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"And here's my final stop… Guess even this 'Town of Tomorrow' can't promise better ones."
Barging through a worn and torn fly-screen, was with a deft flick and thrust that he'd stab into plaster, slice in a tally mark for the day's end. Hundreds to tarnish that hallway—his best guess by now—as he'd then fling his black rucksack into the kitchen and dodged bedsprings in going for a rest.
"Anything for an hour or two, or just not to wake up as I always do…"
Of course, the swirls of old gigs and lost worlds to have other ideas—in such memories, nightmares to keep fresh. Day or night the same thing, of thrashing about with skull clutched, springing up in cold sweats only to see the clock's hands hadn't even moved.
And yet, to be asked how and why, would only say he deserved every waking minute of this madness.
Another groan, another hauling toward his armchair and remote a couple rooms away; not a better choice by any means, to sit upon splinters and have mostly static to watch. Of what'd remain on, programmes borne from the pits of fear and imagination both, a dimension of sight and sound where knowledge, the summit or sunlight of such, would prove non-existent.
But he knew of being cut off before, knew the utilities were well past due…
Clicking through the channels, would soon get a presenter flashing a megawatt smile, sporting a pink suede jacket—could only mean a re-run of Family Feud; third round, double points, top six answers in point of fact.
"Name a word that completes this word or phrase, 'Dead' what?"
"Deadbeat, dead to the world, dead wrong… Dead inside."
Majority of answers up top to return old bedrooms to mind, memories of peach walls adorned with all he'd achieve virtually by himself; double degrees, distinctions, dean's lists among those nailed up. Likewise, no fault but his own to sit beside graduates with either better credentials, FAR better connections, or both; much hungrier drives to make dust of his efforts since.
No way out of the reminders either, even to swallow medicine no doctor worth their salt would prescribe; choice 101-proof from a dust-coated cabinet, and several Coke Classics from his near-empty fridge. A one-to-one pour and thoughts of raising his glass, only to hesitate against it.
"I don't deserve to salute… Not for how I'd fail 'em."
The first to almost torrent down his throat, no cares given to taste it, then would instead swap glass for bottle, start swigging that entire fifth. And as his oesophagus began to burn, the headaches continued to grow, would eventually chug enough to cough out mouthfuls over his clothes.
"Oh for, again I waste it! So much for old friends, when even darkness doesn't care to see me."
Was on its way, came to realise, when limbs started locking up, when heads seemed to swim then drop to a loll. Dropping dead under a sunset, such a cliché way to go, but might've preferred that ticket to punch when without warning, he'd purge his insides with a violence to cover his entire lounge.
Splashes across himself, the chair, carpet and coffee table before he tried to jerk forward, only to crash in a heap for not grabbing anything. Laying in that waste, hadn't any chance of hearing the bonus round, nor the beginning hustle and bustle of their seasonal movie. Final white flash, sudden as was blinding, to be convinced all was over.
Hadn't any idea though that invaders would invite themselves through the flyscreen, nor of their conversation for having ended things with a solid crack in the jaw.
"Ken, for the love of Eternium, he can't be the guy we're after. You sure we're not making a mistake dragging this carcass about?"
"Colleague's request Fiona, much as I don't agree. Now quit grumbling before we gotta flash any witnesses."
Affirmations to call out, bunches of buttons to be clicked, and all three to come to a hover, not that he noticed any of that nor the beings looking in his direction.
"If we didn't get here when we did… Young man, it's past time we had a word."
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He had said of late that waking up hadn't been ideal by any imagination, that he'd do so only because of dumb luck or the whims of divine beings.
No qualms this time however to admit, as he came to terms with this latest stop, that he really rather wanted that old life again.
For starters, as opposed to crusted carpets or iron benches, would raise eyebrows to rise off of dusty soil, coughing up lingers of bilious acid. Second, to clench air and teeth over sudden floods of noise, could only conclude he'd ended up in some city—somehow, worlds away from deserted suburbia.
Finally, and of far greater alarm, had no hint of a stagger never mind a hangover, especially to take a breath, keel forward, and subsequently inspect himself.
"Struth, to look like a hundred nightclubs after a rave, yet call myself sober…"
Tender stinging of strange origin to grip his neck, try glancing up, only to double up with jaws dropped. Rocket ships and satellites, vessels by the scores, to weave, glide and hover among monoliths made of who knew what, a mechanical ballet in the making. Rush hour traffic he could grasp, but anything else in that picture…
"What the, who did, why… Oh yeah, clear-headed, all this sure convinces me. I am so dead, or I will be if I don't get answers."
Thoughts of asking around to be left a complete mess, ready to crap entire bricks; might've built an outhouse out of them, to finally reach a bustling sidewalk. Rising in number, volume or both, the hisses or vulgar gestures left him without doubts as to how welcome he was.
"SHIT, of all the crowds I'd get stuck inside! That's it, I gotta get the hell outta here."
Not a soul to spare an inch as, heart thumping, he checked for an escape—moment's pause believed found only to create a pile-up of foot traffic. His or theirs to not matter, for after showers of spit, looks and words to grill men alive, would feel arms wrenched behind his back, soon his front bounce off the gutter with prejudice.
The taste of gravel and several hints of blood, to wish he had kept his Husky knife handy.
"Swear I'm gonna pay back those bastards. Only their own fault to share my ills."
Sticking to said gutters and keeping his distance, he'd try raising a finger for a question; courage again snuffed out over shouts to go away, before the signs for some local gym caught his eyes.
"NNY? What's that mean? Either way, finally, a place to get cleaned up—bet I'll grow a bit more tolerable then."
Pushing a soiled boot against the door, if only to create the least mess, he'd try to ignore the gasps for air, the murderous glints as he got lost, finding only strangers, machines, and strange machines. Hadn't any hope of finding hygiene, and that was before a cleared throat got his attention.
"Hey, um, sorry, do you know where—"
"Only place you're going is 'the fuck out', unless you want the garbagemen to collect ya. You got it sunshine?"
Dared not argue to know of messes and troubles caused; in slumping back out, dared not face the man nor their clients either. Theory at first over the accent and certain words, the full-sleeve tattoo, that waist trim and cut, yet one to put straight out of mind— impossibilities against the idea had proven too much, even if he wanted to bring such pasts back.
"Guy was gone long before ya got here idiot, ya damn know how. Especially for the reminders you made every day…"
Walking another block and turning a corner, the thought of grabbing liquid courage was piqued to come across a nightspot, yet the instant he made for that long queue, he'd get a hand like a frying pan thrust toward his chest.
"I don't think so son. Get steppin', right now."
Bouncer of light brown complexion in a tailored, same colour suit; not just the daggered stare, curling lip and goatee to freeze him solid. Feeling steam coming out his nose aside, looked to be an absolute muscled slab of a man, and this'd say nothing of the even burlier associate at his side. A voice like helium to hardly expect at all, yet knew that to mention it was a wrong move in waiting.
"Okay, okay Mr. Peebles, uh, sir. B-b-but before I do, there a chance I can—"
Associate's bear-like paw to grab and wrench his beard, leave him yelling out.
"This IS your chance, lowlife. So wise up and grab it, unless—"
"You wanna end up worse than dead."
"How much worse?"
Temptations to ask over low-voiced menacing, but once grips began to tighten, those shades met his eyeballs, was quick to decide against testing such theories. Quicker still to start begging, which'd be met with relative mercy; hard shove aside to again end up in the gutters, spitting more gravel and blood.
"Pick up your raggedy ass and get outta here. And don't ever show your face near my club again."
Peebles' wise words to heed in rising gingerly, dragging himself for what felt like miles before a bar and grill got him dribbling. Hadn't had a good meal in perhaps literally a century, yet to reach the waiting area, it wasn't long before a small crowd— staff, patrons, owners—stood to block his way.
"Sloppin' spew we can't serve? Y'all better git ya sumbitch, or there gon' be problems y'hear?"
"What cold world did I crash into? Getting real sick of this, AND them, just wait 'till I—"
Once more a trek back into this jungle, who knew where and how long for, seething over the growls in his guts, cramps shooting up his legs. Anything to dull one or the other, as he'd stagger through some quick service knockoff, only for the many red faces, rush of complaints and whipping out of phones to scramble back out again.
"When even McRipoffs want me out, what the hell's the point of pushing on?"
Got his answer to discover a local deli nearby, feel a fancy gun press against his temple. Knew full well of his being putrid, clueless to this world and just in general, but didn't deny what had to be done as glowing charges began cooking his brain.
"Just TAKE it, damn you! Cause if you won't, then I swear I'll—"
"Oh go to hell, guy," heard them shoot back, holster weapons. "You really think you're worth the ammo, OR the time?"
"Don't have to be dead to be there, pal. Hell, arseholes out here might cheer ya name, so hurry up."
"Waa waa, does widdle baby want his Mama? Nobody cares, now count ya blessings and beat it."
"More than you'd ever understand. So lemme give a hint to how many I have… It's less than one."
The only gesture to have gotten to give straight back, before limping out beneath the stars, hundreds at a glance, sparkling at once. No truer sight of heaven to turn that glance into a longing gaze, as among dilapidated courts and apartments, felt his legs grind to a halt, knees buckle and give way.
All those miles going in circles, the compounding fatigue of empty insides, Saharan throats, past memories and present rejections, to drop upon the concrete—right then, could only muster a scream from the pits of gasping lungs. Would hear it thunder down the street, just as well for facing the years of indignities, of trying to suffer in dignity.
Just his luck then, that lights began flicking on, that he'd hear mumbles riddled with curses, that a shout would bring on the immediate quivers.
"Hey you, shut the HELL up!"
Neck to whip around and discover the unlikely speaker come stomping his way, teeth gritting and face furrowed deep; by the time he met her eyes-to-eye, all he could do was babble, flail about, and try not to fill his pants. A screw-up for the ages, of no short list, but for hearing out this mythic legend of a lady, none more so than now.
"I don't care, you drunken moron, YOU woke us all up. Lucky for us, I've got five minutes to spare."
Nowhere he could run or hide, no apology to be acceptable, and when he felt nostrils blown clear of blood and mucus, no ability nor chance to defend himself. The legend of Liston in jabs akin to lightning, to send him stumbling back with water welling out his eyes, crying out in surrender.
"Did I give YOU the right to speak? One more word, and you'll be saying your prayers. Now bring it!"
Dead man walking to offer his guard and get only snorts, and knew it when he'd continue eating courses of knuckles, get what little he'd give slapped away with bored ease. The Willard to her Dempsey in next to no time, as he quickly grew all but unable to stand straight.
"Guess I'll die as I deserve to. Lady, whoever you happen to be, I'll see you in Hell."
Final words it'd turn out, as after a knee cannonballed into his chin, he'd crash to the sidewalk, imagining the sound of "Timmmmberrrr!" Were he a betting man, would say that not even society's lowest rung would accommodate him, if by chance he could in the first place.
In fact, felt assured of having proof after a gush of Arctic water left him gasping, shivering as he tried reaching his feet only to scramble about then keel forward. Headaches blinding and insides tender, to give no protest other than a glare, especially to figure that she kept laying it on as he laid helpless.
"Gods, you're full of it. If that's your offer of help, only to drench me and demand I be grateful…"
No forgetting that encounter, no conceivable chance of forgiving it either, as he thought about staying behind for the Reaper's garbage run. That had been the plan, only to wind up being dragged along—steady growth of hushed babbles now buzzing in his head. Heavens knew how far or how long he'd go, but had his jaw actually moved, wouldn't mince words as to the waste of time it'd be.
On and on the concrete, gravel and boondock soil would drag across his clothes, and nothing within him to just cease his crawl, curl up and be of better use fertilising the grass. Was just as well the Divines had other plans, at least enough to let mysterious presences collect the last white chips of his life…
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"Child, please, be still…"
Whatever those voices now humming in his head wanted, he wanted no part whatsoever; swore instead he'd smack 'em back into oblivion, only for white light to again scramble his brains, leave him loopier than a roller-coaster. More than enough to be exposed to another piercing, one that had him yell out, fitting to throw fists.
Contrary to any imagined harm however, the groans and head-grabs would somehow recede, as any migraines akin to buzzsaws would soothe and soon just vanish. Indeed, beyond that, couldn't deny how his vision would colour then sharpen, with a clarity both brilliant and vibrant.
Giving a grunt and mutter he sat up, glanced about after resting shoulders across the closest wall; five beds down front, the middle direct in view, a collection of furniture riddled with teeth marks, and of particular concern, his bare hairy legs dangling over the edge. All those and, somehow, a sudden whiff of air, to grab his face for getting a series of realisations.
"Oooookay, recap. I'm stuck in some forsaken orphanage, ALL my clothes are gone, and my head's fine despite hearing voices, having the piss beat outta me. Better yet, I'd have any judge looking like a barfly… What in Almighty's name is goin' on?!"
"Ahhh good, you're alive. We were worried you wouldn't make it."
Unseen baritone to squeak out a vocal break, go swinging out of bed in a sprint for escape. No way were his organs up for grabs, or his body for sale, of that he knew for absolute certain.
"Careful there, that window will—"
Didn't hear the rest to yell through gritted teeth, almost froth over the skin sliced, the fresh blood trickling out his hands. But to tune into a sudden scraping of wood, the tiniest whispers and scribbles, he almost got set to tear through anything not nailed down.
"So much for being my own worst enemy."
"Enough games, show yourself!"
"Down here, friend."
Almost toppled across the room—wisdom had to avoid the window—to discover and inspect yet ANOTHER foreign creature. One less eye last time, one more here and now, perched atop a furry black head that'd barely reach his ankle. A punctuation mark with dress sense, might say, to see it clad in a jumpsuit of sky blue and purple.
Upon a request for a hand lift, back of such anyway, had little else but to shut his eyes and pinch his bridge. No longer was this some whiskey-induced nightmare, to watch every eye gaze into his own.
"Wait, wait wait wait… Who's welcoming who to Earth again?"
"I believe I'm giving the greetings, and not just because aliens are common these days. Now, I imagine you have plenty of questions, so—"
"Who on Earth are you guys? What'd you prick me for? The hell is happening now? Where in every Gods' name am I? How did I even get here? Why—"
"And I just had spit washed off this. PATIENCE child, a colt's gotta trot before it can gallop."
"No, no, don't even go there. I've eaten so much shit trying to seek a shower, some food, or just some bloody answers, so you better start talking. 'Cause if you don't, then so help me—"
Flexed his other fist near that head for emphasis, but if he wanted a cowing, he sure didn't get it. In fact, creature would prove nowhere near moved to say squat, in getting only a roll of every last eye.
"Oh for goodness sake. Had I known you'd be such a problem, I would've kept the emergency syringe that saved your life that night. And dare I mention it, saved you from yourself the last time."
"Much rather breathe my last, freak. If the past two days now and two years then mean a thing, life can forever go get fucked."
"You'd be wise to watch what you say to me, in future. As for now, personally, I'd be expeditious to dismiss that, speaking as your current Ambassador. For your sake, just call me Lord Nibbler. Keeping things brief, you were selected as part of Eternium's negotiations with your kind. A trade deal, in simpler terms."
"Trade deal? What an absolute load. On which planet would I be valuable, and how?"
"Was a question I'd ponder myself. As it happens, it's something we must leave for you to discover."
"Okay, timeout, hold up! You bite-sized bastards mean to tell me that you'd seize me hostage, strand me upon this world's savages, WITHOUT money or directions I might add, just so I could figure this hot garbage out by myself?"
"You dare say we're at fault, after the absolute debacle of last night? For pity's sake child, we GAVE those, just footsteps from where we first laid you. Perhaps had you called out upon waking up, we would've come to help. But no, you had to waddle about doused in your disgraceful past, complicating all our futures."
"Oy, don't you flash those fangs at me. So I was s'posed to just ignore the flying ships, was I? Just wake up, dig a while and screw around? How in the—"
"Goes to show you're not so all-knowing, right?" Crafty eyes and smirk, to think of dropping his 'lift'. "Sure can colour me surprised given this insolence of yours, especially for how it remains even now."
Squirms of his hunger to sound off, as that littlest of Lords would hop off and flip out a peculiar device, even by sci-fi standards.
"Nibbler to Eternium, Nibbler to Eternium. Can anyone answer?"
"Digby here, ready and waiting. How goes your mission, friend?"
"There's been issues, such as requests for new spaceships and subjects going walkabout, but we're here and that's what counts. Having said that, may I request the usual checks please?"
"Bear with me a moment, as I scan for your device… Ah, here we are, getting pings again on that Pizza Bagel planet. Now pulling local data, there we go—1st of June, ten hundred hours, New New York, year three-thousand and—"
"Thuh-thuh-THREE thousand?"
Could only keel sideways gripping his face; entire dynasties and empires, in a matter of blinks, to have come, gone and turned to dust. By virtue of laying there, he'd become THE oldest person in the entirety of humankind, and of alienkind, couldn't discount the idea either.
Most damning though, got no choice but to confront that, regarding ultimate questions of late, there was only one conclusion to be drawn up. That fires within over wanting answers—however languid before now—just got snuffed out for good.
"My family, gone, really and truly…"
It'd take a while to sit back up again, stop hunching, and summon will, but once enough remnants of strength returned, would fix that captor with a molten look.
"Why did you request me? Was it not enough to lose everything? What more must I suffer at your paws?"
"Funny things to call a second chance, young one." It'd then raise a right paw. "But on my honour, we seek only to be of support, of guidance. You mightn't like our methods, nor those who'll help out in our stead, but it'll be for your—"
"Your honour's worth shit, so shove it back where it belongs. Never cared, asked, or wanted to be saved, especially for how I'd end up like this to begin with."
"Your beliefs and yours alone, of that I can attest to. How about, just for once, you practice a little gratitude instead?"
"Gratitude? GRATITUDE? Who do you think you are acting like you did me a favour?"
"We can start with taking time and resources to redeliver THAT, even to be done no favours at all."
Though directed toward a red chest, could only purse his lips: "How could you or your friends ever think that'd be enough? What, did I graduate Clown College summa-cum-laude or something?"
"Just take my blasted key, before I insist on answering."
His teeth to clench in almost snatching the hand as well, as he'd shove keys inside, cracked the lock, and began digging through. Indeed, such passions to still kindle, even in spite of nearly burying his face into new clean clothes, scented with citrus and linen.
In addition, there'd be certain other goodies to discover buried underneath; first, a tried and true flip phone with pre-set contacts—even for every reason to expect better, didn't dare to say so. Second, what seemed to be a brochure of welcome, not that he'd believe it, though to discover a map for opening it up was to sigh with a sense of relief.
Third and finally, a thin spread of currency to feature the strangest cast he'd seen; three-eyed beings of gelatinous build, men with bigger brains than heads, and Benjamin Franklin. Grabbing it all in one hand, would do a sort and count on hardwood to conclude he had a thousand dollars, of all values to kick-start new lives.
"Can't be a coincidence, to hit too close to home," would close his eyes. "Maybe I have been pressing my luck lately… Alright Nibbler, what's the score now?"
"I've faith that things will work out fine, once you get checked out and clean yourself up. Rather lucky with those cuts, still, I wouldn't stand around and leave it."
"Not my fault your lot freaked me out in the first place. And would've sorted this out much sooner, were it not for nattering on."
"Yes, I'm sure you would've. Just bear in mind, you can't keep pointing fingers forever."
Another bright light to blind him, another sensation of particular memories to turn blurry, as he'd rub and squint in trying to see once more.
"Swore I was talkin' to some mangy monkey thing… Ahhh, the hell with it."
A little time taken to lay out his outfits, get dressed with the hopes of avoiding any residual odours, before he rang the cab company for a pickup. Short walk from bedroom to back outside, had figured, only for runners to come stuck in hallways and beyond—no polish nor wax to bless that wood in years.
"What's the big idea? Gods forbid somebody use a bucket and mop every blue moon."
Would kick himself for saying it, knowing who once kept his house, as every squelch forward brought to light new details of neglect; mould mutating the walls, floors giving under weight, holes seen in the roof. Then from neglect to nonsense, would find a series of owls in broad daylight, for stepping into the gymnasium.
Such a condemnable place to stay up, and who knew how it kept standing, when rumbles beneath would scatter those birds, leave him to flail and bend with a tube man's gusto.
Consistent honks and cursing yells after a moment to try hurrying his steps, only to halt over that cabbie's point of entry. Far from anything realistic or even reasonable, the taxi's drill to leave a giant hole in its wake; could only gawk and gabble until an engine's roar, a pissed-off glare would rush him down stone stairs and right inside.
"No deadbeats in my cab, buddy, cash up front."
"Jeez, morning to you too. How much to the doc's?"
"A Blob, and don't make me add another for that mouth."
"Dammit, what was that again? Wait a sec, lemme just—"
Heard quite the grimace to watch his twenty dollars be grabbed, as they then dove through the solid earth, eager for this journey to be a short one.
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"Ugghh, thank heavens that hell's over… Next time, I'll check out what the centre of the Earth's like."
No rocky ride to care repeating, as he found a spare chair inside the local doctor's; upon doing so, just hunched up and kept his glance down. Not a soul he could trust, more so to get such golden silence, especially for the gut telling him his scent could still clear a room. But if that were true, nobody acknowledged it, as in and out they'd go within thirty seconds, maybe a minute at worst.
"This even real? Surely these new clothes can't strip the black flags I've been—"
Peripheral vision to pick up a stranger closing in—would yell "Back off!" and raise a fist, only to realise once again he'd make another mistake.
"Hey asshole, take it easy. Didn't you hear your name being called up just now?"
Hardly had the heart to apologise and mean it, as he slunk inside red-faced, where after hearing a sequence of hums and whirs, watching blue lights scan him over, he'd be hurried inside by fingers snapping.
"Hey, fat and slow, I've a hundred more to heal before lunch, now move your ass!"
"Damn Doc, did I piss in your coffee just now? Keep your coat on, for starters, how can you heal—HEEYY!"
Laid out those palms to emphasise his problem, only to discover that in moments since, any deep scars had all but sealed over. Even to catch the stabbing look this doctor gave him, could only buckle toward the bed, mumble of magic and madness beyond anything of anybody's imagination.
"Scanner to see what was wrong, nanotech lasers to fix up anything on the surface… Still wanna act the wiseass?"
"Ummm, errr… No sir."
Even that answer to get his neck wrung sideways, white coats plunging two syringes inside in quick succession; green and gold, then red and blue. A yell to make an Ironbark man proud, as veins began to sear with Vesuvian fury, not that any of it phased the physician who'd just plant a hand over it.
"Yeah, shut your worthless whining, five minutes and I promise you'll be fine. Next patient!"
No other word out his lips before he'd get bundled out, and no ability to speak his mind as the latest jostled right past.
"Swear I'm gonna teach these bastards a few manners real—Oooohhhh, sweet liquid nectar!"
Upon turning to find a two-tapped Alwaysfail in the foyer, could feel thoughts of revenge begin to extinguish. Might've tackled the cooler to the carpets, to go a touch faster, as in a matter of seconds, three chilled cups would go streaming past his tongue. A bliss from another age to always wish for, even to not impress anybody for pouring his eventual sixth.
"Yo, you a camel or somethin'? Quit the chugging and leave some for—"
"I'm thirsty, and this thing's not even close to empty. So mind your business and get off my back."
"Whatever, loser."
A name to be numb to, though in taking a chance to breathe and wash whatever handheld soap could help with, would steal a glance at the adjacent mirror. And of course, be left wishing he hadn't.
"Man, even my mother couldn't love this mug now. Quite sure she doesn't anyway, over what I'd do."
The queue to join and hustle along as questions kept circling his mind, only for shouts from behind to snap him back to reality, get him fumbling for fees while the receptionist tapped her finger.
A pair of Blobs and Brainos to give over; no big deal at first, until he'd watch them form together, convert to a total, then become change, all within a few instants. If that didn't leave him gripping the desk, had to for hearing and recognising the Gettysburg Address—was certain nobody else knew to recite it.
"Excuse me, back off, unless you wanna get maced. Don't make me call the police either."
"Lady, what? Look, I just, I get that money talks, but LITERALLY? Where's the registers and card—"
"I wasn't hired to hand out history lessons, got it? Now stop creeping us out and leave."
Was about to salute her while exiting, as he would the deli owner, only to notice every stride taken without strain, how only famine—over fists like hammers—would grieve his gut now. Doctor to prove as good as their word, despite the bedside manner, to get bustling down the streets with open map, eyes on a swivel, and a drive to get going.
"First stop for sorting this shit out, gonna need a department store… Looks like Alien Overlord & Taylor's the one I'm after."
Was upon arriving, eyeing off every floor, where a kindling memory of sorts formed inside, what'd become the start of a burning headache. The culprit to be a scanner gun, and as if ads weren't intrusive enough, the thing was burning images inside his head in gamma ray form, on behalf of Lightspeed Briefs, Calvin Clone, and servants he could never afford.
Slapping it away so it'd bother someone else, was off to the elevator in search of food; upon reaching the top, began rubbing chins over the queues at Fishy Joe's, McPluto's, TGI Fried, and tucked away in a corner, Cosmic Ray's.
Decision made to dally past a neon pizza sign, and didn't imagine suspecting a thing to join a queue that shrunk with haste. But upon nearing the front, would admit to almost running upon the discovery of his very first robots; better yet, for being on overclock fixing orders by the slice, replacing trays emptied by them, weren't overlords by any means either.
Course, to again be left questioning his sanity, it'd take a sharp whistle to snap him back to life.
"Yo! Gawk-eyes, we haven't all day. What pizza you after?"
"Friggin' hell, course I didn't check the menu for staring… Large Aussie, maybe?"
"Invalid selection." Head to swivel, chef to palm sides, crowd to begin mumbling: "Yo, shall we serve you up instead? Quit screwin' round!"
"Ummm, uhhh, errr, a medium Margherita?"
"There, not so hard was it? That'll be twenty-five."
Could've bitten tongues clean off over that cost, only for growls and squirms—not just his own—to pressure him into buying. Fastest walk yet once metal met flesh, but as he folded a slice and tried not to dribble, a pamphlet would fall from nowhere and sink into the cheese.
"You absolute pig, you're actually gonna eat all that by yourself? Don't you care how much—"
Would peel the paper, scrunch it up, then drop it beside the tray: "All of this, and your bony finger too if you don't get it out of my face. Now PISS OFF!"
Thought of expecting trouble soon, but in that moment of crunching tomato, cheese and spices, over an eventual hearty belch and pump of fists, knew there was no caring less right then.
"Best money I've ever bloody spent, my Oath. Course, reckon that'll change quite soon."
From there, was straight to business with a bizarre concept they'd coin a 'hypermarket'; groceries in one section, goods in the next. Backpack with hygiene care inside to have sorted out, then a prickle of hairs to pivot for the barbershop, uncover a delight of a scene.
Under that greyed afro to be sweeping hairs up, a real sense of rhythm and movement to well belie their age; same man to spot his approach and raise a hand toward those high-backed, vinyl chairs.
"Sit on down partner, come on in. How can I get ya on your feet?"
"Pfft, mate, much as I appreciate the friendly face and question, good luck trying."
"Don't give me no sass, son. Owned this corner since you was born; ain't the first nappy hair I've fixed up."
"Think I wouldn't take that bet, sin though it might be? Anyway, long story, just please trim up my beard and shave this crap off. Would sure be happy."
"Givin' me the sounds I love most. This one's for you."
"Cheers. Oh, just by the by, do I smell off?"
"Wouldn't bottle your scent, speak the truth, but nuttin' a good shower won't fix. How 'bout a story?"
A truer pleasure he couldn't recall, to hear of vintage nightclubs, the music of his youth and Kings holding court, self-dancing suits be damned. A wistful tale to weave, with every warm splash and tingling buzz, that'd drift him away to a boogie wonderland of celebrations, night fevers, and the spice of life.
A time when all was alright, before two words would create a spiral he didn't escape since.
"Alright brother, you're all done!"
"Oh damn, already? Bit of a shame, had a great time back—"
Twirl of the chair to tie up his tongue; staring straight back, with a clean cut and silk-touch beard, the man he hadn't seen in centuries. Thoughts of having a minute chance to moisten his eyes, all while the barber's grin just grew.
"Wow, you can't imagine what this does for me… What do I owe ya?"
"Usually worth a Ben and Abe, but this one's on me."
"Nah man, I couldn't. First time I'd ever feel welcome was here, so have this Braino bloke instead."
Double tips to earn a slap of hands and serious good vibes for going out, ones to go quick however when he'd reach NNY Dumbbell Club sometime after. Head trainer nowhere to be seen, but would notice a rookie staffer tailing him.
"Yeah pal, what do you want?"
"Good afternoon sir, saw you walkin' about our floor. Can I interest you in a basic—"
"Your boss denied me a shower, a chance to be decent. So choose your next words VERY carefully."
"Please back off man, just on a quota here. Look, you buy our membership, I'll even throw in a—"
"You really think I want your or this club's custom? Get this through your head, right now… You couldn't PAY me to become a regular. I'm getting a casual, and that's final, got it?"
"Fine, fine, just pay your Ben at the counter and go. But for you of all people to reject this offer, I—"
"I've more pressing matters on my mind, thanks, and I'd suggest you don't press me further."
To lather and scrub the bloom of spring through his very recent past, killing off every last remnant, would admit to springs in his step, more to follow up with a good brushing and floss. From there, a hike straight back to his shelter in which, by virtue of being alive, would discover a dead grove that had hidden a shed from sight.
Regular shovel and sledgehammer upon breaking and entering, and immediate ideas on their use while he carried them both inside.
"Bury the past I knew, defend the future I've won. Mightn't be much, but it's mine, and NO threat alive will take that away."