our regular workweek."

"So where am I?"
"You're at SMI. You'll start orientation soon, in fact you may meet Mr. M today. He'll determine where to place you in the company, and explain how things work. You're gonna be in bed for a couple more days at least. I'll be by to check on you a few more times."

"Thanks Leslie. You're a good friend...I wish I had met someone like you on earth. Things might have been different."

Leslie smiled demurely and bent down and kissed Frank on the forehead.

"Now don't lay around here getting all sad and moody. You've got a new start to get things right. Bravery extends to more than just punching demons you know, sometimes its being man or woman enough to stop worrying. Just rest now and don't try to figure it out all at once."

Frank smiled and closed his eyes and layed back on his pillow. "Yes, Ma'am. I'll try to remember that."

"See that you do. I've had enough of you disregarding my instructions for one day", Leslie pulled up the blankets and tucked things in here and there and made the sort of fuss that makes all of us feel taken care of when we aren't feeling well.

Frank soon found that he was asleep in no time at all.

Frank's Bad Day Part XIV

“Well, hello there little fella! I haven’t seen you before! You aren’t wearing an SMI badge. You must be a new arrival. Welcome to the underworld!”

Taariq’s eyes seemed to dilate and Frank wasn’t sure, but he thought that Taariq’s canine teeth seemed to lengthen and sharpen. Frank was positive that the enthusiasm Taariq was showing was more like a hunger than any type of friendliness. He turned to look straight ahead again, but kept one eye on close to Taariq.

“Leave him alone Taariq! He’s not your concern!”, Charon spoke up from the front of the bus.
“Take it easy, Charon. He asked me a perfectly polite question, so I am honor bound to answer him.” Taariq’s face twisted into a slimy smile.

“You see, religious people are great for several reasons. First of all, they are in utter disbelief that they have ended up in Hell. They have filled their lives with superficial good works and religious actions without ever seeking the sort of faith and true relationship with…Him…that leads to escaping this place. Those good works allowed them to heap up sin after sin of pride, gossip, selfishness and all sorts of delicious tidbits but still live in a lovely denial made possible by self-justification. The doctrine of good works saving you from Hell is one of our father’s most successful lies ever. It makes me so proud sometimes….oh, sorry, I get distracted so easily. So anyways, when these religious people arrive here, they are, (to use a colorful phrase), “a hot mess”. They are in denial, they are confused, they are angry, they are sad, they are an overflowing fountain of emotions and sins that are an incredible smorgasbord of vile tastes and sensations. It’s a beautiful thing” ,he leaned back and looked into the distance wistfully.

“Now the SMI people, they have that stench of real faith about them. Yes, sometimes they have a whiff of sadness or depression because they been here for a long time, but not enough to make them interesting. They spend their days helping pathetic creatures on earth, but instead of feeling self-satisfied and smug, so many of them keep thinking of others first, disregarding their own egos. Real faith is a pretty bad stench, but when you combine it with self-sacrificial love…it’s utterly disgusting”, he shuddered a little, and then he began to sniff the air again. His nostrils flared widely and he began moving his head around to get the full amount of smells.

“Well now...that IS interesting…”, he continued sniffing. “Our little friend has the stench of faith on him, but it’s pretty weak, but there is so much more going on there… “

Taariq stood up and bent down so he was at eye level with Frank and Leslie, only centimeters away from the golden beam separating them. He kept sniffing, and licked his lips.

“Fear, lots of fear. Do I frighten you little man?”, his voice lowered and he cocked his head to one side and grinned. “Oh, but fear is just the beginning with you, isn't it? Selfishness, lust, laziness, gluttony, caring for no one but yourself, looking out for no one else but yourself. You’ve got a catalog of lovely sinful vices tainted by such a little faith” , his eyes bulged and he opened his mouth a little wider, showing his white sharp teeth.  Leslie began to stare intently at Taariq. She swiveled in her seat, putting her body between Taariq and Frank. Taariq grinned even wider.

“Taariq! You take your seat now and leave my passengers alone! I’m not warning you again!” Charon yelled from the front of the bus. Frank could feel the bus slowing down.

Taariq acted like he had not heard Charon at all and leaned in a little closer to the beam.
“You’re hangin’ by a thread little man…you’d better be careful and do what the pretty lady tells you, or you could end up under my tender care.”

“Get back to your seat Taariq. You know you have no right to him”, Leslie said in a matter-of-fact, low controlled tone. The bus slowed down to a crawl.

Taariq began to shake, almost imperceptively, first a tremor and then it finally led to a slight  seizure. His eyes changed from dark pupils to a bright orange. His voice changed; it became deepe and more gravelly, but had this unearthly quality like it had been put through a reverb filter on an audio mixer.
"Shut up Leslie!", Taariq growled. "He is a feast of emotions and sins I can't pass up. The fever is on me, I can't stop now..."

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide and roared. It reminded Frank of the imp he had fought earlier, but this time it was lower in frequency and even louder in volume. Frank had never been so scared in his life. The sound of the roar caused a visceral feeling of uncomfort down to his bones. Frank held his hands over his ears, wanting to close his eyes tight, but not wanting to lose sight of the monster that wanted to attack him.

Time slowed down. The roar was actually causing the yellow beam to vibrate and ripple. A hole began to open in the middle of the beam. Leslie had braced herself between Frank and the demon, but she began to shake slightly. Taariq started to put his hands through the beam and the part of this hands that came through the beam had changed to hairy black claws. Leslie glanced at Frank with widened eyes trying to prepare for what could happen next. 

In a split second things changed. Frank was still scared, but another part of him was angry; angry that he was about to be attacked by another demon, angry that it would hurt Leslie, and tired of feeling powerless and confused. It has been said that bravery is that point at which people are as  scared and tired as a coward, but have decided to rise above their emotions and do what needs to be done regardless of what could happen to them. Sometimes bravery is the kamikaze action of a person with nothing to lose. Frank was at this point. In that moment he knew what he had to do to protect Leslie and possibly stop Taariq.

Raising his right hand, he reared back and threw a punch through the middle of the beam where it had opened after Taariq started roaring. Because Tarriq had closed his eyes, he did not see the punch coming until it squarely landed on his throat, cutting the air flow and almost crushing his windpipe. Taariq crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.

The moment that Frank hit Taariq, the roaring stopped and the beam returned to normal with Frank’s arm in the very middle of the beam. Frank felt a searing pain and began screaming but couldn’t seem to move. Finally, Leslie pulled him out of the beam and he slumped to the floor of the bus still whimpering in pain. Things became dim after that as he went in and out of consciousness. The pain was still coming in waves, but lessening a little. He thought he saw the beam go off and Charon and several other people from SMI bind Taariq’s hands with something that glowed with the same yellow light as the beam. Frank heard the door whoosh open and something hit the ground outside as they drove away. The beam came on again and the bus was quiet.

“Try to rest Frank, we’ll be at the reception area soon” Leslie put her arm around him and patted his head in a motherly way. Everything finally went black and Frank slept for a very long time.

Frank's Bad Day Part XIII

Taariq thought about his day so far and was happy. Except for the unsavory exchange with Charon, it had been a good day. Each of the six souls he had hunted down today had been great fun. It had been a buffet of emotions: Despair, anger, sadness and terror. Oh, how he loved fear and terror. The other emotions were good, but fear and terror were like red, bloody meat to him.

Tarriq turned his attention to the middle aged woman in the red sweater that he was sitting next to and drew near to sniff her neck like you would smell someone`s perfume.

"Ahh, this is what makes my job great: sadness, fear, misery and despair...you humans have no idea How your emotions smell and taste to us. It’s a wretchedly beautiful thing."

The woman cringed and whimpered, covering her face hoping he would go away. Taariq was starting to find her tedious at this point and turned back towards the rest of the bus and continued his soliloquy to everyone and to no one in particular.

“I actually really like my job. There is a nice bit of variety in the suffering of the human soul, like a good wine or a fine piece of meat. What surprises people the most about what I do is that my favorite lost souls are the religious ones.”

“Why is that?”, Franked asked without thinking. The moment the words escaped his mouth and he saw Leslie’s eyes bulge open, he knew he was in trouble…big trouble.

Frank's Bad Day Part XII

They had been driving for about 30 minutes since they had picked up Taariq and the Lost Souls.  He had taken a seat near the middle of the bus sitting next to the haggard looking middle aged woman in a ragged jean skirt and dirty red sweater. Frank had kept his eyes out the window or straight ahead as he had been told, but he had been studying Taariq from his peripheral vision. He was truly scared of him, yet at the same time he was fascinated with how childish he was. Taariq was like so many people Frank had known in the business world, on the playground at Elementary School, in countless classrooms in High School and College, and even at church. He remembered the nuns at his Catholic High School. There was one in particular, Sister Maria Teresa, who seemed to enjoy making students cry by belittling them with harsh words at any opportunity. She always explained to people how much she loved the students and that she was there to, “prepare young people for a cruel world outside these walls”, but everyone saw through that; she was just mean for the sake of being mean. 

When Frank had imagined supernatural creatures existing outside of the superficial atmosphere of earth, he always thought they wouldn’t have the sort of silly insecurities and obvious self-deceptive tendencies that are so common on earth. Frank had always believed that outside of earth everyone could finally see truth for what it was; that for once things would be truly black and white, but he could see this was not the case with Taariq.

To people like Taariq, the response of others to his actions was like the reflection of light on a mirror, defining who he was, minute by minute, second by second. Without that mirror Taariq did not know who he was. That’s why he made such a big deal with Charon; that’s why he loved to jerk the ropes, bite, shove and punch his captive souls. Frank wondered if maybe he was actually afraid he would disappear without continual redefinition of who he was by the people he tormented.

Frank decided he would ask Leslie or Charon about this later, but he suspected the answer had something to do with the source of evil and the Father of Lies.

"Great...more theology lessons", Frank thought with a slight grin. 

Frank's Bad Day Part XI

The Lost Souls boarded the bus one by one, inserting their tokens into the farebox. Each token went down through the works of the box ending with a hollow, sad clunk. The lights ended on the red "INF" light for each person, which Frank finally understood that it stood for The Inferno, the lake of fire...Hell.

They were bound together with dirty black ropes. They were still in the clothes they died in, but their clothes were dirty and ripped.Their faces, hands and legs were dirty and had scratches and cuts. Many of them had a look of terror, some were confused, as if this was a nightmare, and some had a look of sad resignation, as if they had expected this all along. Taariq pulled them along by the rope to the back of the bus and seated them roughly, like he was packing a cattle carrier; pushing, shoving and punching those who weren't moving fast enough.

One lady kept repeating the 23^rd Psalm over and over with her eyes closed like she would wake up any minute. Taariq started laughing and screaming in her ear, “It’s too late you stupid woman! You should have done that on earth! You should have sought Him when you had time, now its too late!”. He squealed in delight. “Now shut up and sit down! You ain’t getting’ out of this!”. He cuffed the side of her head as she fell into her seat whimpering.

"That's enough Taariq! That's not necesary! Take your seat NOW!!", Charon roared from the driver's seat. He had no public address system on the bus, but the volume shook everyone.

"You said you were running late, I'm just trying to help," Tarriq said with a toothy grin and sat down next to the whimpering woman.

 
Charon turned away and said something that was indistinguishable. He released the air brakes and put the bus in gear and drove away into the straight long road of the grey town.

Frank's Bad Day Part X

Everyone moved to the right side of the bus.
"Sit by the window Frank, and look straight ahead. Don't talk, make faces, or react at all. This will be over soon, we aren't far from the reception center", Leslie said.

Frank didn't argue and moved to the window seat. Leslie peered down the aisle-way to make sure it was clear.

"Charon, we're ready!"

Next to Charon's seat was a long brass lever. He reached down and pulled it a full 45 degrees until it was fully vertical. Immediately, a pleasant tone sounded and then two sparkling gold beams descended from the ceiling of the bus. The beam cut off the driver's seat and the side of the bus where the passengers were sitting.

Leslie spoke up, “Don’t touch the beam Frank. It will cause pain like a white hot burn. It won't actually damage you, but it will put you out of commission for a long time. Remember what I said, keep your eyes straight ahead and don't stare at anyone."

Charon set the air brakes and pulled the door lever. The door slid back and a tall man in a tight black suit entered and stood by the farebox. His muscular form showed through the tight shabby suit. He had long dark hair that was slick back and put in a ponytail. He was very handsome, but had a slimy air about him.

"Good afternoon Charon,How are you today?", the man said trying to sound cheerful.

"I`m the same as I was yesterday Taariq. Let`s get on with it. How many souls total today?"

The man sighed like he was deeply hurt. "I`m sorry I keep thinking things can be amicable between us...I thought since we worked together we could be civil...I have six souls today."

Charon looked up at the man. He squinted his eyes, then paused for a few seconds as if to temper his answer. he finally responded in the way he had developed over years of being a bus driver in Newark. "Listen Buddy, this is as…F----ing polite as you deserve (forgive me Lord.). You savor the pain of others like I enjoy a cold beer on a hot day. Let me fully develop the concept of the level of politeness that you are deserving of from me in story form. You like stories right? Let’s say I went to my favorite diner in Newark, the one down by 33rd street, and I ordered a big piece of peach pie ala mode with a cup of strong coffee from the moody waitress slash aspiring actress. Said waitress brings me a cold cup of weak decaf coffee and a slice of dried up peach pie without any ice cream, I would still be more polite to her than I am to you. Let’s say I made a stink and demanded my ice cream and hot coffee, so she took it back to the kitchen and instead brought me the pie with a big scoop of steaming dog crap on the pie instead of the Brier’s Vanilla Bean ice cream with the same cup of cold coffee but this time she dropped a couple of ice cubes in it, even then, I would still be more polite to her than I am to you. As I left the building, if the dog that had produced said crap came up to me on the street and peed on my shoe and then bit me on the leg, even then I would be more polite to that dog then I would be to you. Finally, (hopefully this makes it crystal clear), if that same scoop of dog crap that had been on the plate of pie was put into a flaming paper bag and put on my doorstep, I would still be more polite to that piece of flaming dog crap than I would ever be to you…I trust this had made the matter clear enough for such a towering intellect such as yourself. You act like you are some touchy feely sensitive sort. We all know you are a pathetic messenger boy who enjoys hunting lost souls down like rats and then hurting them and tormenting them for his own pleasure! You aren’t offended I don’t want to be your forever friend; you’re just in love with your delusions of grandeur and think everyone should kiss your butt. I ain’t stopping you from treating the lost souls the way you are allowed to, but on this bus, it’s my rules. Are we clear? “

The tall man stared at Charon for a few seconds and then nodded slowly.

“Bring your people on the bus. We’re running behind while you and I are flapping our gums about our feelings like a couple of little girls. “

“Very well...”

Frank's Bad Day Part IX

"Leslie, whats the difference between SMI & Purgatory?"
"Which version do you want?"
"The short version...I`m beggin` ya."
"Oh, since you asked so nicely...", she tilted her head and grinned slyly.
"SMI and Purgatory are both places where people are prepared for Heaven. The difference is that SMI does this by interfering for good in the lives of people on earth, whereas Purgatory uses more 'classical' methods of preparation. I can't go into more specifics than that until you go through orientation."
After making such a big deal of the long explanations, Frank was trying to seem satisfied with this crumb of information. Before he could try to make any small talk with Leslie, the bus slowed to a stop. Charon's voice came from the front of the bus, "Ok everyone, move to the right side of the bus. We have a pick up of some lost souls, you know the drill. Frank, you sit next to Leslie, and you do EXACTLY what she tells you. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Good man. Nothing to worry about if you do what you're told."

Frank's Bad Day-Part VIII

The bus slowed to a crawl and finally stopped at the waiting group of people. There were eight people in all; five men and three women. They all carried a black canvas messenger bag and wore a lanyard with an ID card on it. The men were dressed in brown pants, tan shirts and navy blue ties. The women were wearing khaki skirts, off white blouses and navy blue scarves, except for one striking blonde who wore a bright red scarf. It was the first splash of any real color Frank had seen since arriving, in the drab town. He couldn’t take his eyes off the scarf; it was like a cardinal in February when you are dying for winter to end.  In less than a day he had forgotten how much colors add to his world. Frank was determined that he would get to know this woman and find out why she was allowed to wear color in this world.
As the people boarded the bus, Charon grunted “Hello” or nodded in a matter-of-fact manner, the same way we do to those acquaintances we all see every day who aren’t friendly enough to be friends, but are part of the daily landscape and must be acknowledged.  Frank thought to himself that they had the look of people on a Wednesday; people who were in the middle of a long week without a weekend in sight.

Each of the travelers held their ID card up to a red light on the coin box and passed by when the box made a cheery “Bing” noise and then they found their way to their seats in the middle of the bus. The blonde was the last to get on the bus.

“Good morning Charon, how are you today?”, she tilted her head and smiled softly.
“Good morning Leslie, I’m ok. How are you today? Wearing my favorite scarf today I see.”, Charon softened visibly and Frank could see where he was a smooth operator when he was younger.
“Oh, this old thing?...You're too kind.", it had the ring of an inside joke repeated year after year.
“Leslie, you see the confused looking newbie in the back of the bus? He’s heading to SMI. Could you keep an eye on him? He had a fight with an imp when he got here as it tried to steal his token and he’s having the grey town vision, so you can imagine he’s kind of shook up. He’s a good kid, but could use some extra help. Would you do that for me as a personal favor?”
She smiled and patted his shoulder, “Anything for you, Charon.”
“Thanks Leslie, you’re the best.” Charon said with an almost wicked grin. It was obvious they had that the sort of purely platonic but slightly flirtatious relationship enjoyed by mature men and women; the kind of relationship where you obviously appreciate the opposite sex, but you prize their friendship above anything else.

Leslie made her way down the aisle and finally sat down across from Frank. She reminded him of that unique type of woman that he had encountered only a few times during his life.  She was attractive, but still approachable.  She seemed to carry herself with that rare form of femininity that is definitely not masculine, but without the little girl silliness that makes it hard to take someone serious. She turned to Frank and smiled and put her  hand out to shake his. Her grip was firm. "Hi, I`m Leslie.  Charon says you are coming with us to SMI.  Welcome to the company. I told Charon I would keep an eye on you for him." The corners of her lips curled just a little like a friendly smirk as she tilted her head  towards Charon who lifted several fingers from the wheel to wave slightly  as he kept his eyes on the road. "You should know what a compliment that is. He does not give his friendship lightly."

"I can believe that. I’m not sure why he wants to be my friend, but I`m grateful. Especially now, in this place, I’ll need any friends I can get to find my way out of this. "
"The statement you just made explains perfectly why Charon is your friend. There are so many people in the underworld who deny the reality of where they are and whose fault it is they are there.  Charon has seen so many come and go that when he sees someone who “gets it” he wants to help them. So many people arrive here and they continue in the what C.S. Lewis called the “grumble that goes on forever “ and takes over all you are. There are people in Purgatory and SMA who have been there for 50-100 years. That’s a long time in human years, lucky for them it’s no time at all in God`s eyes. He is patient, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to salvation. Still, he respects our freedom to make our own decisions. That’s why the underworld… and Hell exists in its present form.

Frank tried not to be real obvious about looking  away, like he was thinking deeply as he gazed out the window, but  the truth was he was uncomfortable with Leslie`s statements.  Frank had always tried to be cool with attractive women, no matter if he had a chance with them or not, so like any man, he didn’t always speak his mind. But suddenly as he thought about everything, he actually burst out and said what he was thinking without engaging the “clutch of coolness”.

“Leslie, is it going to be like this as long as I’m here? People going on and on about judgment, personal responsibility, theology and the nature of God ad nauseum?  Because I had low expectations about the afterlife being boring, but this may be a bigger drag than I had previously imagined. I mean, I thought catechism was torture, but I’m dying here!”

Frank’s eyes got big, his nostrils flared and his face reddened.  He grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say you’re boring…or Charon…but what I meant was…that…uh…”, he fumbled for words for about 5 seconds  before Leslie let out a giggle that would become a full-throw-your-head-back- belly-laugh.  It was loud and without guile and was as joyous as her red scarf. The laugh spread to the other passengers, giggles, guffaws and the odd snort until it finally arrived at the front of the bus where Charon let out an uncharacteristic high pitched giggle. Frank relaxed and his face lightened and spread into a stupid grin. It would seem he was not the first person to make this observation. Frank had stumbled upon the national joke of the underworld-everyone is incredibly bored here, but there’s not much they can do about it.

Frank's Bad Day Part VII

The bus drove on through miles and miles of the same dreary town, block after block, street after street, the colors, shades and shapes repeated many times over. Frank finally decided to see if Charon would chat.

"So, why is this vehicle a bus and not a ferry boat? Why is there a grey town and no underworld of sulfur and brimstone?"

"Oh, that`s actually easier to explain than you would think. It`s not because anything was updated and modernized. It’s because of the change in human thought, perception and beliefs. What you think you see is based on your own archetypes, desires and values. Only few fragments of the original mythos remain in you. That’s why you still see my oar, and why the coin still resonates. Even though you were trained religiously as a child, you never spent much time considering the afterlife seriously, you probably just hoped you believed right and would not go to Hell, am I right?”

Frank nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, thought so. That’s why what you see reflected around you is more about your own belief about a world of incredible boredom and quiet, grasping desperation than any traditional ideas about Hell and the Afterlife. In some ways that’s good because your destination is ‘non-traditional’ and you will be able to deal with it easier. “

"Are you saying I can only see what I am familiar with? That I am unable to see things as they truly are?"

"That`s over simplifying it. There is more to it than that. First of all, when adult humans are confronted with multiple things that do not correspond to their worldview, they actually filter their perceptions to see a more familiar world as they become more accustomed to things around them. It’s a mental filter to keep you from thinking you have lost your mind. It’s also because you don`t always have the mental vocabulary, the symbols, to be able to deal with what you are experiencing. If you remember in the book of Ezekiel in the Bible, you can see how the prophet had problems describing the heavenly beings and his descriptions didn`t make sense, because he was dealing with something outside his preconceived notions of existence"

"I guess that makes some sense, but you also said my desires and values had something to do with what I see and experience. Why is that?"

Charon smiled a slightly crooked grin and then proceeded slowly, "For millennia humans have told stories about the afterlife, most of them were just that, stories. The truth is that everyone`s experience in the afterlife varies based on who they are. Their Hell is their own personal torments; their Purgatory is based on cleansing their unique sins and failings. Their Heaven is those things that make them the happiest. Sure, there are some similarities, darkness, fire and demons exist in Hell and angels and streets of gold in Heaven, but after that the experience can vary a great deal depending on the person. Much of that is because of the power of the human imagination and how it rules the development of faith and fear. "

“Ok…So…have you always been the ferryman?”

Charon looked up at Frank in the rear view mirror, “Enough applied theology for one day, eh Frank? Yeah, it’s a lot to take in..."

He paused for about 10 seconds staring straight ahead and then answered the question, "Actually, there have been about 20,000 different ferrymen throughout the ages. We all take the name Charon. We were mortals who take the job as part of the reclamation of our souls, you know, it’s our purgatory. Some of us do the job for many years, others for a few months. I’ve been Charon for 8 years now. It’s a good gig for the most part. I was a bus driver in Newark for 30 years on earth, and I hated it. Hated working, hated people, hated my life. From the time I got back from being a soldier in Korea, there was this big black cloud over my head. I died before I was 50 and the only bright spot in my life was the love of my wife and my family. I still believed in God, but couldn’t get through the hate for some reason. Now, I’ve come to the point where I almost enjoy the work, and I feel like I’m helping people. They say the reclamation of your soul is something that occurs when you don’t expect it, when you aren’t looking for it but are busy being useful to others. You may notice, I still have some rough edges, but I’ve got nothing but time now, and I know I’m gonna see my wife Jackie and my kids…and my Lord soon. ”

Frank looked around nervously. He wasn’t used to people speaking about God like that. He wasn’t used to Charon’s type of brutal honesty, just laying out your life in front of people like meat on a grill for everyone to see. Frank had spent his life much of his adult life with very little beyond shallow conversations. His relationships had been mostly acquaintances, his romances short-lived. Real intimacy with others made him uncomfortable.

Frank's fears were allayed as he realized Charon was slowing down to pick up a group of people at the next bus stop.

Godzilla Versus the Velvet Underground.

Louzilla from Django's Ghost on Vimeo.

2 of my favorite things...Cheesy Godzilla movies and hot rock and roll. Oh yeah.

So I`m listening to Sade this morning and I think to myself, "In a steel cage death match between Seal and Sade I`d bet good money Sade could kick Seal`s butt with some kind of Xena Warrior Princess Roundhouse move.", I`m just sayin...

Frank's Bad Day Part VI

"Frank, you ready to go?" Charon asked.

"I-I guess so."

"Great, put the coin in the box and we`ll be on our way."

The driver had sat down in the driver`s seat and was pointing to the slot in the tall box next to the gearshift. What was different on this coin box was that there were 3 indicator lights under the slot: a green light with the letters SMI, a yellow light with the letters PUR, and lastly a red light with the letters INF.

"Well, where does this bus go? I`ve only got the one coin, so I have to be careful where I go."

"Frank, things are different here. You have only 2 choices: go wherever the bus takes you, or stay here. Look at your coin, you`ll understand."
Frank turned the coin over in his palm. On one side was a picture of a small boat crossing a river of fire with the word STYX under the picture, then on the other side was Frank`s name, date of birth, and today as the date of death. Frank slumped onto the bench at the bus stop and looked around slowly. He looked at the coin again.

"I don`t suppose this is a special commemorative coin from a STYX Reunion Tour?"

"Come on Frank! Whadda ya think this, a personalized concert medallion with your name, birth date and today`s date-your expiration date? Don't be a smart-ass. I don't have time for this. You know what that coin is! You know who I am. You`re worm food now, ok? ", Charon grumbled and shook his head, then finally looked at Frank again and spoke a little softer.

"The thing is this, the fear and dread of where this bus is going is a thousand times worse than anywhere I can take you. You also remember the little creature that you fought 5 minutes ago? He's not the worst thing that you could run into if you hang around here. The rules are this: no coin, no ride for 100 years. I understand It`s a big change, but you still exist, and you need to either man up and put your coin in the slot to face your destiny, or get off the bus and wander the streets of this grey town until you grow a pair. "

Frank didn`t say a word. He stood up, boarded the bus and put the coin in the slot. The three lights flashed on and off repeatedly, cycling through each one for several seconds. Finally it stopped on SMI. Franked looked up at Charon, quizzically,"Where is SMI?"

Charon looked up happily, "Hey, good for you. You don't have to pack your burn cream! Cheer up Bubula, things are looking up! I can't tell you more than that. You'll know soon enough, just know that its probably the best you could do down here. ", Charon closed the door with that happy "swoosh" noise and put the bus in gear.

Frank didn't say anything and took a seat behind Charon. Charon began to whistle a happy tune, then he began to sing in a lovely tenor voice,

"Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath. "*

Frank groaned and rolled his eyes…then began to whistle along. It was the happiest he had felt all day.

("Always Look On the Bright Side of Life"-Eric Idle)

Frank's Bad Day Part V

The creature spoke slowly since the boat oar was crushing its neck, "Charon...just a... misunderstanding. Trying to help...it thought I was stealing...attacked me first...". "You know, if you were a better liar, you might get a better duty assignment than harrassing the new arrivals. Frank, pick up your coin and wait at the bus stop. As for you, this is your last chance. If you interfere with me picking up my fares again, I will throw you in the river and that will be the end of you for good, are we clear?" The busdriver punctuated the question by twisting the oar to cause the maximum amount of discomfort and then suddenly releasing his grip. The creature rubbed his neck, made a hissing noise and then bolted to the storm sewer grate.                    

 

Frank walked back to the bus stop and waited for the driver. The bus driver was about five foot, eight inches tall. He was slightly overweight, but it was obvious that there was some hard muscle under the soft coating of fat. He wore a brown uniform with a light zip khaki jacket. He walked briskly, with a hint of a swagger. He had a face that though it appeared a little stern, it gave you the impression that he was a friendly soul. He carried himself with the bearing of a gentleman, kind to women and children, straight dealing with men of his own caliber, but no patience for fools or mean-hearted people. Frank did not know why, but he instinctively liked him immediately.

Frank's Bad Day Part IV

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw something to his right reflect
in the dim light. There, out in the street, was large dull metal coin
lying where he had woken up. It must have fallen out of his pocket
when he got up. Frank began to hurry towards the coin. Meanwhile, a
small black creature, the size of a small monkey crawled out of the
storm sewers. It was about sixteen inches tall and was covered with
greasy fur that went in every direction. It was hunched over and
rested its knuckles on the ground as it watched Frank hurry to pick up
the coin. The creature then started jumping up and down and screaming.
It was a noise that was a mixture of a rabbit dying, and hyena
laughing. An amazing volume of sound came out of this small creature.
Finally, it bolted towards the coin. It was closer to the coin, and
was running at full sprint now. Frank calculated he might not make it
time and prepared to jump so he could tackle the creature to get the
coin. He could hear the bus getting closer in the distance. The
creature got there first and snatched the coin up and continued
running full out. It began chattering something that sounded like a
high-pitched laughing taunt.
Frank leapt into the air and came down hard on the asphalt, only
managing to grasp the creature's tail. The air brakes on the bus let
out a hiss as the bus stopped next to the bench. Frank heard the door
"whoosh" open. The creature shrieked and turned around to attack Frank
with a fury that caused him to forget it was only 16 inches tall. It
was a blur of claws and teeth and the worst smell Frank had ever
encountered emanating from every pore of the creature's skin. Because
of its small size and speed he could not keep grasp it properly
without being scratched or bitten. Frank finally slammed the creature
to the ground and had decided the coin wasn't worth it. At the almost
the same moment it hit the ground a weather-beaten wooden oar pinned
the creature to the ground at its neck. The creature was gasping for
air.
A loud booming voice that seemed attached to the oar spoke slowly,
"You know you aren't allowed here.. let go of the coin and I'll let
you go back to the sewers. Otherwise, I'll split you in half…What's it
gonna be?". The creature let the coin fall to the ground and finally
spoke.

--
**Visit John Homan's weblog @ http://casadejuanito.blogspot.com  ***

Frank's Bad Day - Part III

Frank sat down on a bench by the bus stop. He was confused and tired and not sure what to do next. At 2:59 pm this afternoon he had stopped at his favorite coffee shop to get an iced coffee on his break from the call center. The attractive hippy-chick barista was there and he had lingered five minutes trying to make some points so he could finally ask her out. As he ran to make it back to the office, he stepped off the curb and directly into the mosquito splattered grill of a city bus. He then proceded to bounce off a Little Debbie delivery van. After that it had went all black for God knows how long until he woke up here... "Wherever here is." he thought.

"I don`t think it`s Heaven, and though its drab and depressing, it doesn`t seem like it`s bad enough to be Hell. It`s nothing like anything I learned in Catechism, or from Sister Mary Margaret at Theology class at St. Jude's High School. Maybe I'm lying in a bed in the ICU at Cook County and am having a Morphine-induced hallucination...still, I've got a pretty good imagination, you'd think I could do better than this. I mean seriously, it looks a civil engineering project between a very drab neighborhood association president and someone from the IRS. Whatever it is, I want out...or at least find somewhere a little less mind-numbingly boring to hang out until this ends. I wonder when the bus shows up around here?"

Frank looked at the bus stop sign for some kind of schedule and found this:

NEW-ARTS Bus Schedule

7:30 am

8:30 am

Noon

1:00 pm

4:00 pm

5:00 pm

7:00 pm

9:00 pm

All times are local-please change your watch upon arrival.

Please have your NEWAR token or SMI pass-NO EXCEPTIONS

It was 3:50 pm according to the nearest clock on the street. Frank felt in his pockets, and he had nothing-no wallet, no phone, no change-absolutely nothing. He squinted to the west and could see something moving on the road. The bus was early...

Frank's Bad Day - Part II

Oblivion is not easily described. Asking someone to describe oblivion
as anything beyond a great void of nothingness seems like a creative
writing assignment given by a sadistic, overly tenured English
professor to wide-eyed freshman. "In 10,000 words or more, thoroughly explore the concept of oblivion, using at least 4 classic sources and 3 contemporary sources, comparing various religious, nihilist and existentialist philosophies. This assignment is due by next Wednesday. It is worth 30% of the grade for this course."

Frank was in oblivion. Besides the utter lack of stimuli, there was no ability to ponder his condition, only a numb sensation that he still existed and nothing more. He couldn`t ponder the passage of time, neither any dimensions of the space that he existed in. It was like he was a baby again and the entire universe was playing a really long game of Peek-a-Boo. Whatever amount of time passed, Frank finally felt a new sensation. He was cold. Not the crisp cold of winter that
energizes you to move, but the kind of cold you feel when someone takes your blanket when you were sleeping comfortably and you begin to wake up earlier than you would like. You lie there hoping you don't have to get up, but not really resting either. You are in a state that does not have the benefits of wakefulness or of sleeping, but simply don't care enough to change. This describes not only Frank's condition, but much of our own lives; between the sweet sleep of death and the wakefulness of a life well lived, we sleepily shiver in mediocrity, not caring, but not satisfied either.

Finally, with nothing else better to do, he awoke. Opening his eyes, Frank stared into a slate gray sky. It seemed like dusk, but without a colorful sunset, just a vague, almost unhappy light reflecting from an indistinct horizon. It was cold, as if it was the end of fall just before winter began in earnest.

Struggling to his feet, Frank tried to determine where he was. He was in the middle of a street, but it was silent, deserted and clean. It led so far into the distance that it looked like an exercise in perspective in an art class. The street was faced by non-descript storefronts painted in the most boring hues of grey, olive and brown. Even those stores with display windows showcased drab wares that only seemed to be available in the same insipid monochromatic hues as the
rest of this world. There were no street lights, no cars, just the odd bus stop with benches and trash cans in the same monotonous palette. The only thing that was close to being out of the ordinary was the large antique brass clocks mounted on dark metal stands on every third street corner. Wherever he was, it was nothing like Chicago, with its cluttered streets, noisy traffic and garish storefronts. It was an altogether depressing landscape that could have sucked the perkiness out of the leader of a high school cheerleader's booster club.