The day began in the usual way days begin in the City of Night Vale. The green hue of the void gave everything an extra tinge of emerald. The low light crept into the bedroom and crawled across the head of the sleeping man. Light broke through the darkness, disturbing the spider that had been crawling on the man's head. Frightened, the tarantula scurried off the bed and hurried into the darkness of the closet. The void-light was beaming on the blacked haired man's face when his eyes cracked open and he rose from bed. With a yawn and a stretch, his face formed a large smile. He scratched the hairs of his goatee and threw the curtains open.
"Ooooo, another day with the void. What lovely weather! Good weather for crops, I dare say!" Larry Leroy did say, wiping the gunk out of his eyes as he said it.
It was an exceptionally good morning for many of the residents of Night Vale. Void was always a good omen of things to come, or at least this is what Larry thought. With a grin on his face and pep in his step, Larry skipped downstairs, tripping on the third step and tumbling down to the bottom. He jumped up enthusiastically and continued skipping to his kitchen window to gaze across his field. He smiled upon a completely empty field. It had been a few years since Larry had tried growing anything. He had made a living off of producing imaginary corn, but decided he should try real corn instead. Unfortunately, real corn needs real seeds to yield non-imaginary corn and Larry was not knowledgeable in the growing of non-imaginary crops. Nevertheless , he knew today was a good day for crops of any kind.
Before long, Larry was dressed and ready to go. He had volunteered to help secure the NVH Memorial Stadium for Friday night's softball game between the Fire Department and the Sheriff's Secret Police, so he had to be there around lunch.
"After last year's stunt, no one will be leaving until the final pitch of the game, " Larry was told last night by Mayor Winchell. He was then instructed to get as much barbed wire as he could carry to reinforce the fence around the parking lot.
"Remember, it is for keeping people in the lot; if they want to break in, by all means!" Mayor Winchell also mentioned bringing some landmines too if he happened to have any "laying around the tool shed." He didn't have a tool shed, but he said he would check his barn first thing in the morning. And so he had. Much to his surprise, he did find two unused landmines next to his workbench on a couple of old paint cans. He wasn't quite sure how they ended up there, but if anyone could use them, Memorial Stadium could.
So with everything loaded into the truck, Larry set out on his way to the stadium. Like every good Night Vale citizen, he flipped the radio to Night Vale's own community radio station with Cecil Palmer.
"-remain anonymous, said, 'We don't even have a river or bay in Night Vale. There would never be a boat to necessitate a drawbridge!' He continued to…
"You know what? Forget it. I can tell you right now that that was Steve Carlsberg who said that, and he is such a spoilsport, that Steve! Have you ever noticed how he never replaces his hubcaps? It's laziness, pure and simple. Laziness. I just can't let him ruin our town by denying Night Vale a drawbridge when he can't even care for a tan Corolla!"
"Hah" Larry snorted.
Before he could comment further, he passed a bus that started weaving on the road. He could hear the screams coming from inside the bus. Many inside were clearly upset, frantically waving "Visitable Night Vale" pamphlets .
"INTERLOPERS!" Larry shrieked as he pointed his index finger toward the tourists, as is customary.
His smile returned as he made his way to the stadium. The Sun was now high in the sky, or it would have been if the weather was not void. He saw that a few others were there. Mayor Pamela Winchell, for instance, was yelling at some of the volunteers as Larry parked.
"I don't want to maim them!" Mayor Winchell shouted. "They are either dead or alive. I wish to give everyone that leaves sudden, instant, and even immediate death. They'll love it! And think of all the revenue we will bring back to the city." She yelled at the woman in front of her, who was in tears. They were not tears of sadness, Larry knew, the woman was overwhelmed by the beauty of the Mayor's speech. Larry had seen this many times before. It was why he always voted for Mayor Winchell during elections. She had such a convincing tone about her. So convincing that she must be right. Right about a lot of things. City planning was something else that Larry did not know or understand.
"Shouldn't you be able to plant some seeds, feed 'em water, and leave 'em in the sun for a big city to grow big and strong?" He remembered asking John Peters - you know, the farmer.
Larry was content not understanding Government. That, he knew, was what the Mayor was for. His job was to enjoy new shows on his Cable TV, and then tell everyone he saw about the show. Good or bad, Larry never discriminated against television shows. Just last night, he stayed up watching hours of Diner, Drive Ins, and Dives, fingers crossed that they did an episode featuring the Moonlite All-Nite Diner and their delicious Turkey Club.
"Mr Leroy?" Someone called. Larry realized he had just spent several minutes leaning against the barbed wire. Blood was trickling down his scalp and into his goatee.
"Oh, sorry about that," Larry chuckled realizing his mistake. He yanked his hair away from the fence, causing the wound to bleed quite a bit more.
"It's okay," he laughed, wiping the sweat and blood off of his forehead to no effect. "The goatee will catch most of it. That's what it's for," Larry enlightened the clean shaven spectator.
"It's Officer Ben, Mr Leroy, of the Sheriff's Secret Police," Officer Ben said. "We've met before. I wanted to tell you that we are closing the Stadium due to an overabundance of volunteers."
"Oh? Now that you mention it, there are a LOT of volunteers here. Am I in any danger?" Larry asked.
"No, thankfully we got here in the nick of time. Before it spread out of the Stadium and into the city." Officer Ben said with calm authority. This news was quite a relief to Larry, who by this time had dropped the barbed wire and began walking to his car. Wait, no. It was a truck. That's right. Silly me, this is a story about Larry Leroy's day not my own. I drive a Honda Civic for those that are curious.
Larry sat in the truck for a moment and examined the newly emptied parking lot. Aside from the Police who were currently continuing all the work the volunteers had been doing including strategically placing several of the landmines, Larry was the only one left. There was a puddle of tears where the woman from earlier was crying. Larry wondered when was the last time he had cried. The puddle gave off an eerie mint glow as if it was not even liquid but maybe a sponge. This got Larry thinking about whether he should have cleaned his house today.
"Distractions, Larry," he told himself. "I should go home and have a good cry."
Suddenly, as he got on the northbound on-ramp toward the Eastern Expressway, he was forced to a complete stop. Several cars stood frozen in front of him with the taillights glowing red.
"Now I'm going to be late." Larry said upset. "I could have used a good cry at home, but now I'm not going to have the time because I have to watch Parks and Recreation." And he had to, for as everyone knew, DVRs refuse to record anything on NBC.
He threw his head out the window to get a better view of what had just caused the traffic jam. A van was stalled two cars in front of him. Someone had gotten out and was staring into the city with binoculars.
"It's those damn bird watchers again. They have to pull over to watch those parking garages go up every time. Ugh!"
Larry got out of his car to yell at the apparent bird watcher but as he got close he saw tears streaming down the old man's face.
"Trees are us. Trees… we are… trees are people." He moaned softly into the distance.
The birdwatcher's binoculars were clearly useless as the tears distorted his vision. And with the sky being void today, he couldn't see much even without the tears. Feeling sorry for the poor fool, because he too understood the importance of crying, Larry decided it was best to leave him alone. Before Larry could make it back to his car, the loud buzzing of helicopters rang in his ears.
"Now hear this. Cars do not exist. You are not on the Northbound on-ramp to the East Expressway. None of you are here right now, except for those of you that are walking. And if you are walking, WHAT ARE YOU CRAZY?! YOU COULD BE HIT BY A CAR! Which, of course, do not exist. Ignore the crying man. He is a material witness in that he has witnessed the existence of materials. The Sheriff's Secret Police will take him into custody. Thank you for your time and continue to not exist outside of your homes. Please?"
Larry shut his car door and began to turn his truck around. He wasn't alone in doing so, everyone else had already left.
"Well this was just my day!" Larry was angry. "Not only has everyone repeatedly left me alone, but the Secret Police keep stopping me from getting anything done today." He knew they were only doing their job, but he had to do his job too… he struggled to remember what that was.
"Well if I can't get home," Larry sighed, "maybe I could go grab something to eat. I don't remember the last time I ate. It might have been when the Glow Cloud came to town and dropped those dead animals into my truck. That was a mighty fine feast that night."
Larry walked into the Moonlite All-Nite Diner and sat down and ordered the Invisible Pie.
"A good day for crops, but not for Larry." He told his pie as it was brought out. "Even the pie tastes empty today."
Larry sat alone and thought about all the other times he had been alone; about his many other invisible pies, about the day he made his own pie using a fresh batch of imaginary corn. His corn… He remembered wanting to plant something else. No more imaginary corn. John Peters - you know, the farmer - had perfected the growing of imaginary corn and Larry was not willing to go back to growing imaginary corn. He needed to grow something different, something like non-imaginary corn. He needed to do something worthwhile, like he used to. Remembering the feeling of glee at seeing the freshly sprouted imaginary stalk, Larry yearned for that again. And he began to cry. He wasn't sobbing, but tears were trickling out of his eyes much like a leaky faucet that cannot be plugged.
Suddenly, the radio chirped on and Cecil's voice materialized into Larry's ear.
"Thank you again for your involuntary support of community radio. We couldn't do it without the support of listeners like you, in conjunction with unethical contributions from nefarious organizations."
"Yeah! I do support the radio," Larry said, wiping away his sorrow. "I do my part. I was helping set up for the big game on Friday. Last week, I helped Tristan Cortez with setting up the Green Market Co-Op. Perhaps I can help her with her fruit and vegetable sales next weekend!" Larry's enthusiasm had now drowned out Cecil's voice as Cecil reached the end of his broadcast.
"Thank you Cecil. You always listen and know exactly what to say," Larry said as he happily finished his pie.