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03/11/09 First Page
[Revision 11/03/12: I changed the past tenses to present to fit rest of story] Tim Timmons can’t believe it–30 years old and HE is being called into the principal’s office. “Okay, class. Just do some free-writing until it’s time to go.” Squeak, squeak, squeak. Tim squeaks down the hall over the just-waxed floor. They’re always complaining about not having money, yet they somehow can always afford to take great care of the floors. Tim rounds the corner and steps into Principal Pete’s corner office. “Hi, Maureen,” says Tim to the receptionist. “Hello, Tim.” says Maureen. “Pete will be back in a moment. You can go in and wait.” Tim goes inside the office and a couple flushes later, was joined by Pete. [Author’s note (11/03/12): I kept the quote marks and “says/said” going longer in the handwritten original, but I’m dropping them here to fit the format for the rest of the story. Also, because it’s easier for me than retyping different forms of “say” or “said.” I use a slash mark in front of the speaker’s name (sometimes I forget the slash, sometimes the parentheses) and a colon after their name. I also use parentheses for narration, and brackets for little revision and formatting notes like this one.] /Pete: Hello, Tim. /Tim: Hi, Pete, what’s up? /Pete: We’ve had complaints from parents about your teaching. /Tim: That doesn’t surprise me. You can’t please everyone. /Pete: Yeah, well, the parents have complained that the sixth-graders in your creative writing class have been writing offensive things, things not appropriate for twelve-year-olds. /Tim: I can assure you that I do absolutely nothing to encourage anyone in my class to write obscenities. However, I also do not actively try to stifle my students’ creativity. Some of them come from broken or abusive homes. Others get bullied on the playground. Kids don’t beat around the bush. They write what’s real. Now look at me–you’ve got me so worked up I’m spouting cliches. /Pete: Well, here’s another one for you–I’m going to have to terminate your position. The complaints, plus the budget cuts last quarter–I have to stop offering your class. /Tim: But–/Pete: Hey, like you said, you can’t please everybody.

03/12/09
/Tim: Can’t I just teach something else? /Pete: I’m sorry, no. It’s a budget thing. One less class AND one less teacher on the payroll and we’ll just make it. You know how rough it’s been? We’ve had t combine all our different math courses into one–no more separate algebra, trig, geometry–it’s now just “A Survey of Mathematics.” [Author’s note (11/03/12) I still use quote marks when it’s not just someone talking.] Add the parents’ complaints, and it’s just not going to work out. /Tim: You’re hurting the kids. They need a creative writing course. Get rid of me if you must, but please, keep the course. /Pete: I’m sorry, no. /Tim: Well, (sighs) do I at least get a severance package? /Pete: No, but if you come back later tonight, you can clean out your desk. /Tim: How about a letter of reference, at least? /Pete: I can’t. The parents, you know. Anyway, I’ll go tell your class the news. You’re dismissed. (Tim walks out of the office and away from the one man firing squad. He walks outside. Mike, the janitor, is leaning against the railing.) /Mike: Gorgeous day, isn’t it? /Tim: Not for me, it isn’t. (He steps into his Ford Pinto, starts the car–click. It stalls. He turns the key again. Stalls. Gives it some gas. Turns the key again. Car rattles, shudders, shakes, and dies completely.)

03/13/09
(Tim turns the key again. It doesn’t even click. Smoke starts drifting up.Oh, well. The thing was old, anyway. He gets out. He can’t just leave it here, can he? He does some calculations in his head: tax deduction minus towing it to the shop to try to get it running again–whatever. The car is still on school property, let Pete deal with it. He walks over to the bus stop. Before he can cross the street, he sees the bus go by. Terrific.He spoofs a song in his head: the one about watching girls: “I got fired from my job and I can’t drive home because my car died. Just died. So, I get out of my car and walk to the bus stop, and I’m watching the bus go by.” (Well, he thinks, at least now I know that writing songs isn’t my thing. Well, the good news is he’d have more time to spend at home with his wife. Maybe he’d start writing again. He knows some people in the business–he can finally get his novel done. The next bus pulls up. Tim gets in, reaches into his pocket for the fare. Opens his wallet–no change. Of course not, why would Tim need bus money when he drives?) /Driver: I think I see a bill in there. /Tim: It’s a $20. That’s all I have. /Driver: Well, you can ask for change. (Tim looks around.) /Tim: The bus is empty, except for us. /Driver: Of course it’s empty. People are at work. /Tim: Do you have change for a twenty? (Driver points to sign: “Driver does not give change.”) /Driver: I will take the twenty, though. Thanks. (Tim surrenders the twenty to the driver.)
03/14/09
(Bus slows, shudders, dies.) /Driver: What luck. /Tim: Bad luck, yeah. /Driver: No, good. Bust broke down right outside my favorite bar. (Driver puts a “Not in Service” sign up, opens door.) You have to leave, now. /Tim: Before we go, could I at least get a transfer, first? /Driver: I would help you out, but according to the sign I just put up, I’m “Not in Service.” Come on, we have to go. /Tim: I’m not going without a transfer. /Driver: Okay, hold on. Let’s see: Damn, sorry dude, but I’m out of transfer paper. /Tim: Well, alright. (They step off the bus and go to the bar.) /Driver (stops outside): Okay, hold on. /Tim: What? /Driver: Take your twenty back. It’s not your fault the bus broke down. /Tim: Okay. Thanks. (Driver goes into the bar. Tim follows close behind, but before going in, he feels something cold on the back of his neck. He hears a voice.) /Voice: Turn arond nice and slow. (Tim turns around, faces a mugger with a pistol.) /Mugger: Hand it over. /Tim: Hand what over? /Mugger: You know what. Your wallet, keys, watch, jewelry–do I have to spell it out? (He clicks off the safety. Tim tosses his wallet, watch.) /Mugger: Keys? /Tim: I don’t have them. Must’ve left them in my stalled car. /Mugger: Oh, okay. Well, thanks for the money. (Hops into a getaway car. Shouts through the open window.) Now, I can afford bullets. (The car speeds off.)

03/15/09
(Tim doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t too far from home, but his keys are locked in his stalled car back at the school. His wife isn’t home to let him in, she’s still at work. He can’t call her at work, since his wallet was stolen. All that left, he figures, is to wait in the bar for his wife to come home and let him in. He looks at his wrist–that’s right, his watch was stolen, too. Well, he’ll get the time, inside, so he goes in.) “Hello, good looking,” says the buxomy redhead behind the bar [author’s note: Okay, I say “says” and use quotes here. Sometimes, that works better]. (Tim turns around to see who she’s talking to. It can’t be him–balding, pot-bellied Tim Timmons. No one else is nearby.) /Redheaded Bartender: What’s your name, Good Looking? I’m Candy, owner of the Candy Bar. /Tim: I’m Tim. Tim Timmons. /Candy: Hi, Tim. What would you like to drink? /Tim: I’ll just have some water, thanks. /Candy: No, seriously, what’ll it be? On me. /Tim: Thanks, but you don’t have to do that. /Candy: If you don’t find me attractive just say so. You can still have a drink. /Tim: It’s not that at all. I’d be all over you in a second if I weren’t already married. /Candy: Oh. Okay, well, I didn’t see a ring. /Tim: That’s because I was mugged right outside your bar. /Candy: Oh. Sorry about that. Here’s our house specialty. /Tim: What is it? /Candy: Try it. It’s “Candied Cherry Frozen Daquiri with candied cherries on the side. (Tim tries it, grimaces.) /Tim: Sorry, it’s way too sweet. (Candy switches it for a beer.) /Candy: Don’t worry, (a bitter edge to her voice) you’re sour enough to compensate.

03/16/09
(Tim sits, sulks, drinks his beer.) /Candy: Hey, I’m sorry I snapped at you. You have every right to be sore after losing your wallet to a mugger. /Tim: And my watch, and my wedding band. But, (he smiles without warmth) the asshole didn’t get my keys–they are locked inside my stalled, broken down car. /Candy: Your car, too? Wow. Well, if you need a ride to work tomorrow…/Tim: Thanks, but that’s the best part–my car didn’t break down until AFTER I got fired. /Candy: Wow. Perfect timing. /Tim: Yeah, which is why I don’t really miss my watch that was stolen. /Candy: Well, whattaya gonna do? Besides drinking my beer? (Candy refills his mug.) /Tim: Thanks. Next, I’ll ask you what time it is. /Candy: Clock’s over there (points to clock over bar). /Tim: Thanks. One-thirty-seven. Great, my wife doesn’t come home until six. Don’t know what I’ll do until then. (Candy works, smiles.) Besides THAT, which I would never do to my wife, anyway. /Candy: All the good ones are too good. /Tim: Well, if I weren’t good, then I wouldn’t be one of the good ones, right? /Candy: You got me, there. So, what did you do? /Tim: I was a teacher. /Candy: What did you teach? /Tim: Creative writing to sixth-graders. /Candy: That sounds really neat. /Tim: It was. That job was my life. /Candy: Did you publish any books? /Tim: Not yet. I was working on my first novel while teaching. /Candy: Well, at least you have more time now to spend writing your book.

03/17/09
/Candy: So, what’s your book about? /Tim: The title is: The Next Great American Novel. /Candy: Seriously? /Tim: Sure, why not? People talk and talk about writing the next Great American Novel. I’m actually gonna do it. /Candy: Good for you. That’s great. So, what’s The Next Great American Novel about? /Tim: It’s about the writer Sam Simmons who moves to a remote tropical island so he can focus on writing his book. One night, while he’s asleep, he falls into a parallel universe. He never realizes it at first, because who hasn’t dreamt that they’re falling? Anyway, he wakes up to find he’s still on a tropical island, but the people are different. /Candy: How are they different? /Tim: Instead of following the normal taboos about nudity, they’re completely opposite–they’re nude all the time–at work, at play, at home, at a friend’s house, whatever. /Candy: So? There are nudist beaches and colonies around here. /Tim: Yeah, but over there, wearing clothes to cover up certain areas is considered obscene and seen as a come-on. So, our writer puts on a pair of Bermuda shorts and a floral print shirt, goes outside, and after a woman’s kid points him out to her, he gets arrested. /Candy: I don’t get it. He hasn’t done anything except for getting dressed and going outside. /Tim: He gets arrested for indecent enclosure. /Candy: Huh? /Tim: His parts are enclosed by his clothes. /Candy: So is he guilty of indecent enclothes-ure? /Tim: Exactly. /Candy: He’s arrested for being in clothes? /Tim: Sure. Indecent in clothes-sure.

03/18/09
“Writing List for the Writer: 1. Do it daily (check). 2. Pick a place that’s quiet (check). 3. Pick a place that’s private (check). 4. Pick a place that’s well-lit (check). 5. Write first thing in the morning (check). 6. Make sure you have plenty of paper (check). 7. Make sure your seat’s comfortable (check). 8. Remember to flush afterward.” (Excerpt from The Next Great American Novel, by Tim Timmons. More follows.) Sam Simmons can’t believe his rotten luck. He had just landed in a beautiful tropical island yesterday, and now due to some shift or rift in space, he finds himself in an all-nude jail. Worse, yet, since clothes were frowned upon, he instead got his prison ID number tatooed on his forehead. Sam looks around the crowded cell. A guy with hairy arms that hang like a gorilla comes over. “Hey now fella, what’cha in for? I’m in for murder and arson.” /Sam: I was wearing clothes. /(Gorilla): Wow. Even I wouldn’t do THAT. Make yourself comfortable. You’re gonna be here awhile. “Do you have a lawyer?” asks a short, slight, nearly hairless guy. /Sam: No, I can’t say that I do. /Gorilla Guy: That’s just as well. No one would take YOUR case, anyway. /Sam: It’s that bad wearing clothes? /Hairless Guy: Sure, it is. How could you not know that? You slip through from another dimension or something? /Sam: How did you know? /Hairless Guy: We got ourselves a wise guy here. /Gorilla Guy: I see.

03/19/09
/Sam: I still don’t understand–what the hell’s wrong with wearing clothes? /Hairless Guy: You mean you don’t know? But, it’s so obvious. Think about it. /Sam: I AM thinking about it–I’m thinking about how I do’t belong here in jail. /Hairless Guy: But, you were wearing clothes. You see, when everyone’s nude all the time, you get so used to it you don’t even see certain areas anymore. However, when you go around wearing pants or shorts, you draw attention to those areas. /Sam: Huh? How? /Hairless Guy: THINK. When you actively cover up something, you’re practically screaming “DON’T LOOK AT MY CROTCH!” So, what does that make people do? /Sam: Look at my crotch? /Hairless Guy: Exactly. You point it out to everyone. You draw attention to it. And that is obscene. /Candy: Do you have some of your novel with you? I’d really like to see it. /Tim: Actually, yeah. (Opens briefcase) I showed it to the mugger. It was the one thing he wasn’t interested in stealing. (Candy’s brow furrows as she reads.) /Candy: Now see, your character Sam, here, is in jail, and a convict talks to him about “those areas.” No way would a convict talk like that. You gotta dirty it up to make it more believable. /Tim: You’re right. So, the rest of the story is believable?

03/20/09
Tim: Thanks for the comments. /Candy: No problem. Keep working on it. /Tim: I will. I better go now. I’m sure my wife is back by now. /Tim steps outside the bar. Candy runs out.) /Candy: I called a cab for you. /Tim: Thanks. /Candy: You can wait for it inside, if you’d like. /Tim: Sure, and thanks. /Candy: Sure. I better check on the customers. (Back inside) /Candy: Do you have more story to show me? /Tim: No, not yet. (A customer steps inside) /Customer: Someone call for a cab? /Tim: That’s mine. /Candy: Here’s some cab fare money (she gives him a twenty). /Tim (his voice catches): Thanks so much. /Candy: Sure, just give me more story when it’s done. /Tim: I’ll do that. Bye. /Candy: Bye. See you later. (Tim leaves the bar, steps inside the cab, closes the door.) /Cabbie: You can’t afford this cab. /Tim: Why do you say that? /Cabbie: Because I already took your money. (His mask is off from earlier, but his build, clothes and general facial features match up with that of the mugger. He pulls away from the curb to the intersection. Just after they turn a corner, Candy runs out, breathless, chest heaving.) /Candy: Tim, the cab company called. They’re running late. Tim? /Tim: No, turn right, not left. /Mugger: I know where we’re going. /Tim: Where? /Mugger: You’ll find out. First, let’s pick up another passenger. (He finds someone in an Armani suit.) Need a cab? /Suit: Yeah, but it looks like you already have a passenger. /Mugger: No, he’s not a passenger. I’m training him. /Suit: Okay. /Mugger: Where to? /Suit: Turn right…

03/21/09
[Author’s note: Tim’s ride with the mugger, according to my handwritten notes, continues on page 03/23/09 (since I write a page a day, I use the dates to number my pages.) So, now, I gotta do a little ad-libbing or something. So, here’s a little on the spot composing: 11/06/12 Armani Suit: Are these papers yours? /Tim: Yeah, I must’ve dropped them. Thanks. /Armani: They look like stories. /Tim: Yeah, I’m a writer. What did you find, there? (Armani shows him.)] (Now, back to 03/21/09) “Frank & Jo &…” /Frank (One night in bed):Jo, this just isn’t working for me. I thought maybe give it time and either you’d change or I’d adapt, but it’s been five years, and neither has happened. /Jo: I thought everything was fine the way it is. Why are you suddenly bringing it up, now? I thought we were happy. /Frank (sighs): It’s just, well, it’s gotten to the point where I’m so used to it it feels normal, but it still doesn’t seem right, on a mental level. I’m just not getting enough from this relationship. I’m almost middle-aged already. I still have time to find someone else, you know. /Jo (fights tears): I really thought things were fine. /Frank: Well, I’m sorry. They’re not. I realy think it’s time to go. /Jo: Then, go. /Frank: ME, go? Why not you? /Jo: Who pays the rent? /Frank: Fine, I’ll go. I’ll move in with my mom. (He opens a suitcase, starts throwing some clothes inside, grabs his toothbrush, throws it in, slams it shut.) I’ll be back for my things. Goodbye and have a nice life. (Jo’s openly sobbing.) I can’t believe you’re this worked up about me leaving. /Jo (screams): Get out of here, you bastard! (Rick wakes up) /Rick: What’s going on, babe? /Jo: Frank’s leaving us. /Rick: He is? After I pay the rent? [Author’s note: More ad-libbing. 11/06/12 /Suit: Hmmm…/Tim: Oh, THAT story isn’t mine. It’s from one of my student’s. He’s not really into the class. He’s just taking it for a required elective. /Suit: Oh. Then, I guess it’s okay to say I wasn’t into it. /Tim: I agree. This next one you have in your hand is mine, though. /Suit: The Next Great American Novel? /Tim: Yeah. /Suit: I love the title. /Tim: Thanks.]

03/22/09
The Next Great American Novel:”Sam, Sam. Wake up, Sam.” (Sam opens his eyes to find himself still in his cell. He looks up to see a nude knockout redhead standing over him.) /Redhead: Morning. I’m Andy, your court-appointed attorney. (Sam tries to hide under the blanket, sees it’s completely transparent.) I’m pro bono, not pro boner. /Sam: I’m sorry. /Andy: Forget about it, it IS morning. /Sam: Okay, but I can’t help what happens down there. I mean, with no clothes to hide behind… /Andy” I understand that somehow you arrived from a world that DOES hide behind clothes. /Sam: Yeah, I sure do. /Andy: Must be a sad, scary place. I mean, it’s so easy to conceal weapons. All our clothes are like your blanket here–purely functional, to stay warm and dry. Anyway, I think I will be able to get you off–not like that. (she adds, glancing down) as I said before, forget about it. /Sam: Excuse me, I know I’m not used to constant nudity and all, but YOU’RE the one who keeps looking at and talking about my…er…condition. /Andy (wipes her mouth): I apologize. It’s just that here nudity is so common, men from here don’t notice me the way you do. I find your fresh perspective very…uh…(she blushes.)

03/23/09
“Next…Novel” continues…/Andy: Well, I guess we shold focus on… (she keeps looking down) /Sam: The case? /Andy: Yeah, the case. Anyway, I know what to go for–diplomatic immunity. /Sam: Hmm. Okay. /Andy: So, now that that’s done, I guess I should be going. I’ll see you at the trial. /Sam: Okay. (Now, back to Tim Timmons, the author of what you just read) /Armani Suit (to the driver): Excuse me, sir, you passed my exit. Would you turn around? /Mugger (turns his head around): This isn’t my cab. I stole it. (They turn down an abandoned dirt road. It’s late sunset. Mugger pulls over.) Last stop. Everyone out. (Mugger points a gun at them.) Drop the briefcase. /Tim: Who are you talking to? We both have briefcases. /Mugger: I’m talking to both of you (waves his gun). /Tim: Well, no. If you were talking to both of us, you would’ve said “BRIEFCASES, plural.” But, you just said “BRIEFCASE, singular.” /Mugger (sighs explosively): Each one of you drop your BRIEFCASE. /Tim: Hey, that’s good. Don’t you think so? /Armani: Absolutely. (Tim winks at Armani. They both charge the mugger and “drop” their briefcases on his head, many times, until he finally loses consciousness. Armani grabs the gun, opens it.) /Armani: Uh, you were wrong about his gun not being loaded. /Tim: Really? Well, I guess that just made our move even more unexpected.

03/24/09
/Armani: I should thank you for saving my life, but you did let him pick me up in the first place. /Tim: You’re welcome and I’m sorry. You think maybe we oughtta tie up this asshole in case he wakes up? /Armani: Good idea. If only we have some rope? /Tim: How about your tie and belt? /Armani: My imported Chinese silk tie and genuine Italian suede rope? How about we just leave him here? /Tim: How about we tie him up and take him and the stolen cab to the cops? /Armani: But, my tie–/Tim: It’s a tie. So, tie him with it. Before I belt you like we did Mr. Unconscious here. (He raises his case.) /Armani (sighs): Okay. I’ll use my tie. Hold on. (he takes off his tie) Could you give me a hand? Or two. /Tim: Sure. /Armani: Thanks. /Tim: Hey, whattaya doing? I’m not the crook. /Armani: No, but I AM…also a crook. (Armani ties up Tim and points the still loaded gun at him.) Get in the cab. /Tim (goes into the cab.): What about the mugger? /Armani (turns and shoots the mugger in the head.): What about him? (He gets behind the wheel. They go for a ride.) /Tim: Hey you passed my exit. /Armani: You just saw me shoot someone. You think I’m gonna let you go? /Tim: No, but you did leave our briefcases there. /Armani: FUCK! (He slams both the steering wheel and the brake and turns around on the highway.) Thanks. /Tim: Um, sure?

03/25/09
(They’re almost back at the site when the cab shudders, sputters, and dies.) /Armani: Damn, out of gas. (He gets out, turns back to Tim.) Come on. (The sun finishes setting.) /Tim: What? /Armani: Let’s go. /Tim: All we’ve got to do is pop the hood and wait in the car. A cop will come along, eventually. /Armani: That’s the last person I want to see. Especially after two murders. /Tim: Two? /Armani (waves the gun): It will be two if you don’t get out of the car./Tim: Alright, I’m coming. /Armani: Whattaya think you’re doing? /Tim: Thumbing a ride. /Armani: You better lower your thumb before I shoot it off. /Tim: Okay, okay, geez. What’s so special about your briefcase, anyway? /Armani: It came from my father, and I hate to part with it. /Tim: Really? /Armani: No. Quit asking questions. /Tim: Why do you need me, anyway? /Armani: Why do you think? You saw me kill a guy. /Tim: A guy that had kidnaped us. Any jury would say it was self-defense. /Armani: Well, you can also help me look for the briefcases. /Tim: Yo know all my briefcase has is part of a novel I’m working on. But, I always make an extra copy of all my work. /Armani: “A penny for your thoughts.” /Tim: Thanks. /Armani: And a dollar to keep them to yourself. (They grow silent).

03/26/09
(Next…Novel) (Burnished blue-silver ribbons of surf, like thrashing king cobras, pounce upon the shore in wave after wave: hissing and dripping salty foamy venom. Sam wishes he can enjoy the view from Andy’s penthouse window, but his head is just simply too full of things. Everything is so different in this world. This apartment, for starters. The design exactly duplicates a New York penthouse suite but for one detail–it’s on the first floor. The locals, apparently, don’t believe in building up. At all. Jumping out of any window will barely get you bruised. Andy has bailed him out of jail so they can discuss his case in private, or so she claims. What she is really after is something else, which would certainly be fine with Sam if THAT wasn’t also so weird. Who ever heard of getting DRESSED for sex?!? Andy started with a reverse strip tease, then insisted that Sam do the same.) /Sam: But, this is why I got arrested in the first place. /Andy (pulled shut the window shade): This is why we’re not in public. You put on this 3 piece suit, but keep the zipper open, so we can–/Sam: But, the whole point is to be naked while we–/Andy: What’s the fun in that? Naked’s normal here. Now, put it on. Put it all on. (Sam felt silly the whole time, but she was representing him, so…)

03/27/09
(Next…Novel, continued) /Andy: What’re you doing? /Sam: I’m just getting undressed. /Andy: I’ll still defend you in court, even if you don’t want to…you know…with me… /Sam: What’re you talkin’ about? /Andy (smacks her head): Damn, I keep forgetting you’re not from here. Getting undressed BEFORE sex tells your partner you’re not interested. /Sam: You know, within the context of your other insane laws, that actually makes sense. /Andy: Go ahead. Get undressed. /Sam: Why? /Andy: I’m a lawyer. I know a heck of a lot more about our laws than you do. Before becoming a court-appointed attorney, I served in the legislative branch. I helped make the laws that you find insane. /Sam: Your laws ARE crazy. Remember how we met? I was arrested and thrown into jail for NOT being naked in public. /Andy: We just happen to be an open society. What I don’t understand is how you keep connecting nudity with sex. When nude, you always look the same. When getting dressed, though, you can choose what clothes to wear. What you choose can be more revealing than wearing nothing. /Sam: Oh. /Andy: Also, when nude, all your parts are out there and fully accessible. There’s no mystery or pursuit involved. You tell me, what’s the fun in that? /Sam (smiles): You surely haven’t been to my dimension.

03/28/09
(Tim and Armani are still walking back to retrieve their briefcases.) /Tim: Ow! (he stops) /Armani (bumps into Tim): I almost shot you. Keep moving. /Tim: Hold on. I’ve got a rock in my shoe. /Armani: You’ll have a bullet in your head if you don’t start walking. (Tim bends down, takes off his shoe, elbows Armani in the gut, turns around, smacks him with his shoe, then grabs the gun.) /Armani: Stop, we’re here. (Tim snaps out of his daydream. Moonlight shines down enough to show two dappled briefcases.) /Armani: Well, grab ’em. /Tim: Well, I got ’em. /Armani: Well, okay (he points the gun at Tim). /Tim: Wait. /Armani: I’m sorry, but I just can’t risk letting you go. (He clicks the safety, squints, looks down, realizes he had just put the safety back on, then clicks it off, again.) /Tim: At least listen to me, first. All I did was see you shoot a guy in self-defense. /Armani: He was unconscious. /Tim: No, he was faking–maybe. /Armani: Well, there’s still the briefcase. /Tim: I don’t know what’s in your briefcase. I don’t know your name or where you work. And, I’m not going to grab the wrong briefcase by mistake because you’re going to take both of them. (He swings both briefcases toward Armani and slams them together with his gun hand in between. The gun drops. Tim grabs it, points it at Armani.) Tim (breathing hard): Your turn to grab the briefcases. /Armani: I can’t grab both with one hand.

03/29/09
/Tim: Well, I’ll take my briefcase, then. /Armani: Okay, but I don’t want to give you the wrong one. /Tim: Neither do I. As a writer, that would be way too cliche. (Armani hands over the briefcases, then stands up.) /Armani: How do I know you won’t shoot me while I’m reaching for my briefcase? /Tim: How do I know you won’t attack me with the briefcases? /Armani: Good point. (He opens one briefcases, glances inside, then quickly snaps it shut.) Did you see what was inside? /Tim: It’s dark out. I couldn’t see anything. /Armani: Well, I’ve got yours right here. /Tim: Thanks. (He takes his briefcase from Armani.) Now, grab yours so we can get out of here. (Armani grabs his briefcase, but with all the banging it took, the lock had loosened; it snaps open and the empty briefcase unfolds.) Great. Now, YOUR papers or whatever are missing. Don’t know what we’ll manage to find in the dark, but I’ll help you look. /Armani (in a quiet, subdued voice): Don’t bother. /Tim: Oh, yeah, because then I would see your precious secret. /Armani: No, I mean, you already see my secret. I’m not really a business executive. My briefcase–it’s always empty. Even my suit is a cheap imitation. /Tim: So, what do you do?

03/30/09
/Armani: I live with an elderly couple. I help them around their house–you know, setting the table, cleaning my room…/Tim: You live with your parents? /Armani (his shoulders sag): Yeah. /Tim: That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Instead of sending them off to a Home or making them hire a stranger to do housework they’ve got you. /Armani: Thanks. I never saw it that way. (He smiles, holds out his hand.) I’m Arnie, but the way. /Tim: Tim Timmons. Nice to meet you. (he grabs Arnie’s hand) /Arnie: Oww! /Tim: Sorry about that. /Arnie: It’s okay. Sorry about the gun and everything. /Tim: Hey, at least you used it to protect us from that mugger/kidnapper. /Arnie: True, true. So, do you have more story, besides what you showed me in the cab? [Author’s note: I changed this from “What’s your story about?” because Arnie already read some of Tim’s story in the cab.] (They see a diner up ahead that’s open.) /Tim: How about we go in and eat, then I’ll show you? /Arnie: Sure. I’m starved. (Next…Novel) (Andy’s first floor penthouse, late next morning.) /Sam: Wow, it’s already past 10 am. Don’t we need to go to court or something? /Andy: For what? /Sam: For my case? So, I don’t rot in jail? /Andy (smiles): Relax, you’re not going to jail. /Sam: How would you know? We’re not even at the hearing, yet. /Andy: Relax, honey. The judge dismissed you the other day. /Sam: Huh? /Andy: You’re not out on bail. You’re free. /Sam: Why didn’t you tell me this last night? /Andy (smiles, blushes): Sorry. I just, you know…

03/31/09
/Server: Hi. Are you ready to order? /Tim: Go ahead. /Arnie: I’ll have the buttermilk hashbrowns with a side of scrambled sausage. /Server: And for you? /Tim: I’m gonna need more time. (Server sighs, walks away) You know, I oughta call my wife. I was supposed to be home a long time ago. She’s probably worried. (He reaches into his pocket, then his other pocket.) Damn, I forgot to get my wallet back from that mugger. /Arnie (opens his suitcase, tosses Tim a wallet): This yours? /Tim: Yeah! How did you keep that hidden? I thought your suitcase was empty. /Arnie: False bottom. /Tim: Oh. Thanks. [Author’s note: Back in 2009, I guess I forgot to say that this story happens before cell phones, although the military probably still had some version of them.] (Tim finds a pay phone, calls his wife. No answer. Tim returns to the table.) /Arnie: All set? /Tim: I guess so. She didn’t answer. I left a message. /Arnie: See? Nothing to worry about. /Server: You decide yet, honey? /Tim: I’ll have the grits on a Ritz, coffee. [Author’s note: my mother-in-law actually made grits on a Ritz for me. Probably so I’d shut up about them. Didn’t work, though. They tasted so good I kept going on about how great they were.] /Server: Our coffee’s instant. /Tim: That’s okay. /Arnie: Make that two coffees. (Server leaves.) /Tim: I wonder why my wife didn’t pick up? /Arnie: How could I know? I’m sure she’s fine, though. /Tim (sighs): How would you know? I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. So, what do you do besides hailing cabs in a fake suit? /Arnie: Not so loud. I take the couch pillows and furniture and make office cubicles. /Tim: Oookay. Why would you do that? /Arnie: It’s fun. So, how’s your novel coming along? Besides what I’ve already read. /Tim: Here’s what I’ve got so far.

04/01/09
(Next…Novel) /Sam: You know, I put up with it last night, but this whole having-sex-with-clothes-on-thing kind of makes me feel you don’t find me attractive enough to do it in the nude. /Andy: I find a big hole in your argument. What were you wearing when we first met? /Sam: Oh, yeah. Well, I’m still puzzled by your architecture. A penthouse apartment–on the first floor? /Andy: What’s not to understand? All our buildings just have one floor. /Sam: Yeah, but why no other floors? /Andy: I never thought about it. We all are just so used to just going inside and being home. /Sam: But, how do you fit everyone in the town? /Andy: I’m not following you. /Sam: I mean, what if you run out of land? /Andy: Land? Why does everyone have to live on land? They don’t have houseboats where you’re from? /Sam: They do. Hey, that would work. /Andy: Would? It’s been working for quite some time. I still have a few minutes before I have to go to work. You want to get dressed and get it on? /Sam: Or, we can try doing it in the buff. It’s a whole lot quicker than fumbling around for clothes. /Andy: Well…/Sam: I did it with you your way last night. It’s only fair. /Andy (blushes): How about tonight? I just got to work myself up to it. I’m sorry. /Sam: If I’m still here, then okay. /Andy: Where will you go? /Sam: I don’t know.

04/02/09
(Sam paces around Andy’s apartment. No way can he feel at home here. A world of forced nudity. He remembered an ex-girlfriend once who tried to get him to join a nudist colony–right before they broke up. And now, over here, these people equated being nude with being prude. It made sense when Andy explained it, but Sam just didn’t see how he would ever get so used to nudity he would stop “seeing” it. He pads over to the kitchen and opens the fridge. A blast of cold air hits him as he peeks inside. Gooseberry jam to go with his goosebumps? Along with a slice of rib-eye? No, this is (Sam reads the label) bear meat. He never had bear before, at least before having to be bare over here. He shrugs and grabs a slice. Over here he will have to get used to it. He tries, but is unable to suppress that old saying from his home world–something about how you are what you eat. He finishes making his sandwich and tries a bite–a little dry and tough, but no worse than having to be naked all the time. Halfway through, he throws it out. He looks at the clock. What’s he going to do for 6 hours and change while waiting for Andy? He’s so bored. Sandwich. Bored. Sandwich board–maybe he can get one?

04/03/09
/Arnie: I don’t get it. All Sam’s doing is sitting aorund Andy’s place eating a sandwich and waiting for her to come home. Oh, and I also noticed the prisoners–their talk seems way too clean to be believable. /Tim: Thanks. You’re the second person to say that about Sam’s cell mates. As for the sandwich, keep reading. (Timtakes a sip of coffee, grimaces.) (Next…Novel) A sandwich board, Sam thinks. Yeah, that would cover him. He goes over to the phone. No phone book. He checks the bookcase. Nothing. Just law books. Finally, he checks under the table. Yup, right under a leg. Sam walks around until he’s by the book, then he gives it a tug. The table wobbles, but doesn’t fall. Sam looks up “Ad Placement Agencies.” He finds only one business underneath. “Looking for extra income but too busy or lazy? Call us. We’ll help you sandwich in a little work between goofing off and being lazy.” /Sam (calls the number listed): Hello? Yeah. I’d like to help advertise. Could I wear a sandwich board? Great. And it’s the “Salt ‘n’ Malt Shoppe?” Nine a m tomorrow? I’ll be there. Thanks. /Andy (comes home): Hi, sweetie (they kiss, Sam wants more but Andy breaks away.) Thanks, but I don’t feel like getting dressed now. /Sam: Huh? Oh. Well, okay. /Andy (touches his cheek): Sorry, maybe later.

04/04/09
(Next…Novel) /Sam: Hi. I’m Sam. I was sent here by the ad agency. /Clark [Author’s note: Later on, there’s a completely different Clark. Just mentioning now, so there’s no confusion. I must’ve forgotten about this Clark when I wrote about the other one later.]: Hi. I’ Clark, the clerk here at the Salt ‘n’ Malt Shoppe. /Sam: So, you have a sandwich board? /Clark: Yeah, but you can’t wear it. /Sam: Why not? /Clark: You’re too short. /Sam: Excuse me? /Clark: No, no. Not like that. You’re not TALL enough. Your feet wouldn’t reach the ground. /Sam: Oh. /Clark: Yeah, sorry, but you wouldn’t want to hang yourself. Especially with MY board. Try the breakfast bakery place next door. /Sam: breakfast bakery? /Clark: Yeah, they’re called Flakes ‘n’ Cakes. /Sam: Flakes ‘n’ Cakes? /Clark: Flakes ‘n’ Cakes. Best name-brand cereals you can buy. /Sam: Thanks. (He goes there.) /Sam: Hi. I’m Sam. I was referred to you by Clark from the Salt ‘n’ Malt. /Clerk: You don’t need a referral to eat here. /Sam: No, I mean, I’d like to wear a sandwich board and advertise your place for you. /Clerk (shrugs): Okay. I’m Bill, by the way. (They shake hands.) Here you go. (Sam puts it on.) /Sam: This is it? /Bill: Yup. /Sam: It doesn’t even reach my nipples. How can people read it? /Bill: A lot of my customers can’t read, anyway. Do you want the job, or not? /Sam (sighs): No, I guess not. Sorry to have bothered you. /Bill: Not a problem. You gonna eat? /Sam: No. (Bill turns around and starts checking on his customers. Sam shrugs and leaves the cafe.

04/05/09
(Sam leaves Flakes ‘n’ Cakes and pads on down the sidewalk. Well, he has to admit, there are some perks to this world: soft sand for sidewalks (called sandwalks) instead of hard concrete, and the misters every few feet. Those look kind of neat. Sam sees a sign for one and walks toward it. They work like a car wash, but for people. He reads the instructions: Step 1: Put on goggles. Step 2: Fasten oxygen mask. Step 3: Step on conveyor. Sam does as instructed and gets sprayed with soapy sudsy water, rinsed (at perfect temperature throughout), misted with special lotion-based skin protectant, and misted with sunblock. Sam steps off the conveyor, drops off his goggles and mask, and continues walking. He can’t stop smiling: that WAS refreshing. He turns around and looks back at the sign: “Body Works Wash–Brushless Wash.” He sees a clock on the courthouse. Andy won’t be back home for hours, yet. He wonders if he should drop by–no, she’s probably busy. He’ll see her later. In the meantime, what to do? Wait a minute. Huh? Next to the courthouse–a STRIP CLUB? In a world full of NUDISTS? He reads it again. Yup, that’s what it said, “Strip Club.” What’s the point of that? Sam knows he has to check it out.)

04/06/09
(Sam walks inside the strip club. Crowds of guys are sitting at tables, chatting and drinking. Suddenly a spotlight shines on the stage. A slender woman comes out, as nude as everyone else. Her stork-like legs carry her to the center of the stage, and toward–what’s that? Sam couldn’t see it earlier–it looks like a pile of clothes. The lady starts dancing around, then she dances over to the mound, picks up a bikini top, and holds it in front of her. The cheers grow louder. She takes the top away again, then puts it back. Then, one arm at a time, she slips it on. The guys in the audience hoot and howl. She snaps the top together in the back, then picks up a bikini bottom. A waitress wearing just a bikini top walks over to Sam’s table.) /Waitress: What would you like to drink? /Sam: A beer, thanks. Oh, I was wondering, how come you and the dancer there are wearing clothes? /Waitress: Huh? (she frowns, looks puzzled) Didn’t you see the sign out front? You’re in a strip club. /Sam: A strip club, yeah, but–/Waitress: But, what? Here women wear strips of clothing. What else could “strip club” mean? /Sam: So, it’s okay to wear clothes here? /Waitress: For the dancers and servers, yeah. Any customer who wears clothes will be kicked out.

04/07/09
(The dancer by now has on a long-sleeved blouse, snug blue jeans, socks, pumps, a vest, and is pulling on a sweater. The crowd is howling and cheering nonstop.) /Sam: How long does this go on? /Waitress: The rule is: the dancers walk out onto the stage, and they must also walk OFF the stage. /Sam: But, what does that have to do with wearing more clothes? (The dancer is now slipping into a windbreaker.) /Waitress: Before that rule, we had a dancer collapse under the weight of all her clothes. We had to call an ambulance, and everything. Fortunately, she was fine once they got her out of her threads. It was rough on the medical crew, though. /Sam: How so? /Waitress: How do you think? Coming onto a fully-dressed woman? It’s not like they were prudists. /Sam: Don’t you mean “nudists?” /Waitress: “Nudists?” Huh? That’s practically everyone. Hey, that’s a neat play on words–so instead of having prudists in a prudist colony, you have nudists in a nudist colony. Pretty clever. /Sam (sighs): I wish I could take credit for that. Where I’m from, they really do have nudist colonies. /Waitress: You must be from another planet, then. /Sam: Another dimension, actually. Back home, clothes are the norm. /Waitress (smiles): Yeah? Sounds kinky.

04/08/09
/Sam: You said something about a “prudist” colony? /Waitress: Yeah, there’s one I do know of. It’s in Las Vegas. /Sam: Where in Vegas? /Waitress: Where do you think? The Strip. /Sam: Why the Strip? /Waitress: Why do you think it’s called the “Strip?” It started out as a string of strip clubs, then the prudists figured, why not make the whole street the prudist colony? So, they changed thename to the “Strip.” /Sam: You know, back in my dimension, we have a completely different Las Vegas Strip. But, what you’re telling me actually makes more sense. /Waitress: Yeah? What’s your Strip like? /Sam: Just a bunch of casinos in a row. /Waitress: Why would that be called a “Strip?” /Sam: I’m not sure. Just used to it, I guess. Anyway, thanks for the info. /Waitress: Sure. Are you gonna order anything else? /Sam (gets up): No, I think I’m good. /Waitress (mumbles): That’s debatable (she leaves to check on her other customers. Sam leaves, too, steps outside and heads back to Andy’s. She’s home.) [Author’s note: In the handwritten original, I forgot that Sam did order a beer, earlier. That could explain the server’s attitude later on. I notice now that I forgot to mention how people purchased things without having clothes with pockets for their billfolds, cards, cash. Maybe a scanner reads their fingerprints or something. Or, a better idea, though I can’t take credit for it anymore than I can the fingerprint or retinal scan reader, is if the people can still wear pockets tied on with string or something. Since the author in this case is Tim Timmons, and not me, I’ll let him worry about it. So, I guess you can disregard this author’s note. Sorry for wasting your time.] /Sam: Hi, babe. /Andy: Hello, sweetie. How was your day? /Sam: Alright, I guess. I found a strip club near the courthouse. /Andy (her mood darkens): What do you need that for? I can get dressed for you right here. Oops. I forgot, you’re not turned on by clothes. Sorry. /Sam: That’s okay. /Andy: It was a reflex. /Sam: That’s fine.

04/09/09
Sam: Anyway, I was chatting with the waitress–/Andy: Oh, really? /Sam: Chatting WITH, not Chatting UP–/Andy: I know, I’m just messin’ with ya. /Sam: Anyway, she mentioned something about a prudist colony–/Andy: The Strip in Vegas, right? /Sam: Yeah, that’s it. /Andy: Yeah, don’t go. /Sam: Don’t go? Why not? /Andy: You know how everywhere you’ve gone around here you hadn’t had any trouble with money? [Author’s note: Oops. Guess I jumped the gun with my other author’s note. Sorry.] /Sam: Yeah, I figured this was a socialist or communist society, or something. /Andy: Not at all. We still use money. We just have machines that scan your fingerprints. [Yup, it was the prints. Cliche, I know, but not any more so than using credits or cash.] /Sam: Well, I don’t have any money, so what would they get from my prints? /Andy: I’ve got you on my account. It’s okay. I can afford it. Not all my cases are pro bono. /Sam: Well, thanks. /Andy: Sure, no problem. I just mentioned because there are things about the Strip you’re not aware of. /Sam: Yeah, like what? /Andy: Well, for one thing, they follow this cult they call “Style.” What that means is wearing clothes that are ugly and really unflattering. Also, what makes it really hard is the style changes quite frequently. /Sam: So, what if I don’t follow the current style? The Fashion Police will come get me? /Andy: Hey, this is serious. They do what they call a “Strip Search.” That’s where they find and confiscate all your clothes and kick you out of the colony. /Sam: Well, I’ll just have to be in style, then. So, what’s the problem?

04/10/09
[Author’s note: On this day, I wrote about something completely unrelated to the current story. So, today, I’m going to splice it together. Here goes.] /Arnie: You’ve shown me quite a lot of Sam, anything else you’ve been working on? /Tim: Well, I have been working on this other novel–well, not sure if I have enough for it to actually be a novel, but a different kind of story. Here’s kinda how it goes: aliens come to Earth and alter people’s anatomy so they can’t eat, anymore. Instead, they get all their nutrition from suppositories. /Arnie: Yeah? /Tim: Well, I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s thought of something like that, before. /Arnie: Doesn’t matter–let’s see what YOU did with it. (Tim shrugs, Arnie reaches into Tim’s suitcase, grabs a sheet titled “NCS.” He waves it in front of Tim.) /Arnie: This it? /Tim: Yeah. /Arnie: What does “NCS” stand for? /Tim (clears his throat): Nutritionally Complete Suppositories. /Arnie (chortles): YES. I gotta read this. (NCS) (Fitch was sitting at the table. A whole feast was spread out: steak, eggs, salad, fries, grits, bread. He stuck hsi fork into the steak–it vanished before he could take a bite. He tried the eggs next–gone. Same with all the rest of it. His stomach growled. Next, he was sitting on the toilet trying to give himself an NCS. He was barefoot on the bathroom rug. The rug kept shifting, moving, the edge would jump up and rub the back of his foot. Fitch kept trying to smooth the rug back down with his foot, but the rug kep moving, jumping, shifting. Fitch’s eyes snapped open–a cat was batting at his foot. What the?–Oh yeah. Shredder. “Hey, Shredder, ” Fitch called, “you want to find me some breakfast?” The cat just stared at him, tail lashing. Finally, Shredder hopped off the bed, started walking, stopped, turned his head back toward Fitch, and gave a series of chirps and squeaks. Fitch got the message, got out of bed, and followed Shredder into the kitchen. Shredder went right to the cupboard, put up his front paws, and started scratching at the door. Fitch opened the door. “Gee, thanks, buddy.” Fitch said as he stared at row after row of suppositories. (Tim) /Arnie: Hey, that’s pretty good. (Tim shrugs one shoulder.) No, really. You have more? (Tim answers in the affirmative, but doesn’t offer any more pages.) [Author’s note: More Fitch story precedes the beginning of the Tim story, so I didn’t type it up, yet. I probably should, at some point. I’m going to conclude this note, now.]

04/11/09
(Next…Novel) Sam: So, besides a vile style, you mentioned something about money? /Andy: Yeah, they still use old-fashioned paper money. /Sam: So? I’ll have pockets, won’t I? /Andy: Maybe, if the styles allow them. But, then you run into another problem. In some neighborhoods, called “hoods” for short, these gangs of muggers also called “Hoods” roma around. They gang up on you and steal your money. The’re hard to identify, because they hide their faces under big hoods. /Sam: Why don’t the Fashion Police do something? /Andy: I’m not sure. Maybe the Hoods are too powerful. Anyway, you never have to worry about any of that. /Sam: Why not? /Andy: Because you’re not going. /Sam: I’m not? /Andy: Great. I’m glad that’s settled. /Sam: What’s settled? That was a question, not a statement. /Andy (sighs): Yeah, I know. I was hoping YOU wouldn’t notice. Well, if you really insist on going, then I can’t stop you. /Sam: Why don’t you come with me? /Andy: For one thing, I’m not licensed to practice in the state of Nevada. And for another, I just wouldn’t be comfortable around people who are always hiding behind clothes. Third, I mentioned the Hoods. /Sam: First, you can get a license for Nevada if you want. Second, I’m not comfortable in Nudey-Land, and third, guys outside of the Strip are around, too, baring arms.

04/12/09
/Andy: Well, at least here, everything’s out in the open. /Sam: That’s the problem. Everything’s too much out in the open. There’s no mystery at all. /Andy: So, you think you can tell everything about someone based entirely on how he or she looks nude? /Sam (pauses): You’re right. Looks aren’t everything. /Andy: You don’t even have all the looks. /Sam: What do you mean? /Andy: Remember our first night here? /Sam: Yeah, so? /Andy: So, you didn’t know what kind of clothes we’d wear when we were..you know. (Sam catches her cocked eyebrow.) There’s another advantage to living here instead of the strip. /Sam: Yeah? What’s that? /Andy: Much more variety in bed. /Sam: Back home you can have variety. /Andy: Well, sure. How often do couples cheat on each other back in your dimension? What’s the divorce rate where you’re from? /Sam: Kind of high for both, I guess. /Andy: Well, over here, we can always change outfits for when we’re…you know…instead of changing partners. /Sam: You know, I never looked at it quite that way, before. /Andy: Plus, it’s safer than trying lots of different positions. /Sam: True, certain ones can be rather painful if you’re not limber enough. /Andy: So, you’re still going to the Strip? /Sam: Absolutely. My writing is about people from MY world.
04/13/09
Andy: So, what’s your story about? /Sam: Well, I was writing about a writer, and his attempts to overcome writer’s block. /Andy: Oh, could I see what you’ve got so far? /Sam: No. /Andy (quiet): Oh. /Sam: No, it’s not that I want to keep it secret, it’s just that I got stuck. /Andy: So, how much do you have so far? /Sam: Just the idea I told you. So, then, I tried writing about a cat. /Andy: Yeah? How’s that going? /Sam: Well, so far, the cat thinks people are quite silly. /Andy: Yeah? Why’s that? /Sam: Because, instead of just being in their natural state, they’re always wearing clothes. /Andy: But, we DON’T wear clothes all the time. /Sam: I know. It’s not much of a story to start with and here it doesn’t work at all. /Andy: I have an idea. /Sam: Yeah? What? /Andy: How about you write about a woman from here who wakes up one morning in your world and gets arrested for being nude? It would appear to be the exact opposite of your situation, but would really be the same thing: same thoughts basically in her head, same consequences, same same intentions, same discomfort. /Sam: You know, you may have something, there. (He thinks about it, smiles.) Yeah, I like it. Best part is, we can be together. /Andy: Great. (She smiles, until she see Sam get up and start filling a suitcase.) Hey, what’cha doing? /Sam: Better pack some clothes. We’re both going to the Strip.

04/14/09
Andy: Whatta you mean we’re both going to the Strip? I still have to work here. /Sam: So? Take a vacation. Or call in sick, or something. /Andy: Well, okay, but I’m still not sure why we have to move to the Strip. /Sam: Research. It’s different for a woman who doesn’t follow the dress code than it is for a guy. Since we have no control over whether or not we’ll slip back into my dimension, we therefore need to move to the Strip. /?Andy: Alright, (she raises a cautionary finger to Sam) hold on. (she then dials a phone number with that finger and starts talking on the phone, before hanging up and turning back to Sam.) I’m off work for a month. I need to ask you something, though. /Sam: What? /Andy: When we’re home, could we still be nude? /Sam: Sure, the protagonist isn’t going to stay dressed all the time. /Andy: So, let’s go and get this over with. /Sam (reaches for the phone, makes a call, talks, then hangs up.) I just got off the phone with Stray Hound. They have a station just a blick away, and they come every half hour. (Tim.) /Arnie: Okay. I see a big problem with your story, here. /Tim: Yeah? What? /Arnie: Pacing. The reader doesn’t need a play-by-play of all the travel arrangements. /Candy: He’s right, you know./Tim: Candy? I thought you were at your bar? /Candy: I just got off work. The owner is there, now. /Sam: I thought you were the owner of “Candy Bar.” /Candy: No. /Tim: But, your name? /Candy: Just coincidence.

04/15/09
Tim: Oh, I forgot. Have you two met? /Candy: Are you kidding? Arnie’s a regular. /Arnie: I have an idea for your story. /Tim: Yeah? /Arnie: Maybe instead of having Sam and Andy talk about the Hoods of the Strip, they could simply run into them when they’re there. Then, you’ll have action instead of just people talking about them. /Candy: That’s a great idea. That way, something will be left as a surprise for the reader. /Tim: Thanks. I’ll do it. /Candy (smiles): And, I have an idea about how they meet. (They discuss Tim’s story.) (Next…Novel) /Andy: Why did I let you take me to this? It’s the middle of summer and I’m outside with these obscene clothes on. /Sam: I think you look great. Nice and normal. /Andy (her eyes narrow): Excuse me? Have you forgotten where you are? I’ll show you normal. (She starts unbuttoning her green and purple polka-dotted long sleeve blouse.) /Sam: What are you doing? That’s illegal, here. /Andy: Relax. The Fashion Police will just kick me out of the Strip, and then I can go home again, back to the “normal” world of nudity. Anyway, I’m just shrugging out of my bra. /Sam: Well, you’re right about one thing. It is hot. (He pulls at a big seat-soaked candy-striped longsleeved shirt from his neck. It pulls back. Sam tries to pull again when a voice in his ear says, “Don’t move.” So he doesnt’t.

04/16/09
/Sam: Andy! Run! /Andy: Sam? (His head erupts into red-hot paste (?) [Author’s note: From this point forward, whenever I get to a word I can’t make out, I’ll take my best guess at it and if it doesn’t seem to make sense or follow context, I’ll follow it with a question mark in parentheses.] [Second note, his head didn’t literally erupt. I probably should’ve had it really erupt, instead of keeping him around. Oh, I keep forgetting–this is Tim’s story.] His vision clouds–and not those cute, puffy clouds, either. He looks (?) up. He’s shivering (?) and shackled in an undisclosed location–looks like a warehouse.) /Sam: Oooh. /A Hood: He’s coming ’round. (Sam blinks–his eyes burn. He opens them. Melting water from a bag of ice on is head keeps dripping into his eyes. He blinks, sees the word “Hoods” on sweatshirts of the only people not shackled.) /2nd Hood: How’s the girl? /Andy: Sam? /1st Hood: That answer your question? /Sam: Andy? /2nd Hood: Don’t you get smart with me, Earl. /1st Hood: Sorry, Harry. /Andy: Sam? You okay? /Sam: Yeah, you? /Andy: Yeah, I guess. /Harry: Great. Now, we got that settled, it’s time to talk business. /Sam: What business? /Harry: We want you to join the Hoods. I’m Harry, the president. This here is Earl, assistant vice-president. /Andy: We don’t want to join your stupid gang. /Sam: Hey, speak for yourself. At least they wear clothes. Tell us how to join. /Harry (to Earl): I like this guy. (To Sam and Andy) Okay. Here’s how it works: no one’s required to join the Hoods. However, if you don’t join, we’ll steal your money and all your clothes and let the Fashion Police kick you out. /Sam: And, if we join? /Harry: Then, we discuss your initiation fee.

04/17/09
/Sam: What’s the initiation? /Harry: You wear these Hoods’ uniforms, go out on the Strip, sneak up behind people, grab them, and bring them back here. /Sam: That’s it? /Harry: Pretty much, yeah. Oh, but your hoods must always be on your heads, no matter what the weather. /Sam: Okay. I’ll jo–/Andy: Hey, hold on. I need to discuss this with my client–I mean, my boyfriend. Could we have a moment in private? /Harry: This is a sealed warehouse in a secure location. It’s quite private. /Andy: No, I mean I just want to talk to Sam. Alone. /Harry: Warl, would you excuse us a moment? /Earl: Sure, you’re excused. /Harry: No, I mean leave. /Earl: Okay, boss. (Andy sighs.) /Sam: Wait. Before we join, how much do we get paid? /Harry: That’s a very good question. You get a whole percent of everything you steal from your vic–I mean, your potential new recruits. /Sam: Okay, sign me u–/Andy (shouts): Don’t do it, Sam. Let’s just give’em our money and clothes and we’ll walk away. /Sam: But,–/Andy: Please, sweetie. They won’t get everything. Remember how we manage back home without pockets? /Sam: Yeah, but–/Andy: And I’ll wear clothes around you in the apartment. Please, baby. /Sam: Sorry, sweetheart, but I–/Andy: One percent really stinks, Sam. At least let’s try to get a better deal than that. /Sam: I am in.

04/18/09
Harry: Great. (He looks at Andy.) Are you in, too? /Andy: I’m not leaving my boyfriend, so, yeah, I guess I have to join. /Harry: Great. Earl will give yo your sweatshirts on the way out. /Sam: That’s it? We can go? /Harry: You can go “recruit” new members, yeah. Earl will go with you, since he has nothing better to do, anyway. (Earl grabs a handgun, follows Sam and Andy outside.) /Sam: Earl, why are you holding that gun by the barrel–Ow! (Andy just elbowed Sam in the ribs.) /Earl: How do you think I recruited you two? /Andy: Sam, of course he held the handle of the paperweight when he hit us from behind. What were you thinking? /Earl: I don’t know. Maybe he’s stupid. /Andy: Hey, no one calls my boyfriend stupid. /Sam: Thanks, babe. /Andy: Hey, I didn’t say you weren’t stupid. I just said noe one CALLS you stupid. (They go into a diner for a bite to eat.) /Hostess: Sit anywhere. (After the waitress takes their orders…) /Earl (looks at his watch, jumps up and says…): Time to move my bowels. (Tim) /Candy: Hold on, there. Okay, I see some problems, here. /Tim: Shoot. /Candy: Exactly. (Arnie nods) Arnie, you see it, too. Want to tell him? /Arnie: How the hell can Earl not know how to use a handgun? There’s no way he would ever mistake it for a paperweight. /Tim: Well, maybe he’s just trying to trick Sam and Andy into thinking that he’s that dumb. /Candy: There’s no way they would think Earl’s THAT dumb. /Tim: We know that. Does Earl?

04/19/09
(Tim) /Candy: And another–Arnie, do you want to tell him? /Arnie: Go ahead. /Candy: That whole thing about Earl looking at his watch, then jumping up and announcing his business–I mean, there’s no way that would ever happen in real life. /Arnie: Yeah, they had just finished ordering, so why would Earl be looking at his watch? (Candy frowns, puzzled.) /Tim: Great point, thanks. (Next…Novel) /Andy: Why the hell did you keep insisting on joining the Hoods? They would’ve let us go. /Sam: Yeah, go all the way out of the Strip. I explained about that. /Andy: Yeah, I know. The nudity thing. Well, how do you think I feel with everyone parading around in all their clothes? /Sam: Yeah, I know. Anyway, why don’t we leave right now, while Earl is indisposed? (Andy looks at Sam, a mixture of surprise and disgust on her face.) /Andy: Just because you see people here wearing clothes in public oesn’t mean you’re back in your world. Here in this dimension, people don’t just get up and walk away. Sam: Huh? But, we can just get up and leave. /Andy: Yeah, after we eat and pay. But by then, Earl will be back with us. (Sam rolls his eyes.) /Earl: Hi, guys. (Sam and Andy glare at each other. Earl sits.) /Earl: Ooh. Loud vinyl seats. Squeaky, sticky vinyl. (Tim) /Candy: Why would Earl be talking about the diner seats? I don’t get it. /Arnie: I don’t either. /Candy: Also, why would someone (?) suggest leaving before the food arrived.

04/20/09
(Next…Novel) (The food arrives.) /Sam: What’s that you’ve got? Tomato juice? /Earl: No, it’s V7. /Sam: Don’t you mean “V8”? /Earl: No, this one is just a seven. /Andy: That explains a lot. /Earl: Why it’s cheaper? /Andy: Never mind. I was wondering, though, have you ever considered leaving the Hoods? /Earl: And do what? /Andy: Well, if you left the Strip altogether, you wouldn’t have to wear clothes all the time. Earl (his brow wrinkles in thought): Naw. I wore clothes my whole life. /Andy: Well, don’t you get tired of the Strip? /Earl: I didn’t grow up in the Strip. I’m from another dimension. /Sam: Really? So am I. /Earl: I don’t remember you from the Home. /Sam: Well, home is a big place. /Earl: But, I still would remember you. After lunch, we all get together for crafts. /Sam: Huh? (Andy grips Sam’s knee.) /Andy (to Sam): He means that he’s from a Home. /Earl: Yeah, the Happy Valley Home. /Sam: But, you just said you were from another dimension. /Ear;: That’s what the doctors told me. /Andy: You mean, dementia? /Earl (snaps his fingers) That’s it. (Tim) /Arnie: Wait a minute. Doesn’t dementia mean you forget thngs? /Tim: I guess so. /Candy: Well, you’ll work on it some mrore, right? /Tim: Yeah, I suppose I will have to.

04/21/09
(Next…Novel) (They leave the diner.) /Earl: Alright, so you guys know what you’re doing? /Sam: I think so. I whack someone on the head with this pistol, then Andy ties them up. /Earl: Right. /Andy: I’m confused. Why doesn’t Sam just POINT the gun at the vic–I mean the new recruit? /Earl: The gun is heavy for a reason. There’s your guy right there. And here’s your pistol. (Earl hands the gun to Sam and the rope to Andy. Sam takes the gun and points it at Earl.) /Sam: Alright. It’s been a blast hanging out with you, but now we gotta go. /Earl: Whatd d’ya think you’re doin’? /Andy (smiles): What does it look like he’s doing? /Earl: Letting the guy I picked get away. That’s what. Now, we gotta start over. /Sam: What do you mean “we?” Don’t you see we’re leaving the Hoods? /Earl: Well, if you’re really going to leave, could I at least have my gun and rope back? (Sam nods to Andy. She starts tying up Earl.) /Andy: You can have the rope back. (Harry sees them, walks over.) /Harry: What’s going on? /Earl: Hi, Boss. Sam and Andy were just practicing their recruiting techniques on me. /Harry (pauses): Okay. But, don’t overthink it, guys. You just want to grab someone to put in my van. (He starts walking off.) /Andy: Hey, that was quick thinking, here, Earl. /Earl: Thanks. He’s always watching us.

04/22/09
/Andy: What do you mean he’s ALWAYS watching us? /Earl: He says it’s because he likes watching the vic–I mean, new recruits–get knocked on the head. /Andy: I’m not sure that’s it. /Earl: No? /Sam: I think what Andy’s trying to say is it’s more a trust issue. Right, Andy? /Andy: No, that can’t be it. You did wait until AFTER ordering to leave the table. /Earl: Well, anyway, I see your next target. (Earl points with his nose to a bald, paunchy guy in a coral and turquoise, loose-fitting, floral-patterned shirt. /Sam: Why him? /Earl: He meets our criteria: He’s got his back to us and he’s not wearing a helmet. You already have the gun. /Andy: That’s it. It’s Sam and me he doesn’t trust. /Earl: Well, I know I can count on you two. /Sam: Thanks. /Earl: I know I can count on you to always let the targets go after I point them out for you. Floral Print already left. /Sam: Sorry, Earl. /Earl: That’s okay. Hey, how about you guys point out the next target? /Sam: How about that elderly woman with those two giant sacks weighing her down? /Earl: Bad choice. She could smack you hard ion your head with those sacks. /Sam: Umm…how about– (Tim) /Candy: Is this all that happens for the rest of the book? The three are just chatting and looking for their next victim? I’m not even sure if Earl is still tied up. /Tim: Not for the rest of the book, no. For both of those.

04/23/09
Arnie: I think what Candy was getting at was you gotta think about your pacing. /Tim: So, my characters should pace more? /Candy: That’s not quite what we mean. Although, that’s not a bad idea. Show’s tension. (Next…Novel) /Sam: How about this one? /Earl: No good. He’s just a kid. (Earl starts pacing) [Author’s note: I assume he’s no longer tied up.] /Andy: How about that withered old guy with the cane? /Earl: The cane could be a weapon. /Andy: Yeah, it could be OUR weapon after we clobber (?) him. /Earl: Okay. On one. Ready? One. (Sam and Andy sneak up behind the old man.) Sam (points gun at back of guy’s head.): Congratulations. You’ve been chosen to receive a lifetime membership from the Hoods. In other words, drop the cane and don’t move. /Old guy: I have to move in order to let go of my cane. Which, I can’t do, anyway, while I’m standing here. /Sam: Good point. Well, you’re still coming with us. /Old guy: Wrong pal. (He turns around and flashes a badge.) YOU’RE the one who’s coming with US. (Several more guys appear. Sam, Andy and Earl are handcuffed and led toward the back of a van. They step inside. /Old guy: CONGRATULATIONS! You have just been selected for JAIL! In other words, we’re locking you up. /Andy: And then you’ll ban us from the Strip, right? /Old guy: Of course. That’s why the jail is just OUTSIDE the Strip. (Andy can’t help smiling as they ride.)

04/24/09
/Sam: What are you smiling about? We’ve just been arrested. /Andy: I’m glad they’re letting us go. /Sam: Who said they’re letting us go? /Andy: Well, they just said we’re leaving the Strip. /Sam: Yeah, so? The jail is outside the Strip. I mean, if all they were doing was kicking us out, why would they need a jail? /Old guy: We used to just kick out folks we’ve arrested. But, they kept coming back. So, now we lock them up, instead. /Andy: Oh, so we’re not going home. (They pull into the jail lot) /Old guy: Here we are. Your new home. /Earl: (shakes his head, looks at Andy.) Letting us go. And people call ME stupid. /Sam: With good reasons, I’m sure. /Andy: Thanks, Sam. /Sam: Sure. (Tim) /Candy: Whoa…sorry, but there’s no possible way a cop will refer to prisoners as “folks.” /Arnie: Yeah, they would say “scum” or something like that. (He looks at the wall clock.) Look at the time. I gotta call my folks. /Candy: If you need a ride…/Arnie: It’s not that. They must be worried sick. (He leaves the table and walks to a pay phone.) /Tim: I could use a ride. [Author’s note: I’m not clear why they didn’t drive the cab. I suppose because it was stolen, and with Arnie already having shot the mugger, they didn’t want to bring along anything that could be associated with him. I should write that up in a scene, I guess.] /Candy: I didn’t ask YOU. (She looks at him all serious, then laughs.) I had you, didn’t I? /Tim: Yeah. /Arnie (comes back to the table): You guys can go ahead. My parents insist on picking me up, themselves. /Candy: Oh. Ready, Tim? /Tim: Sure, my wife should be home by now. (He downs the rest of his drink.)

04/25/09
(Next…Novel) (Sam, Andy and Earl get out of the van, flanked on all sides by guards.) /Guard: Step lively to the next room for your full-body cavity search. (Sam stepped up, stripped, then a bruising two hours later he was led to his cell.) /Sam: Hey, waiti a minute. /Guard: What? /Sam: Where’s my jumpsuit? /Guard: Think you’re still in the Strip? This is the real world, scum. (Sam looks around. Sure enough, the other prisoners, even the guards, were all naked.) Sam (to himself): Back in the damn penile colony. /Andy: Well, at least we’re out of those annoying clothes. /Earl: I miss my hood. /Andy: You remember before you were circumcised? /Earl: Huh? /Andy: Never mind. Dumb joke, is all. (Tim) (Arnie runs out to the parking lot, runs out of breath along the way, catches up to Tim and Candy.) /Arnie: Good (Huff, huff). You haven’t left, yet. My mommy and daddy decided to let me ride with you guys. Saves them a trip. /Candy: Sure, get in. (Arnie climbs into the back.) /Candy (to Arnie): Where do you live? /Arnie: Across town. No, not directly across–diagonally. Here, take the highway. /Tim: I think my place is on the way. We should get there in fifteen minutes if we take the next exit. We passed it. Well, we can still get there form te next exit that’s coming up. (Candy ignores Tim’s directions.) /Candy: Arnie, you said the third exit? /Arnie: Yeah. And then it gets complicated. /Candy: Nothing to it. /Tim: You passed my exit–again. /Candy: Tim, please, I’m trying to get Arnie’s directions. /Tim: But, you just passed my house.

04/26/09
Arnie: Here’s my house. /Candy (slows): You got your briefcase? /Arnie: Yup. (She pulls up to the curb. Arnie steps out, turns to thank Candy, but she and Tim are gone.) /Candy: Finally. I’ve got you all to myself. (She keeps one hand on the wheel, but takes her other hand, and–/Tim: Hey! I’m married. (Cindy snatches her hand back. She drives on in silence. Tim gives her directions.) /Candy: This way? Toward the pier? /Tim: We live in a houseboat my wife inherited from her uncle. /Candy: That sounds neat. /Tim: It is. Sort of. It can get a little cramped, though. /Candy: Yeah, but you can travel around the world without leaving home. /Tim: You know, my wife kept asking me why we didn’t travel more. Between my teaching and my writing, I just didn’t have time to get away. Now that I got fired, though, I’ll have more time to travel with her. /Candy: Send me a postcard. /Tim: I will. Here’s my dock. /Candy: How can you tell? It’s so dark. /Tim: You can stop here. (Tim gets out of the car.) Thanks so much for the–(Candy was gone. Tim shrugs, walks on. Instead of his houseboat, he sees his clothes and papers and things scattered around the dock. A note is attached to a plank, next to a flashlight. Tim picks up the note, turns on the flashlight, and reads, “Tim, you never have time for me. So, I’ll keep this note short. I want a divorce. Papers are enclosed. P.S.: I took my boat back.

04/27/09
Tim just looks around in a daze. So much is happening, he just can’t process it all. First, he gets fired from his teaching job, then his car dies, now he finds out his wife left him–leaving him homeless and leaving his belongings scattered all over the dock, except for what he can see bobbing on the water by the lights of other boats. Now, his flashlight starts flickering–he’ll have to figure something out before it goes out completely. The beam rests on hsi old camping gear from his scouting days. He starts gathering his things–clothes, papers, mementos–photos of him and his wife on their honeymoon at Pair’O’Dice Casinos–and tosses them into the tent. He then finds his sleeping bag and an old transistor radio. he gets in the bag and turns on the radio. His flashlight flickers again and winks out. “Sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting time…” plays from the one tinny speaker. “Well,” he thinks, “at least I still got tunes.” Maybe he’ll catch some news. “Left my home in Georgia, headed for–” Silence. “Great,” he thinks, “now the radio died.” As the shock starts to wear off his eyes sting. “Damn bitch.” His nose starts running. He finds that hideously tacky shirt of anchors and pelicans his wife–now ex-wife, he corrects–got for him when they dated. He blows his nose in it, spits on it, then tosses it into the water. Amazingly for a shirt, it makes a large enough splash to get him wet. “Anchors away.” He towels off with some other clothes, he’s mostly dry now except for his eyes, which are still wet. He curls up in his bag and waits for daybreak.

04/28/09
White-hot sharp slivers of sunlight slice through Tim’s eyelids. “Honey, could you get the curtain? Thanks.” Tim turns over–and keeps turning as he falls over the edge of the dock. The bag catches on a jagged splinter and tears open, releasing Tim into the frigid water. Tim thrashes and splashes, somehow manages to grab the edge of the dock. Gasping, rasping, sputtering and splattering, he somehow manages to get out of the water.. Once he catches his breath, he peels off his wet clothes, goes to his suitcase, grabs a pair of beige chinos and a long-sleeve shirt, and puts them on. Next, he fishes his wallet out of his wet pants. The outside is damp, but the contents are still dry. “Not bad for imitation leather.” he thinks. He finds some change and some (?) wrinkled dollar bills. “I’m gonna have to go to the bank.” Tim hates to leave his things on the dock like this, but what choice does he have? He’ll get some money, put his things in storage, then…then figure the rest out later. He walks to the bus stop. After a long wait followed by an even longer ride through traffic, Tim gets off the bus and goes into the bank. “I need to withdraw all my savings and checking,” he tells the teller. “Sure,” says the teller, “I just need to see some ID. Okay. Thank you, Mr. Tim Timmons. Here’s your money.

04/29/09
/Tim: No, I’d like to withdraw EVERYTHING, please. /Teller: This IS everything. /Tim: Are you sure? I know I had more than five dollars. /Teller: Hold on, please. I’ll get my boss. (A moment later.) /Manager: Is there a problem? /Tim: Yeah. I asked for everything from my accounts, and all I see here is five dollars. /Manager: Here’s your statement covering the last 24 hours. Your wife came in yesterday and withdrew from your joint checking and savings accounts. All she left was two dollars in your checking and three dollars in your savings. /Tim: Joint accounts? Oh, yeah. /Teller: Ah, sir? /Tim: What? /Teller: You’re now below the minimum balances of $2 in your checking and $3 in your savings. The fee for the two accounts comes to a total of four dollars and 99 cents. (Teller sweeps the fiver off the counter and replaces it with a shiny penny. Tim starts to walk away.) /Manager: Hey, you forgot your penny. /Tim: Yesterday, I got fired. Then, my car died, then I come home to find out my wife left me and took the houseboat, which wasn’t jointly owned. And now, I don’t know what to do with my things. /Manager: You need to store them. /Tim: And how am I supposed to do that? I can’t afford commercial storage. /Manager (smiles): We have a super-deluxe, extra large, room-sized, safe-box. It’ll only cost a penny.

04/30/09
/Tim: Just a penny? For all this space? /Manager: You think you’re the first person this has happened to? /Tim: I don’t know. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. /Manager: Let’s get my car and your stuff and we’ll chat. There was another customer, one who used to be in advertising before getting fired. He also had a houseboat, and a woman who left him. Same deal with the joint account. /Tim: So, what happened to him? /Manager: He got a job at a bank. This one, in fact. Started out as a teller, but quickly advanced to manager. (He holds out his hand.) Nice to meet you. I’m Zeke. (They shake hands.) [Author’s note: Revised content for clarity.] /Tim: Nice to meet you. So, why the switch from advertising? /Zeke: After getting fired, all I could get was a sandwich board outside a coffee shop. I decided, instead, I’d rather help customers who had similar problems with exes who take the money and take off. (They arrive at the dock.) Tim: I dont see any of my things. /Zeke: This is the right dock? /Tim: Yeah, I’m positive. Hey, here’s a car. Someone’s getting out. (The figure steps out, looks around, sees Tim, waves and comes over.) /Candy: Hi, Tim. I picked up your things for you. I forgot to check last night that you got in okay–(Her jaw drops and her face pales. Zeke’s eyes narrow.) Both of them at the same time: YOU! What’re YOU doing here?

05/01/09
/Tim: You two know each other? /Zeke: She’s my ex. /Candy: Ex–what? You were away at work so much I never saw you. /Zeke: I was trying to earn a living for us. /Candy: You call that living? At least nuns have each other. I didn’t even have that. You were home so seldom, I wondered if you’d even notice that I had taken the houseboat. /Zeke: Of course I noticed. /Candy: [Author’s note: Some dialog I have to skip, because it makes no sense. I must’ve been sleepy or distracted or something when I wrote it back in ’09.] So, how’s the agency? /Zeke: Last time I was there was the day you took the houseboat. It was also the day I got fired. Now, I’m a bank manager. How do you two know each other? /Tim: We met at her bar. /Zeke: YOUR bar? /Candy: I bought a bar with the money I got from selling the boat. /Zeke: You SOLD the boat? /Candy: Yeah, I did. /Tim: So, I guess we should head back to the bank with my things. /Candy: Why the bank? /Tim: I’m storing my things there until I get back on my feet. /Candy: I have an extra bedroom and bathroo. Why not move in with me? /Tim: Thanks, but we just met yesterday. /Candy: So? Knowing someone for longer (she looks at Zeke for a moment) doesn’t always work out. /Zeke: Is your place a house? /Candy: Yeah. /Zeke: With a foundation? /Candy: Of course. /Zeke: Tim, take Candy’s offer. At least she can’t take off in it. /Candy: Hey! (she frowns) Don’t you need to get back to the bank?

05/02/09
/Zeke (looks at his watch): Whoa. I’m way past time to get back. Good thing I’m in charge over there. /Tim: Is this what they mean by “banker’s hours?” /Zeke: I guess. Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you. Candy? /Candy: Yeah? /Zeke: It was nice seeing you, again. All that stuff that happened (he looks out at the water lapping at the pier) is water under the bridge–I mean (he smiles) the dock. (He gets into his car and drives off.) /Candy: Well, Tim, ready to check out your new place? (Tim catches her wiping her eyes.) /Tim: Yeah. Hey, you okay? /Candy: Of course, hon. Why wouldn’t I be? /Tim: You know, running into Zeke again, like that. /Candy: If we were right for each other, we’d still be together.(She sniffles, loudly, then forces a smile). And, I know that’s cliche to say, but I’m not a writer, anyway. Besides, whatever we had is now, like he just said, “water under the bridge.” /Tim: Actually, he said “dock.” /Candy: And, I already said I wasn’t a writer. /Tim: Good point. Ready to go? /Candy: I’ve BEEN ready. (They drive awhile. Candy notices Tim wiping his eyes.) Candy: Tim, are YOU okay? /Tim (sniffs): No, not really. It’s just all catching up with me, you know? I lost my job, car, home, and marriage, all in one day. /Candy: Yeah, but remember, that day was yesterday. /Tim: Thanks.

05/03/09
(They pull up to a brick bungalow. At least, it appears to be brick. On closer inspection, though…) /Tim: Nice brick bungalow you have here. /Candy: Thanks, but, actually, it isn’t brick. /Tim: No? It looks like brick. /Candy: Have you heard of mud huts? /Tim: Yeah, sometimes they’re part of a hill. But, the ground is flat, here. /Candy: Yeah, wel, do you want to guess what this beautiful bungalow is made of? (While they’re talking, they’re bringing Tim’s things inside.) /Tim: I give up. What? [Author’s revision.] /Candy: You’re a writer. What happens when you change the first letter of “bungalow” from a “b” to a “d?” (Tim whips his head around to face Candy.) /Tim: Are you saying your house is made out of…? /Candy: Yup. Fecal matter. /Tim: Ha. Thanks. You’re trying to make me feel better. Well, that’s a good one, but you can’t fool me. There’s no smell. /Candy: Of course not. It’s been treated with special chemicals to neutralize the odor without compromising the structural integrity of, well, what you call bricks but the correct term is really “feces pieces”. Tim (laughs): You’re really rolling with this. “Structural integrity” of poop? /Candy: Yeah. It’s similar to mud or clay. After brick-shaped feces pieces bake in a kiln, they become very strong. /Tim (looks around): It’s very neat in here. At least it was, now it looks like I’m messing the place up with my things. /Candy: You and your things are fine–just what this place needs. About the looks, just because our home is dung on the outside, doesn’t mean it has to look like shit on the inside. Right? /Tim: Good point. So, where’s my room? /Candy (smiles): I only have the one bedroom.

05/04/09
/Tim: What was that other room we saw? /Candy: Storage. Where you can keep your things. /Tim: Alright. Hey, I really appreciate what you and Zeke have done for me. /Candy: Don’t mention it. Please. Especially the part about Zeke. You know why it didn’t work out? /Tim: Well, it’s probably none of my business. /Candy: For you to ask me, no. But, you didn’t ask, so it’s okay. Sure, all the time he spent away at work didn’t help, but he also has this really disgusting habit. He likes to dig in his ears–“ear cheese” he calls the stuff he scoops out–then, he sniffs his fingers (she cringes, shakes). [Author’s note: Guilty.] /Tim: I can’t imagine living with that. /Candy: Neither could I–I mean, I was living with it, but I couldn’t imagine continuing to live with that. /Tim: Wow, you really had no choice. You HAD to leave him. /Candy: And now, I’m gonna have to leave you–to go to work. Just make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything. If you get bored, feel free to come down to the Candy Bar. I’ll be there ’til close. Oh, let me get you some clean towels. (A moment later.) Here you go. /Tim: Great. (Tim showers, changes to PJs–the kind with the footies that he had tailor-made for his adult size. His wife (now ex-wife, he mentally corrects) always complained that his foot sweat got trapped in there. All the more reason to wear them now–she can’t do anything about it. He then looks inside the fridge.) “CLOSE THE DOOR!” a baritone voice booms, “YOU’RE LETTING OUT ALL THE COLD AIR!” (Tim closes the fridge door, walks over to the phone, and calls for pizza delivery, instead. Right after he hangs up, it rings.) /Tim: Hello? /Candy: I forgot to warn you about the fridge. /Tim: That’s okay. I ordered a pizza, instead. /Candy: Cool.

05/05/09
“TIM!” (Tim bolts out of bed. Candy is spearing him with her eyes.) /Tim: I’m sorry. I was just resting. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. /Candy: Where do you think you’re going? /Tim: To the couch, of course. /Candy: Get back here. You were on the wrong side. /Tim: Oh. OH. (He smiles.) Actually, for me, this isn’t the wrong side. /Candy: I always sleep on the right side of the bed. /Tim: So do I. I have an idea. (He tosses Candy’s pillow to the foot of the bed.) Now, we both can be on the right. /Candy: That ain’t right. (She grabs Tim’s pillow.) Why don’t YOU put YOUR head at the foot of the bed? /Tim (tosses his pillow back): Because I never sleep upside down on the bed. (Candy grabs her pillow, makes like she’s going to toss it on the bed, but turns instead and whacks Tim in the face. Tim’s eyes get huge as he spits out feathers. He grabs his pillow, gets whacked again. He turns, swinging. Poomf. POOMF. Some time later, they’re both laughing among a couple of half-filled pillows and a pile of feathers. They pause to catch their breath. Tim looks at Candy, laughs again. /Candy: What? /Tim: You got feathers all over your hair. /Candy: So, get them off. (Later, they’re both on the same side of the bed. It is right.)
05/06/09
(Next morning. Alarm rings. Tim reaches over–his eyes still pasted shut from sleep–to smack it–bangs his wrist on the dresser edge. “Ow!” Still half-asleep, he turns over. Candy comes over from another room.) /Candy: Hey, babe, you up? /Tim: No, I talk in my sleep. /Candy: Actually, you did talk in your sleep. /Tim: Really? What did I say? /Candy: I don’t know. I was asleep, too. /Tim: So, how do you know I talked in my sleep? /Candy: I don’t. How did we get on this subject, anyway? (Tim shrugs.) How did you get that nasty bruise on your wrist? /Tim: I banged it on the edge of the dresser while trying to turn off your alarm clock. /Candy: Huh? I don’t have an alarm clock. And, if I did, it wouldn’t go off in the morning. /Tim: No? /Candy: I’m a bartender. I don’t work mornings. That was the phone you heard. Arnie called. /Tim: Yeah? What did he say? /Candy: He wanted to know if we’d meet him at the diner for Saturday brunch buffet. I told him the buffet would probably be over by the time we got over there, so we’ll meet there for dinner, instead. /Tim: Well, we’re both up. Why don’t we leave now? (Candy raises an eyebrow and smiles. Tim smiles back. Later…) /Candy: I’ll be right back. (Tim watches her leave, smiles. He hears her talking on the phone, then hang up. She comes back.) That’s better. I took tonight off from work.

05/07/09
/Tim: You know what? /Candy: What? /Tim: I’m gonna stay here. /Candy: No, you’re not. We’re supposed to meet Arnie. /Tim: You can meet up with him. I really don’t want to go. (Candy walks out without saying goodbye. She slams the door. Tim jumps. His stomach starts rumbling, but he just doesn’t feel like eating, yet. He goes to the couch, turns on the TV, finds a test pattern, and…He jumps when he hears a loud knocking on the door. He gets up, goes to the door, and opens it.) Hi, Arnie. I thought you were at the diner. /Arnie: I was. That’s where I got this takeout. Here. /Tim: Thanks. Where’s Candy? /Arnie: In the car. You really hurt her, dude. /Tim (shocked): Hurt her? How? /Arnie (his turn to look shocked): You know how. /Tim: No, I don’t. /Arnie: Well, let’s put your dinner away. (Arnie comes in, they walk to the kitchen.) Why didn’t you want to meet us at the diner? /Tim: I lost my job, and my newly divorced wife took the money from our joint account. I felt bad I couldn’t pay for dinner, so I stayed here. /Arnie: Whoa. You gotta talk to Candy right away. You know what she thought? /Tim: No, what? /Arnie: That you were embarassed to be seen in public with her. /Tim: WHAT? Candy’s a knockout! How could she think that? (Tim runs outside, but Candy already left in the car.) /Tim: She’s gone.

05/08/09
/Arnie: She left? /Tim: Do you see her car? /Arnie: No. (He goes back inside, heads toward the kitchen.) /Tim (follows Arnie): What are yo doing? /Arnie: She lives here, so she’ll come back, eventually. In the meantime, we can have the takeout. /Tim: Yeah (he sighs). I’m such a moron. (Tim gets plates from the cupboard, Arnie takes the takeout out of the oven.) /Arnie: (smiles) Warm. /Tim: Whattaya mean I’m “warm?” /Arnie: What? No, not you. The FOOD is still warm. (They sit and start eating.) Anyway, when she comes home, you can explain everything. /Tim: Yeah, I was embarrassed of myself, of being broke. It never even occurred to me how Candy could’ve completely misinterpret that. /Arnie: Well, women can be insecure, I guess. /Tim: Thank you, Mr. Obvious. By the way, I noticed you STILL didn’t correct me when I called myself a moron. (Arnie’s busy chewing.) At least, I don’t wear an imitation Armani suit on a Saturday. (he looks around) Hey, where’s your briefcase? /Arnie: What would I need a briefcase for, on a Saturday? /Tim: I really walked into that one. You know, I remember Candy saying she got out of working tonight. Maybe she went in, anyway? /Arnie: Well, either way, she’ll come back, eventually.

05/09/09
(Tim and Arnie eat in silence.) /Tim: So, how’s work? /Arnie: What work? I live with my parents, remember? /Tim: Oh, yeah. (More silence.) I forgot. That suit always throws me. (More silence.) Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Arnie: (puts down his fork and stares at Tim.): Why should I be ashamed? I’m not the one who ditched my friends. (More silence. Tim puts down his fork, tries to digest this information with his food. Starts getting acid reflux, and not from the food.) [Author’s note: I should mention what they’re eating. It’s peanut butter spaghetti. Candy had picked it because Tim had told her once he’d like to try it, sometime.] (Tim gets up.) /Arnie: What’re you doin’? /Tim: Looking for a phone book. I want to call Candy’s work. See if she’s there. (He opens drawers,, looks all around.) /Arnie: Phone book’s right here on the table. /Tim: Thanks.(He pages through the book.) Here it is: “Candy Bar.” (He dials the number.) /Guy’s voice: Hello? /Tim: Hi. Is Candy there? /Guy: Hold on. I’ll check. (Later.) No, Candy took tonight off. (Click.) Tim (listens to the dial tone, then hangs up the phone.): She’s not at work. /Arnie: Are you done with the potatoes? [Author’s note: I guess I did mention the food, earlier. Okay, it was peanut butter pasta and potatoes.] /tim: Huh? Yeah. (He starts pacing.) I’m worried about Candy. /Arnie: Why? I’m sure she’s fine. /Tim: Do you think she’s at the diner? /Arnie (shrugs): Call them and ask, if you want. Tim (calls. A moment later, he hangs up.): She’s not there, either. /Arnie: Well, we are at her dungalow. [Author’s note: In case I forgot to call it that, earlier.] Eventually, she’ll come home, again. /Tim (sighs): Yeah.

05/10/09
/Tim: There’s one more place I’d like to try. /Arnie: What? /Tim: The dock. /Arnie: Hold on a moment. /Tim: What? /Arnie: I just want to call my parents. Let them know I’ll be home late. (he calls them, lets them know.) Okay, I’m ready. (He follows Tim.) Why don’t we get a cab? /Tim: I’m broke. That’s why. You have cab fare? /Arnie: No. We just passed a bus stop./Tim: So? (Arnie darts back to the bus stop, studies a chart, checks his watch–a zirconium-studded, imitation Rolex.) /Arnie: Buses are still running. /Tim: That’s okay. I’ll, uh, alright. We’ll ride. (After a few minutes, a bus arrives, wheezing and groaning. Tim follows Arnie onto the bus, reaches for his wallet–) /Arnie: What’re you doing? /Tim: I forgot my wallet. /Arnie: So? I paid for both of us, already. /Tim: Thanks. (The bus leaves the stop, shudders, gasps, and is still.) /Bus driver: I have an announcement to make. /Tim (to Arnie): Why is he using a loudspeaker? You and I are his only passengers. And we’re near the front. (Arnie shrugs). /Driver: First, the bad news: as you can see, we have broken down. Also, this is the last bus for the night, and the next bus won’t come until Monday morning, day after tomorrow. However, the good news is the bus broke down near my house. (He gets up.) Goodnight. (The driver leaves.) /Tim: Now, what do we do? /Arnie: What do you think? We do what the driver did and get off the bus.

05/11/09
/Arnie: Where are you going? Candy’s house is back that way. /Tim: I’m not going back to her house, yet. There’s still one more place I want to try, first. /Arnie (sighs): Fine, don’t listen to me. /Tim: Don’t listen to you about what? /Arnie: I keep saying eventually she’ll come home, to her house. So, running around everywhere is completely unnecessary. /Tim: You say somethng? /Arnie: If I did, would it matter? /Tim: Huh? /Arnie: Never mind. (A couple hours later, they arrive at the dock. Waves lap the poles like cats lapping water.) /Arnie: Looks empty to me. /Tim: I really thought she’d be here. /Arnie: Maybe she was here two hours ago. How long do you expect her to stay here? /Tim (sighs): I guess we should’ve stayed at the house. /Arnie: Don’t even–that’s what I’ve been saying all along. /Tim: Well, I guess we’ll walk back. /Arnie: Before we start heading back, could I just do one little thing? /Tim: Sure, what? /Arnie: Could I throw you into the water? /Tim: Come on, let’s go. /Arnie: Already? But, we just got here. /Tim (sighs): Alright, we can rest a little. What’re you doing? /Arnie: What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking off my shoes so I can stick my feet in. (splash) Aahh@ You oughta try it. The water’s great. /Tim: Okay. (He shrugs and jumps in all the way. /You’re right. Glad I listened to you.

05/12/09
(The cold water embraces Tim, wakes up every pore. He smiles stupidly until he feels a sudden tug from below. He gasps, inhales water, splutters, splashes, goes under, takes in more water, splashes, thrashes, gags, drags, Arnie shouts to him from a great distance.) /Arnie: Stand up. (Tim stands, his head is above the water. He splutters, coughs, clears his throat.) /Tim: I n-n-nearly drowned. I felt a tug. (He gets out of the water and onto the dock, looks down, and finds some seaweed wrapped around part of his midsection.) /Arnie: A new fashion statement? (Tim finally gets himself extricated from the kelp, throws it back into the water, then gets a splinter from the dock in his newly exposed flesh.) /Tim: Ow! First I nearly drown, now this. /Arnie: What? /Tim: A splinter. On my–/Arnie: Ouch! /Tim: Exactly. So, I guess we’ll head back to her house. /Arnie: Already? We just got here. We don’t want to stay awhile? /Tim: No, I’d rather check if Candy came back, yet. /Arnie: Alright, I can use Candy’s phone to call my folks. (Tim carefully puts on his clothes. They start walking back. Finally, they arrive at the house.) /Arnie: Well? Open up. /Tim: I’m looking for the key. Damn. /Arnie: No key? /Tim: No key. Had one. Left it inside. Well, at least I also forgot to lock the door. (Tim turns the knob, rattles the door–nothing. /Arnie: Great. Now what? (Tim shrugs.)

05/13/09
/Arnie: If you had only listened to me before–/Tim: Yeah, I know. We would’ve been inside waiting for Candy instead of out here, we would’ve been a lot more comfortable, yeah, yeah, I forgot my key, just give me a break, already. (Arnie starts walking.) Where are you going? /Arnie: I don’t need to be in Candy’s house. I might as well go home. /Tim: How are you doing that without a car? /Arnie: I’ll call a cab, then, when it drops me off, I’ll get in with this. (He holds up his key to his parents’ house.) Good night. /Tim: ‘Night. (Tim sits on the stoop. Crickets chirp, bullfrogs burp. A pair of lights shine. Candy gets out, slams the car door, walks to the house, unlocks the front door without acknowledging Tim.) /Tim: Your headlights are still on. (Candy goes back to the car door, opens it, turns off the lights, slams the car door again, walks back to the house, opens the door, goes in, and slams it behind her. Tim gets up, tries the knob. It turns. He walks in. Candy’s in the bathroom. He hears the sink running. The sink stops running. Candy comes out in her nightgown, goes to bed.) Candy? (No answer. Tim goes to the bedroom, gets into the bed. Candy turns away from him. Tim tries to hug her. She shrugs him off.) Candy? (Tim sees Candy’s body convulse, hears muffled sobbing.) Tim: Sweetie? (More sobbing).

05/14/09
/Tim: Candy, you are completely wrong about why I didn’t come to the diner with you and Arnie earlier tonight. (Silence) Candy? /Candy: Well? Say it, already. /Tim: I was embarrassed with myself. I couldn’t afford dinner, so I decided not to go. (Silence for a while. Tim wonders if she’s asleep. Then…) /Candy: You understand now why I thought it was me? /Tim: Well, aah…/Candy (faces him): If what you’re saying is true–/Tim: Absolutely. I swear. /Candy: If it’s true–/Tim: Totally, ma’am. /Candy: Will you let me finish? /Tim: Sorry. /Candy: If you’re telling me the truth, then how could you be so stupid? /Tim: Huh? me–stupid? /Candy: Yeah. You. Stupid. You think it’s news to me that you don’t have any money? Did you think I forgot that you lost your job and home and spouse and all your money in your bank accounts all in one day? I wasn’t expecting you to pay for dinner. I was just expecting you to come. /Tim: I’m truly sorry about the misunderstanding, but what I still can’t understand is how you could possibly think I’d be embarrassed being seen with you. You’re so pretty and cute. /Candy (her expression softens): I guess we can both be pretty dumb, sometimes. /Tim: You’re pretty all the time. /Candy (smiles): Come here, you big dummy. (Later…) /Tim: I want to make something clear. Don’t ever think I’m embarrassed to be with you ’cause of you, since it ain’t true. /Candy: Okay. And don’t you be ashamed of being broke. /Tim: I can’t promise that, but you’ll see me try, at least, because we’ll be together.

05/15/09
/Tim: So, where were you, earlier? /Candy: I drove around for a while, then went to te dock, then went home. /Tim: Arnie and I were at the dock. But, then, we were at your house before you were. /Candy: I didn’t feel like hanging out at home by myself, so I saw a movie. /Tim: That new one? /Candy: Yeah. The horror flick about a crazed projectionist that snieaks around in a dark auditorium murdering moviegoers. /Tim: “Now Playing”, yeah. I heard it was really scary. /Candy: It was. I could’ve used you there. /Tim: Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just…(he grows quiet.). /Candy: What, babe? /Tim: I’m just not used to not having a job and a paycheck. [Author’s addition: next 8 sentences.] /Candy: What about palimony from your wife. /Tim: She had that divorce worked out with her attorney BEFORE I got fired. All that changes is that I don’t have to pay HER anything. /Candy: Oh. Are you sure you can’t get alimony or palimony from her? /Tim: Positive. Besides, if I stir up any trouble, they might find a way to charge ME with alimony. Plus with legal fees–/Candy: Sure, I get it. Well, I’ll tell you something: I’m not used to being with a guy who thinks I’m pretty. /Tim (his eyes grow huge): I’m having a hard time believing that. /Candy: Well, the whole time my ex and I were together, he kept working long hours, he never game me one compliment, and he always preferred take-out over dining out. /Tim: Well, maybe he was just so busy with work…/Candy: Exactly. Too busy to notice me. Now, do you see why I have absolutely no problem whatsoever with you not working? I’d rather our relationship works, instead. /Tim: That is all interesting. However, I still feel like a burden.

05/16/09
/Tim: I guess I’ll start paging through the want-ads. /Candy: What for? You arleady have a job. /Tim: No, I got fired from my teaching job. /Candy: So, now you’re down to one job. You’re a writer. /Tim (laughs): Yeah, it’s true I’m a writer, but a job is something that usually involves getting paid. I didn’t get paid for my writing, yet. /Candy: Well, now you can work full-time on getting published. /Tim: I still need a paying job. Oh, and I technically was published before, if you count the school paper. /Candy: Of course that counts. Do you list it as a publishing credit? /Tim: I will when I start sending my novel off. Now, I’m still working on it. /Candy: I don’t know much about writing novels, bu can’t you just send an excerpt, first, then collect some money while working on the rest of it? /Tim: Probably. I would need a literary agent. /Candy: Where would you find one? /Tim: Probably in the newspaper. Which I need for job-hunting, anyway. (Tim checks the front story.) /Candy: I don’t get the apper delivered. I buy it from the newstand, so I can get the later edition. We can worry (?) about the agent, later. Come back to bed. /Tim (sighs): I’m up, already.

05/17/09
/Candy: Well, I’m tired. I’m going to bed. /Tim: The sun is coming up. /Candy: So? I work evenings, nights. Come to bed. /Tim: I’m just too wound up. /Candy: So, write something, then come to bed. Oh, if you decide to get some breakfast or a paper or whatever, my purse is on the counter. /Tim: Now, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me, but I can’t be reaching into my wife’s purse every time I need some cash. (Candy smiles, beams.) /Tim: What? /Candy (with a huge smile): Did you hear what you just said? /Tim: Of course. Didn’t you? /Candy: Yes, I heard, and yes, I accept. /Tim: Well, I can’t accept this money situation. I just told you I can’t always be taking money from my wife’s p–(He pauses. The pause gets longer. He clears his throat.) Oh, well, uh, I don’t even have a ring. My ex never returned hers. Probably pawned it by now. /Candy (still smiling): You think I care about a ring? /Tim: Of course. Don’t you? /Candy: A little, sure, but we can always get one later. Hey, I noticed you still have your band on. /Tim: Yeah, I’m so used to wearing it I forgot I had it on. (Candy holds out her hand, Tim takes the ring off his sweaty finger and slips it over her thumb. [Author’s addition: next sentence.] Neither of them realize that the ring will return to Tim. He drops to one knee.) /Tim: Candy, will you marry a broke, unemployed free loader? /Candy: Only if it’s you, Tim.

05/18/09
/Candy: So, future husband. /Tim: Yes, future wife? /Candy: Now are you ready for bed? /Tim: I’m not sleepy. /Candy: Who said anything about sleeping? (Later, they go to the living room.) We need to celebrate. /Tim: I thought we just did. /Candy: No, I meant going out. (Tim gets quiet.) What’s wrong? You DO want to marry me, right? /Tim: Of course, babe. It’s just, I still need to get a job. /Candy: I don’t believe this. (She runs into the bedroom, slams the door.) /Tim: Candy? Sweetie? (Phone rings. Tim answers.) Hello? /Arnie: Hey, what’s up? /Tim: Candy and I just got engaged. /Arnie: I’ll be there in a half hour. I’m taking you two out. /Tim: Okay. But, I just want to let you know I still don’t have much money. /Arnie: What does that have to do with anything? Of course, you guys aren’t paying for your own engagement party. (Tim’s quiet.) Hello? /Tim:Yeah, I’m still here. /Arnie: Well, I’ll see guys later. (Catch. Tim hangs up. Knocks on bedroom door). /Candy: Go away. /Tim: Arnie’s coming over in a half-hour to take us out. /Candy: You and him have a fun time. /Tim: No, he’s taking both of us out. (He tries the door. It’s locked. He rattles it.) /Tim: Come on. Open up. /Candy: So, it really IS me. When it’s an occasion like ours where neither of us pays, your money explain (?) cause I work.[Author’s note: I know the end of this paragraph doesn’t make sense. I couldn’t read it all.]

05/19/09
/Tim: Candy? (silence) Candy? (He hears a knock on the front door. Tim opens it.) /Arnie: Hi, Tim. /Tim: Hi, Arnie. /Arnie: So, ready to party? /Tim: No. /Arnie: Great! Let’s g–(pause) You said “no?” Where’s Candy? /Tim: In the bedroom. Maybe you should go without us. /Arnie: Did you hear what you just suggested? Go have an engagement party without the future bride and groom? You’re kidding, right? (Silence. Tim’s sulking.) Alright if I check on Candy? /Tim: Sure. (Arnie knocks on the bedroom door.) /Arnie: Candy? It’s me, Arnie. May I come in? /Candy: I don’t care. (Arnie opens the door. Candy is curled up in the fetal position.) /Arnie: Waht’s going on? We’re supposed to be celebrating your engagement. /Candy: And we would, if Tim weren’t embarrassed to be seen with me. /Arnie: And what makes you think he’s embarrassed because of you? Did he actually say to you, “Candy, I like you and all, but I never want people to see me with you because I’m embarrassed by your looks”? (Silence.) Well? /Candy: Well, it’s ot like he has to pay or anything. All he’s got to do is be seen with me. /Arnie: Maybe he’s embarrassed of himself? /Tim: Bingo! /Arnie: Okay. Great. Now that we cleared that up, let’s party.

05/20/09
/Candy: This whole engagement was a mistake. /Tim: I knew my being out of work mattered. /Candy: That’s not it. Not exactly. /Arnie: Should I go? /Tim: No. /Arnie: Well, I’ll be in the living room, then. (He turns on the TV, turns the volume up.) /Candy: If you feel bad about yourself, that really doesn’t do anything for me. /Tim: Well, I just don’t want you thinking it’s you who’s inadequate. /Candy: You don’t get it. How do I know you honestly choose to be with me? I keep thinking you’re settling for me because you don’t think you can do any better. /Tim: Oh, come on. I never thought that. /Candy: Well, that’s all I can think. /Tim: You know, I could say the same about you. /Candy: You don’t think I could get someone better–I mean, else? Someone else? /Arnie: Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. Well, actually, I could’ve helped, but I’m nosy. Anyway, I have an idea. /Tim: What? /Arnie: Let’s all go out. /Candy: But, we’re not sure we want to stay engaged. /Arnie: That’s why we should go out. You guy both act like you’re single and available and flirt with people. /Candy: Why? /Arnie: So when you each pick up someone new, neither can accuse the other of settling for each other. /Tim: Is that necessary?

05/21/09
/Arnie: Necessary? You tell me. Ever since you two announced your engagement you’ve been engaged in battle. /Tim: Hey, that’s good–“engagement” and “engaged in battle.” Maybe I’ll use that in a story. /Arnie: If you do, don’t have a writer in your story point that out. Ruins the whole effect. /Candy: I agree. It’s not good to point out every little thing to the reader. Better to be more subtle. /Tim: Thanks, guys. /Arnie: So, anyway, back to my idea? /Candy: Guys at the Bar hit on me all the time. But, that doesn’t prove anything. They’re usually drunk and desperate. I never take their advances as compliments. /Tim: And as for me, how can I hit on another chick if I can’t even buy her a drink? /Arnie: If I can address these issues right now, then will you guys try my idea? (Candy and Tim look at each other and nod.) /Arnie: Great. Tim, here’s money for cab fare and to buy a girl a drink. (Tim stares at Arnie’s wad of bills that suddenly appears.) /Arnie: Now, Candy, I’m completely sober. Would you like to go out with me? /Candy: Now, how do I know you’re not just feeling sorry for me? /Tim: And me. /Candy: So, no. /Tim: And take your money back. /Candy: Nice try, though.

05/22/09
/Arnie: So, neither one of you wants to go with someone else? /Tim: Not if I don’t have my own money to buy her drink with. /Candy: And not if you’re going to feel sorry for me. (Arnie smiles.) /Candy: What’re you smiling about? /Arnie: If neither one of you wants to go out with someone else, then you might as well stay engaged. (Candy and Tim look at each other and smile.) /Tim: I think we were all going out? /Arnie: Are you ready? /Tim: I sure am. /Arnie: Candy, are you ready? /Candy: Yes, I am. /Arnie: Then, by the state of relief, I now pronounce us ready to party. /Candy grabs her bags, opens the door. Sharp shards of sunlight slice through the sky, glinting off of Candy’s car.) /Tim: I guess our “night” of celebrating is over. /Arnie: That’s okay. Breakfast is still on me. (At the diner…) So, how’s the writing coming? /Tim: Alright, I suppose. /Arnie: Did you bring your story with you? /Tim: Uh, I think I left it–/Candy: It’s in my purse. (Tim looks at Candy. His eyebrows raise.) I always carry a draft of your story with me. I like it. (Candy pulls out a rumpled, wrinkled wad of papers.) /Arnie: I’m going to have to read some of that, so I can catch up. (Candy and Arnie are quiet as they read. Tim sips some coffee.)

05/23/09
/Candy: So, that’s it? /Tim: Yeah. So far. Arnie? /Arnie: I was going to ask what happens next. /Tim: Well, the lawyer is also in jail. /Candy: Yeah, but why should Sam and Earl also be locked up? /Tim: Well, they’re Hoods. /Arnie: Not anymore, they’re not. An all-nude prison makes them Nudes. /Tim: Yeah, I guess. /Candy: So, are all three in the same jail? /Tim: Yeah. In their reality, clothes are sexy, but skin is not. /Candy: But, eventually the clothes have to come off. /Tim: No. They have openings [Author’s note: Thanks, Ann Marie (my wife) for deciphering that word for me.] in their clothes for that. /Arnie: So, they always keep their clothes on, even during…? /Tim: Not “even” during–ONLY during. They do change outfits for variety. /Candy: Are they repulsed by each other? /Tim: Not necessarily. It’s just that day after day, always seeing the same melons and sausages dangling in your face all the time, they just get so used to it they’re not turned on anymore. It’s like if you’re under water a long time, your air runs out of your tank, then you finally get to the surface, you’ll really be excited by those first few breaths of air. But, just sitting here like we are, you don’t even think about the air around us. /Candy: Okay, I get it, now. /Arnie: Me, too. Good analogy, Tim. You ARE a writer. /Tim: Thanks.
05/24/09
[Next…Novel] /Sam: I just can’t get used to this. /Andy: Being in jail? /Sam: No. That’s not it. I was in jail when we met. /Andy (smiles): You just can’t stay out of the slammer. Is it the nudity thing? /Sam: Actually, that’s how we were before our trip to the Strip, so it’s actually becoming so familiar and common that I’m not turned on like I expected to be. /Andy (sighs theatrically): Finally. What is it, then? /Sam: Back in my universe, we never had co-ed prisons. /Andy: Well, we used to not have them, either, but with overcrowding it just became unavoidable. /Sam: Why? /Andy: Most crimes are committed by women. So, men’s prisons, like the one we met in, are okay, but the women’s prisons were really getting crowded. By combining the two, they wind up with less overcrowding while also saving on new prison cells. /Sam: Okay, but mixed-genders, won’t that lead to, you know…/Andy: That’s why we’re not alowed to wear any clothes, whatsoever. Constantly being around naked people doing all basic bodily functons… /Sam: Yeah, I see. Actually, the longer I’m here, the less turned on I get, too. (Clomp, clomp, clomp. Jangle. Creeeeak.) /Guard: You, you, and you. (Sam, Andy, and Earl all pointed to themselves. /Guard: Yeah, you three–follow me. (Clomp, clomp.) /Guard: Your bail has been posted. Here’s what you came in with. You’re free to go.

05/25/09
(Next…Novel) (Sam, Andy, and Earl pick up their gray hooded sweatshirts and sweatpants and walk toward the exit.) /Earl: I think I know who bailed us out. /Boss: Ya got that right. We Hoods are always there for each other. /Sam: Andy, what’s wrong? /Andy: Nothing. (Boss parks at a diner.) /Boss: You guys are probably hungry after eatin’ prison gruel. So, we’ll eat now. My treat. /Andy: Sam and I are really tired after our ordeal in the slammer. /Boss: Okay. This time, we’ll get you a doggie-bag. (Boss and Earl leave. Some time later…) /Andy: Now, I’m tired. /Sam: And sweaty. /Andy: But not too sweaty to cuddle. /Sam: Never too sweaty to cuddle. (Tim) /Candy: So, why don’t Sam and Andy drive off in the van? /Arnie: Yeah, then they won’t have to be stuck doing things for the Hoods. /Tim: The boss took the key. /Candy: So, they couldn’t hotwire it? /Tim: Too clche. /Arnie: Couldn’t they simply leave the van? /Tim: And go where? They are miles away from public transit. /Candy: How about calling a cab? /Tim: Sure. From the phone inside the diner. /Candy: Oh, so, they’re both in sweats inside a hot van. No wonder they were sweating. /Tim: Who said the van was hot? /Candy: How else could people be nude? Besides, you said they were sweating. (Sweat forms on Tim’s brow.) /Tim: But, not form being hot. They were busy in the van. /Arnie: Oh. I didn’t get that.

05/26/09
/Tim: Anyway, I mentioned in or near the beginning of the story that in cold or wet weather, the people wear these special clear outfits that protect them from the elements. /Candy: How about from sunburn? /Tim: Sunblock. They spray it on. /Arnie: I’ll be right back. /Candy: That’s right. They could’ve gone into the diner to use the restrooms than called a cab. They don’t seem too bright. /Tim: Who says they want to escape the Hoods? Sam gets to wear clothes, and Andy gets turned on by Sam in clothes. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. /Candy (grabs Tim’s hand.): No apology necessary. I was just being insecure. /Tim: We both were. /Candy: Crazy how one little misunderstanding can escalate. /Tim: I know. I do think you’re beautiful, though. /Candy (gets quiet): Thanks. (Arnie starts walking back, gets within earshot.) /Tim: Oh, and you’re also very very pretty. (Candy smiles, winks. Arnie returns to his seat.) /Arnie: Thanks, Tim. (They all laugh, though Tim’s face reddens.) /Tim: Actually, I was talking to my fiancee. /Arnie: Gee, thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I’m ready to get engaged just yet. (They laugh some more.) /Tim: Oh, you’re such a tease. All this wining and dining I’ve been doing. /Arnie: Followed by more whining. (They laugh, again.) /Arnie: So, when’s the wedding? /Tim: We didn’t set a date, yet. We’ll let you know.

05/27/09
/Arnie: Hold on. Back to jail, or what you call a jail. That ain’t no jail, that’s a nudist colony. I mean, come on. Coed? /Tim: To the prisoners, nudity is normal to the point where it goes unnoticed. They’re still in small, cramped cells, and each cell still has a single open toilet. /Arnie: I’m sorry, but if it’s coed, it ain’t prison. Put them, at least, on opposite sides of the building or something. (SLAM! Three guys with turbans and sunglasses storm into the diner, waving semi-automatics.) /Leader: We represent the group Moe Ali Devotees. You are our prisoners. (Tim writes on a napkin and passes it to Arnie.) “We’re co-ed (?).” (Arnie reads. Arnie writes back.) “Doesn’t he mean ‘hostages’?” /Second terrorist: Hey, boss, don’t you mean “hostages?” /Leader: Something: Just consider them all on death row. Hell, we’ll even start shooting now. (He aims the barrel at Candy. Tim jumps in front of her, pushes her down. Trigger clicks. Silence. The Leader checks the safety. It’s off. It clicks a second time.) /Leader: I need some ammo. /Second Devotee: So do I. /Third Devotee: Me, too. (All the guns click.) /Leader: I thought I told one of you to get ammo. /Second Devotee: We thought YOU were getting it. (The diners go back to eating, ignore the Devotees. /Tim: Candy, you okay? /Candy: You bounced my head off the floor, but you jumped between me and that gun. Very brave.

05/28/09
/Third M.A.D. Guy: Hey, Boss. This gun is loaded. (Everyone turns back to the M.A.D. group.) /Leader: Well, fire it, already. (People scramble under tables as Third Guy fires his gun. Instead of bullets, a huge sign shoots out that says, “Thank you for watching the Moe, Al, and Dale (M.A.D.) improv sketch acting troupe.” [Author’s note: Earlier, I had changed a longer Middle Eastern name to Moe because I shied away from typing the other name I had written. The gag at the end probably would’ve worked better if I hadn’t made that change. Lesson learned.] After no more “shots” are fired, the diners peek out from under their tables and read the sign. The actors bow, but no one claps.) /Moe: Catch us next week at the dock when we play a mob. (M.A.D. leaves to a standing ovation of boos.) /Tim: Anyway, Arnie, do you see how for a moment there, we were all prisoners in the diner? It didn’t matter, then, that we were “coed”. That wasn’t even an issue. /Candy: For REAL prisons, it is, though. /Tim: And, even if you prefer the term “hostages”, well, aren’t hostages also prisoners? /Arnie: I see that, sure, but co-ed just makes it a community. /Candy: Arnie has a good point. The co-ed prison is a tough sell. /Arnie: Yeah, why not put Andy–Andy is a she, right? /Tim: Yeah. /Arnie: That’s another thing. You might want to avoid names that aren’t gender specific. “Sam”, “Andy”–they both can go either way. Why not put the girl of the group in a neighboring women’s prison then make Sam do a hit for the group to raise enough bail money to get her out? /Tim: I’ll think about it But, Andy is an attorney. Her name is short for Andrea. She made it Andy so her gender wouldn’t be an issue.

05/29/09
/Arnie (starts coughing, guzzles some juice, sighs.): Hold on a moment. In your world, the people are so relaxed about gender they mix it up in jail, yet at the same time Andrea changes er name to Andy to avoid gener issues as an attorney? /Tim: Yeah. That’s right. /Candy: I think I get it. Andy is wrong to be worried about gender. It’s not even an issue to anyone else. So, she’s hiding behind the “Andy” name because she’s too insecure to show her true self, which in her world is kind of ironic, since she shows everything else. /Tim: Not her clothes. And what she chooses to wear in the privacy of her home can be more revealing than simply being nude. /Candy: Yeah, we got that, already. What I’m trying to say, though, is I get where Andy’s coming from, because, as you well know by now, I get insecure, too. I’m right about why she shortened her name, though, aren’t I? /Tim: Actually, the “Andrea” name was an afterthought. But, I like your interpretation better. /Candy: So do I (she’s smiling). /Tim (smiles back): Of course, you thought of it. /Candy: I only said out loud what you were thinking in your subconscious. /Tim (smiles bigger): Thanks. /Arnie: Well, looks like we’re done, here. I got the check. I have enough allowance money to cover it. /Candy: I can get it. I make enough in tips at my bar. /Arnie: Okay. Thanks. (Candy opens her purse, grabs a bunch of wadded, wrinkled one-dollar bills.) /Candy: Tim, why the long face? /Tim: The whole money thing, again. /Arnie: Candy, do you have a bouncer at your bar? /Candy: No, it’s just a friendly neighborhood tavern. /Arnie: Hire one.

05/30/09
/Candy: You know, I never even thought of hiring a bouncer. /Arnie: That’s why I mentioned it. /Candy: I’ll have to look at the books to see what I could afford to pay for one. /Tim: Maybe you could hire an accountant? /Candy: You know, an accountant could also help with other bills and taxes, besides what I would need for the bar. /Tim: I used to balance my checkbook, back before my ex-wife took everything. /Candy: Okay. How about you, Arnie? /Arnie: Trust fund. I don’t need to work. /Candy: What if the fund runs out? /Arnie: Compounded interest. Which, in a crazy way, sort of means the more I spend the more I have left. /Candy: Well, I’m pretty sure that sounds like a good idea, Arnie. /Arnie: To have a bouncer or an accountant? /Candy: To have a trust fund set up like yours ./Arnie: Well, Tim, I could give you money for accounting course. /Tim: Thanks. /Arnie: No problem. Consider it an engagement present. Candy? /Candy: Yes? /Arnie: Will you make a job for Tim? Hire him to work for you in sickness and in health, for part-time or full, to bounce people and not checks, until payment for hsi writing does that? /Candy: I do, or will, for all that. /Arnie: And do you, Tim, agree to not be insecure about money, to let Candy pay you, in exchage for honest work, as long as you both benefit. /Tim: I will try. /Arnie: TRY?`

05/31/09
/Tim: Yeah, try. That’s the best I can do. I lost my job, home, and spouse. I haven’t yet been published. I simply can’t promise to not feel insecure at times. (His hands grip, crinkle, wrinkle, stretch and tear his soiled cloth napkin.) I do promise to try, though, Candy, if you can understand that it’s got nothing to do with you. I love how you look. You, Candy, are definitely the best part of us. /Candy (smiling wide, eyes wet and shiny): Well, I certainly can’t argue with that. /Arnie: Great. I now pronounce you two officially engaged. Tim, you may set a date with your fiancee. Tim and Candy kiss, then stare into each other’s eyes. Arnie clears his throat. They look at him, sit back.) /Arnie: Well, the check’s been paid, soI guess we can get going. Would you mind dropping me off at my parents’ house? /Candy: Not at all. /Arnie: Thanks. Oh, I almost forgot–on the way, could we stop at the post office? I need to get some more stamps. /Candy: Sure. /Arnie: Thanks. I’ve got a mail-order bride in Montreal. /Tim: Congratulations. /Arnie: Thanks. /Tim: But, you sure you need stamps for that? /Arnie: Yeah, we’re taking things slow, at first. So, now, we’re just pen pals. /Candy: That’s great. /Arnie: Hey, maybe I can send her a photo of you? /Tim: Sure.

06/01/09
(Tim, Candy, and Arnie are in Candy’s car.) /Candy: Here’s the post office. /Arnie: Thanks. Hopefully, the line won’t be too long. /Candy: That’s okay. We’re getting stamps, too. /Tim: Yeah. I’m getting some for a correspondence course. (They’re in line.) /Candy: And, I’m getting stamps for invitations. /Arnie: How many stamps do you need? I can get them. /Candy: That’s okay. Thanks, but we’ve got it. /Arnie: My turn is coming up. /Postal clerk: Next. /Arnie: Hi. I’ll get six books of stamps, please. /Clerk: Here you go. /Arnie: Thanks. (He buys the stamps, hands two books each to Tim and Candy.) /Candy: Oh, thanks. /Tim: Yeah, thanks, Arnie. /Arnie: Sure, no problem. (They go back to the car and drive to Arnie’s parents’ house.) /Arnie: Thanks for the lift. /Candy: Thanks for the stamps. /Tim: Yeah, thanks. /Arnie: Sure. (He starts walking.) /Candy: Hey, Arnie? /Arnie (turns): Yeah? /Candy: I’m working tonight at Candy Bar. Stop in and have a drink./Arnie (smiles): Sure, thanks. (Candy and Tim wave and drive off.) /Candy: Arnie doesn’t really have a mail-order bride. /Tim: Why do you say that? /Candy: For one, he said they were pen pals yet he never got international stamps /Tim: Would he need them for Canada? /Candy: I guess. Hmm, now, I’m not sure.

06/02/09
/Candy: For another, I don’t think mail-order brides ever start as pen pals. And third, don’t mail-order brides usually come from poorer countries than Canada? /Tim: I don’t know. We could ask Arnie for a picture of her. Or, better yet, invite her to our wedding. /Candy: We could, but neither one really proves anything. He can just show us a picture of anyone and say it’s her. And, she could always get sick the day of our wedding. /Tim: Well, we could just take his word for it. /Candy: Unless, maybe, he means for us to see through his story. /Tim: Or, we can simply give Arnie the benefit of the doubt. /Candy: Well, we’ll invite her to the wedding, anyway. (They pull up in the driveway, get out and go in. Candy grabs paper and pens.) So, we’ve got Arnie and his pen pal bride. Who else are we inviting? /Tim: Zeke. /Candy (just stares at him, her eyes widen and her jaw drops): My ex? /Tim: He was very helpful right after I had just lost everything. /Candy: So was I. /Tim: Yeah, thanks. I haven’t forgotten what a free-loader I am. /Candy: I didn’t mean it like that. /Tim: Why are we even doing this? You can do better than me. (Tim leaves, Candy cries.)

06/03/09
(Candy hears the front door slam shut. She runs toward it, slams it open, and runs out after Tim. She sees him walking. He’s already a long way off and walking fast. She starts up the car and drives after him. She rolls down her window.) /Candy: Wanna lift? /Tim: No, thanks. /Candy: Just get in. /Tim: No, thanks. (Candy pulls ahead of Tim–both of them are in the street. She starts slowing down. Tim tries to go around her. She moves the car to block him. Another car from the other side of the street is driving down, horn blaring and lights flashing. Candy slams the car in park, gets out and tackles Tim.) /Candy (her face is less than an inch from Tim’s) GET IN THE CAR BEFORE YOU GET US BOTH KILLED. /Tim: O.K. (He gets in. Candy gets in on the driver’s side and steps on the gas. They listen to a harmonic medley of squealing rubber and horn. After it quiets down, Candy is still too worked up, and out of breath, to speak. They’re both silent for a while. Tim sees Candy dab at her eyes and take swipes at her running nose. /Candy: What the HELL were you doing? /Tim: Walking. /Candy: In the middle of the street? You could’ve gotten run over. /Tim: I was hoping I would. /Candy: Where were you going? /Tim: The dock. /Candy: What were you going to do once you reached the end of the dock? /Tim: Keep walking. (More silence follows. Candy merges onto the highway.) /Candy: Why are you doing this? What’s wrong? /Tim: I’m just tired of being a burden. /Candy: Didn’t we discuss this with Arnie? /Tim: Creating a job as a way to give me money? How does that make me any less of a burden?

06/04/09
/Tim: Where are we going, anyway? /Candy: Employment office. /Tim: Now? I’m not cleaned up or dressed for that. I didn’t even shave, today. /Candy: Well, you really want a job, and I really want you to quit whining about not having a job. You won’t even let me hire you. (She pulls over to the shoulder so she can face him directly.) Now, that I still can’t quite figure out. If I hired you, I could probably pay you less than I would a stranger. Plus, we would see more of each other. /Tim: Pay me less? /Candy: Yeah. I would simply figure rent into your paycheck. That way, you wouldn’t feel like I was giving you anything–and, since I own my home free and clear, then all your rent would mean is I save money on payroll. /Tim: Yeah, but, we’re talking about jobs you created just for me–a bouncer, an accountant. /Candy: Well, would it make you feel better if I hired someone else for each of those jobs? Even though (she moves her face closer to his and says this next part slowly and clearly) even though it would be a greater financial BURDEN for me, since I wouldn’t be able to figure “rent” as part of their pay? (They’re both quiet for five minutes. Finally…) /Tim: So, you definitely need a bouncer? I’m not trained to be an accountant, but a bouncer–I guess if you DO need one…/Candy: You know how many times at work I wish I had one for rowdy patrons?

06/05/09
/Tim: Well, if you need a bouncer, anyway…/Candy: It would make my job a lot easier. /Tim: So, I guess we should discuss my pay. /Candy: Uh, okay, I guess. I thought we figured the rent deal? /Tim: Yeah, but you said rent would just be a part of my pay. /Candy: Well, okay, what’s the rest of it? /Tim: Well, first you let me include in my duties all other aspects of our bar business. I want to help behind the bar, help clean up, help stock drinks, whatever. /Candy: Okay. /Tim: And, I want as part of my pay, in addition to the free rent, a ful ten percent of tips and profits. /Candy: Why just ten percent? Don’t you think you’re worth more than that? /Tim: Well, we’re talking about my standard pay. Raises I leave at your discretion. I just want to make enough so I can take you out to dinner, a movie, buy you something nice once in a while…(Candy’s quiet.) Well? /Candy: Give me time to think it over. /Tim: WHAT? /Candy: Well, I have all these other applicants to look at. (She gives a wide smile.) I had you going, didn’t I? (Tim returns the smile.) Can you start tomorrow night? /Tim: I’ll have to check my schedule. (Candy looks sideways at him.) /Candy: You have a schedule, now? /Tim (smiles): Tomorrow night would be great. /Candy: Great. To celebrate, I’d like to take my new hire out to dinner. My treat. I insist.

06/06/09

/Candy: I know this great little French restaurant: Le Dinerre. /Tim: That place? Isn’t it expensive? /Candy: What are you worried about money for? It’s MY treat. You’re now a valued employee of my–I mean, OUR bar. As your new boss and partner, I insist you let me pay. /Tim: Well, okay, but…/Candy: Furthermore, (her eyes narrow to slits) I insist that you keep your mouth shut about anything that has to do with money. It is your JOB to go out with me to dinner. I’m the boss, and I chose the restaurant. You get it? /Tim: Uh, yeah, I think I get it. /Candy: Oh, and one more thing. /Tim: What? /Candy: If you say one more thing about a restaurant or anything else I pay for being too expensive, I will have no choice but to–/Tim: Fire me? /Candy: No, give you a raise. (Tim looks at her, his mouth hanging open. Candy looks, smiles. Tim smiles back.) /Tim: I’ll try. It’s just, I’m so used to paying for–/Candy: Congratulations, you’re now up to 20% of tips and profits. /Tim: No, we agreed on 10%. /Candy: You’re right. We did. You just got a raise before your first day. /Tim: What? Why? (Candy is silent.) Oh. /Candy: Exactly. Do we understand each other?

06/07/09

/Tim: Yeah, I got it. It’s just–(Candy lowers her eyes at Tim, purses her lips as she stares through slits.) /Candy: It’s just what? /Tim: It’s just wonderful that I’m engaged to such a pretty girl. /Candy (smiles): There just might be hope for us, yet. (Candy starts her car back up and pulls off the shoulder.) There’s still time before dinner. /Tim: Should we go to the Car, so I can get familiar with my new job? /Candy: There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow night. Let’s go home, instead. /Tim: Sounds good. I need to shower and change, anyway. /Candy: So do I–after. /Tim: After what? (Candy winks at Tim. He smiles.) I’m tired. I’m ready for bed. /Candy: So am I. (They both fake a yawn, then yawn for real. Later, at Le Dinerre) /Waiter: Hello, welcome to Le Dinerre. I am Pierre. I will be your waiterre. Are you ready to orderre? /Tim: I’ll just have a cup of French onion soup. /Pierre: And? /Tim: And water to drink. /Candy (sighs, gives Tim a dirty look.): I will order the cheeseburgerre. /Pierre: Excellent choice, madam. /Candy: Make that two, with extra French fries. (She glares at Tim.) I also want to add a couple salads. What’s your house dressing? /Pierre: French. /Candy: Fine. On the side, please. /Pierre: Anything else? /Candy: Your best champagne. /Pierre: Bottle or glass? /Candy: Bottle, and two glasses, please. /Pierre: Of course.

06/08/09

/Tim: No mustard. /Pierre: Not even French Dijon? /Tim: Okay, but on the side, please. /Pierre: Anything else? /Candy: No thanks. (Waiter saunters off.) /Candy: I should give you another raise for only ordering soup. /Tim: Sorry. It’s just–(Candy darts her eyes at Tim. He shuts his trap.) /Candy: It’s just what? /Tim: It’s just, did you notice that French braid on our waiter? (Candy smiles.) /Candy: How could I not notice it? You know, one thing about your new job, I don’t want it to interfere with your main job. /Tim: My main job? /Candy: Yeah, your main job of writing. /Tim: Well, it’s not a paying job. /Candy: Not yet, but it will be. /Tim: Maybe. /Candy: Definitely. /Tim: Thanks. /Candy: So, how has your writing been going? /Tim: I’m kind of stalled on it. /Candy: Maybe you can set your story aside and start a new one? /Tim: Maybe. I’ve just been taking a break. (At the next table, a guy waves to Tim, gets up and walks to their table.) “Hi, I’m Tony Tartare.” (He shakes hands with Tim.) /Tim: Tim Timmons. /Tony: Terrific meeting you. I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. As a fellow writer, I’m always eavesdropping, observing, being nosy. /Tim: Yeah, well, I’m not published, yet. /Tony: Neither am I. I still write every day, though. Even after coming back from the hospital. I had collapsed on my bathroom floor.

06/09/09
Tony: My wife saw me lyng there with a vacant expression, so she called an ambulance. The ER doctor told me I was anemic among other things. Basically, I flunked my blood test. Anyway, after they let me come home, with orders to take it easy, I still got out my pen and notebook and wrote two pages. /Tim: Wow. /Tony: Hey, it’s not that amazing. I write in a very small notebook. The point is, I write just a little bit at a time, but I do it every day. Anyway, it’s really nice to meet a vellow writer (They shake hands, again.) Oh, by the way (his voice lowers) I hope you didn’t order the French onion soup. It tastes like l’eau de toillette. /Tim: Toilet water? /Tony: That’s never been flushed. I mean, sure, it’s meaty, but…Anyway, I better get going and let you two alone. /Candy: Hey, you know the Candy Bar on the corner? /Tony: I’ve heard of it, I think. /Candy: I own it. [Author’s note: I think she said before she didn’t own it. I guess she was kidding, since it had her name. I oughtta fix that.] Tim and I will be working there tomorrow night. Come see us. Bring your wife. /Tony: Doctor says I can’t have booze on account of my blood (smiles), but I can still have Cokes. Sure, I’ll be there. I mean, WE’LL be there. Thanks. (Tony goes back to his table.Candy watches him walk, then turns to Tim and narrows her eyes.) /Candy: Enjoy your soup.

06/10/09
Waiter: Here are your burgers, fries and salads, Madam, and here, Monsieur, is your poop–I mean, soup. Bon Appetit. /Tim: Bone-Apple-Teat. /Candy: (tries to glare at Tim, but a smile escapes her.) What? /Tim: It doesn’t make sense to me, either. (Droplets of steam from the putrid bouwl clik to Tim’s face like bits of toilet paer. Tendrils tickle his nose hairs. He smiles.) Hey, uh Sweetie? /Candy: Yeah? /Tim: Are you having both of those cheeseburgers? /Candy: Yeah. (She’s forking her salad.) /Tim: Oh. How aout the salads? /Candy: Yep. The salads, I’m having now. The burgers–I’ll have one now and one later. /Tim: Oh, okay. (Tim sadly sips his soup, grimaces, spits it back into his bowl.) /Candy: If you wanted a burger and salad, then why did you order the soup? /Tim: Uh, hmm, because…/Candy: Because it was the cheapest item on the menu? (Tim quickly stares down at his soup.) You should have traed menus with me. Page two of mine had a gravy stain you could’ve scraped off. /Waiter: How is everything? /Candy: I’ll have a box for the burgers, please. /Waiter: Sure, Madam. /Candy: And I’d like to pay, now. /Waiter: Okay, here’s your cheque. /Candy (unzips her purse and takes out a wad of bills.): This will cover it. /Waiter: Merci, Madame. And, mercy for him. I’ll be back with the boxes. /Candy: Thanks. (Waiter leaves.)

06/11/09
(Tim looks at his soup. What’s that whitish clump in there? Is it really bread? His stomach flips and his throat hitches. he has no appetite for a burger, anyway. He grabs the doggie-bag and goes outside. A light rain is falling. Tim fills his lungs with the sweet, wet night air. A horn honks. Tim watches the window roll down. Tony’s face appears.) /Tony: Hey, were’s your girlfriend? Tim: My fiancee. And she left. /Tony: maybe she just went to the ladies room. /Tim: She was pretty annoyed with me right before storming out. (The rain grows stronger, pinging on Tony’s car and splashing into Tim’s face.) /Tony: Well, get in before you get any wetter. (Tim watches Tony get out so the seat could get folded back of his two-door sedan.) [Author’s note: I don’t know what car I had pictured in 2009 where the driver has to get out and do something with a seat in order for Tim to get in. Tim doesn’t need a child-safety seat or anything.] /Tim: I’m sorry to make you get out in the rain like this. /Tony: Just get in. /Tim: Thanks. /Tony: Hey, no problem. I like the rain. That time when I had collapsed, on the way to the ambulance it rained like this and that revived me. That felt really good. So, then, they brought me indoors, of course. Oh, I’m sorry–I forgot to introduce you to my wife Tricia. (Okay, now it makes sense–two people already in the front of a two-door, sedan; Tony did have to get out so he can move his seat up so Tim can get into the back.] /Tim: Hi, I’m Tim. /Tricia: Nice to meet you. Was your girlfriend’s car still in the parking lot? /Tim: Fiancee. (pales) I hope not.

06/12/09
/Tony: I can go back to the lot, see if her car is there. /Tim: Okay. Thanks. /Tony: Sure. (They drive back to the restaurant parking lt, drove around.) /Tim: I don’t see her car anywhere. /Tony: Should we make another pass? /Tim (sighs): No, we’ve already been through the whole lot twice. Thanks. /Tony: Sure. You want to go home? /Tim: Sure, I guess. (Later…) Thanks again for the lift. /Tony: No problem. (Tony drives off. Tim walks toward the house. He notices the empty driveway, stops.) /Tim: Great. (He tries the door. It’s locked. He sits down on the front step. Headlights shine in his eyes a moment later. A figure gets out of the car (a shapely figure, at that) [Author’s note: I don’t quite get the term “shapely” for a figure. Most figures have a shape, already, so saying it’s “shapely” is redundant, isn’t it?] slams the door, and jumps.) /Candy (clutches her chest): You scared me half to death. /Tim: Sorry, I–/Candy (still breathing fast, glares at Tim): Why did you leave me at the restaurant? /Tim (returns her glare): YOU left ME. /Candy: Yeah, you’re right. I DID leave you–/Tim: I know you did. /Candy: You didn’t let me finish. I left you–to go to the ladies room. /Tim: The ladies room? /Candy: Yeah. /Tim: Well, why did you take your purse? /Candy: Because I’m a lady. /Tim: So? /Candy: So, what do you think? My makeup is in there, other…um…feminine products which you need know nothing about. [Author’s note: Until later.] /Tim: Well, why didn’t I see your car when I went outside to the parking lot? /Candy: Parking lot? We parked in the alley BEHIND the restaurant. /Tim: The…alley? /Candy: Yeah. The lot was crowded except for some really far spaces in the back. The alley is a lot closer, and it’s perfectly legal to park there.

06/13/09
/Tim: Oh, yeah. Now, I remember./Candy: You remember now. Whoop-de-doo. A lot of good that does me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to come back to the table and find out your date has ditched you? I know this doesn’t come close to what you had happen with your wife leaving you–and leaving you homeless and penniless, but it still sucks. /Tim: I thought YOU left ME. I would never ditch you like that, had I known that you were still in the restaurant. /Candy: Well, grab the food and let’s go in. /Tim (looks around): I don’t see it. I must have left it in Tony’s car. /Candy (sighs): Great. (She unlocks the door, opens it.) At least you had your soup. (Tim follows her inside.) I tried to take you out dining at a nice place, and now I’m here in the kitchen heating up a frozen dinner. /Tim: I’m sorry. /Candy: Well, at least I still get to celebrate with you. /Tim: Celebrate? Celebrate what? /Candy: I get to celebrate being an idiot. Thinking I could take you out. Thinking you would want to be seen with me. (Her timer dings.) Well, my turkey dinner’s done. (She grabs it, goes to the couch.) /Tim: He, I like being seen with you. /Candy: Yeah? Then, why did you leave the first chance you had? /Tim: I told you, already. /Candy: And I’m telling you, I have to leave the table when I have to use the ladies room. (She takes a bite of food, chews, swallows.) You know, now that you ahve a job–other than your writing, a paying job–it’s a lot harder to swallow that ‘don’t have money’ excuse of yours. /Tim: But, I didn’t–/Candy: Why else would you get the soup?

06/14/09
/Candy: You want the rest of this? I have no appetite, anymore. /Tim: I don’t know. You barely touched it. /Candy: There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just not hungry. (Tim shrugs) No, of course you won’t want to eat after me. I’m too disgusting. /Tim: No, you’re not. I’ll have it. /Candy: Now, you’re just saying that so I don’t feel bad. Well, you’re too late. (She tosses the food into the trash. She then wipes at her eyes and sniffles.) /Tim: I love how you look. I really do. /Candy (raises her voice): Then, how come you can never be out with me on a goddamn date? Look at me now. You like seeing me looking like this? /Tim (looks at her eyes red, tears running down her cheeks, smearing her mascara, nose sniffling.): No, of course I don’t like seeing you like this. /Candy: Huh! You just admitted you don’t like how I look. /Tim: That’s not what I mean and you know that. /Candy: I know that you don’t like to be out with me in public. I know money ain’t it, since you have a job. I also know that I never should have tricked you into getting engaged. You needed a place to live and food to eat. I offered you both. I’ll let you stay in the guest room, and I’ll let you continue working for me, but the wedding is definitely off. We’re through.

06/15/09
(Tim grabs a suitcase from the closet, starts stuffing it with clothes.) /Candy: What are you doing? /Tim: What does it look like? I’m leaving. /Candy: I said you could stay. At least let my clothes stay. (Tim looks down at his pile of ladies underwear and hose.) /Tim: Sorry. I grabbed from the wrong drawer. (He empties the suitcase back into the drawer, closes it (the drawer) then grabs his drawer.) /Candy: WAit. Don’t go. Please. /Tim (pauses, looks right at Candy.) I’m not going to be a freeloading financial burden to you, anymore. I’m going to get a job, a real one, not a make-work charity thing from you, and I’m going to pay you back every cent you ever gave me. (Candy’s eyes tear up. She sniffles.) /Candy: Hey, what I offered you IS a real job. I really do need a bouncer and asistant. /Tim: Then put an ad in the paper, and I’ll apply for it. (Candy curls up in bed, in the fetal position.) /Candy: I really wish you wouldn’t go. Where are you going, anyway? /Tim: I’m not sure. But, it’s none of your concern. I’ll be out of your hair. That’s all you need to worry about. (Candy tries to muffle her sobs with a pillow.) /Tim: Hey, Candy? /Candy: What? /Tim: Take that pillow away from your face before you suffocate. (Candy throws her pillow at Tim, hits him in the head. Tim grabs his toothbrush, razor, deodorant from the bathroom, adds them to his suitcase.

06/16/09
(Tim clicks shut the suitcase, carries it out the front door, closes the front door, then realizes he never called anyone to pick him up. Well, he figures, I can hail a cab. He checks his wallet–not enough to get very far in a cab, but more than enough for a bus ride. He walks over to the bus stop, lugging his suitcase (Scrape, clump. Scrape, clump.) half a block. He checks the bus schedule, then his watch. The buses stopped running–the last one came by ten minutes ago. He can catch the next bus if he feels like waiting at the stop for eight hours. He sighs. Well, maybe he could call someone. He checks his watch–12:11 am. Too late to call anyone. He sighs again. He really doesn’t want to do this, but what choice does he have? (Scrape, clump. Scrape, clump.) His arms are getting tired dragging that suitcase around. (Scrape, clump. Scrape, clump.) He finally makes it back to Candy’s and knocks on her front door. The door opens a crack–then slams shut in his face.) /Tim (knocks again on the door): Candy, please open. /Candy: Go away. /Tim: Please, sweetie. (Door opens again. Candy steps outside, closes the door behind her.) /Candy: You gave up all rights to call me “sweetie” when you walked out this door. I am no longer your “sweetie”, your “baby”, your “honey”, or your “cuddle monkey”. Now, get off my porch before I call the police. (She turns away from Tim, turns the knob, but the door won’t open.) You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. (She rattles the door. Nothing.)

06/17/09
/Candy: Look what you made me do. /Tim: Sorry about that. /Candy: YOU’RE sorry. So am I. I’m sorry I’m locked out of my house in the middle of the night standing here with a guy who just dumped me. /Tim: Hey, it’s not like that. /Candy (her eyes blaze): No? We were living together, then you packed your things and walked out. If that’s not getting dumped, then I must be stupid as well as ugly. /Tim: I never said you were ugly. /Candy: You didn’t have to in words. Your actions shouted it for you. (She turns her back to him.) I can’t even look at you right now. Just go away. /Tim: I’m not going to just leave you here. /Candy: Why not? You’ve left me other times. At the French restaurant I liked, and now you have your suitcase in your hand. (Tim sits down on the front step.) /Tim: I left because I didn’t want to be a burden to you. (Candy sits down, turns her head toward Tim.) /Candy: I don’t know how to get through to you. I got a great settlement from my divorce. I got this house, all paid up, I have a job that pays me lots of tips, I’m not looking for a man that makes a lot of money. A guy can have a high-paying job and still be a jerk. I even offered you a job working for–and with–me. A job that would really help me out and help keep my business afloat. Yet, here you are, suitcase in hand.

06/18/09
/Tim: I just get embarrassed by my inability to provide for you. (He sits down next to her.) /Candy (takes his hand): You are such an idiot. You call yourself a writer, yet you don’t think about the words you use when you talk. /Tim: What do you mean? /Candy: What do you think? You just said you can’t PROVIDE for me. That’s completely wrong. You’ve been PROVIDING for me the whole time I’ve known you. First, you PROVIDED me your hand in marriage, then you PROVIDED me with grief when you left me. /Tim: You know what I mean. I want to SUPPORT you. /Candy (smiles, her eyes glint.): Support me how? By being there for me? Don’t you get it, yet? There’s many ways you can PROVIDE for me, lots of ways you can SUPPORT me. /Tim: Well, I just feel bad when I can’t pay for things. /Candy: Allow ne to give you a metaphor. You’re a writer, maybe this is how I can finally get through to you.You’re flying over a desert, and you see me lying face-down in the sand. You land your plane and walk over to me. I’m extremely dehydrated, with the last of my strength I whisper for water. You don’t have enough room in your plane for both of us, and you don’t have enough fuel to go back and forth. You do have a gallon jug of ice cold, clean water, exactly what I need. So, what do you do? /Tim: Give you water.

06/19/09
/Candy: Are you finally getting it, now? /Tim: Yeah, I think so, but the thing is, I need to earn money for myself. To use your analogy: I need to fly over the desert in my plane before I can get to you to give you water. And, I feel like I’m stalled, like I can’t get my plane off the ground. /Candy: Well, let’s forget the analogy for a moment. The point is, you leave because you can’t give me what I don’t even need or want, anyway. /Tim: I leave because I can’t give you what “I” need to feel like a man. If I feel inadequate, then I feel like I don’t deserve you. /Candy: You see? When you say you don’t deserve me, that makes me think I’ not good enough for you. Tim: You’re better than I deserve. BETTER. /Candy: Well, I think you’re ALSO better than “I” deserve. BETTER. /Tim: Hey, look. It’s getting lighter. /Candy: Yeah, look at that sunrise. /Tim: Yeah, ketchup-red, mustard-yellow, OJ-orange. /Candy: And bacon-colored, too. You’re making me hungry. /Tim (gets on one knee, takes Candy’s hand in both of his): I don’t have any money, but would you like to go out with me for breakfast? It would be a real treat–yours. /Candy: It would be a real treat for me, too–to treat. I’ll be happy to treat us to breakfast. Except, my money, keys, and clothes are in the locked house. Arnie (pulls up in his parents’ car, gets out, waves to his pals.):I tried calling you for breakfast, but you never answered. /Tim: ‘Cause we’re locked out. /Arnie: You mean, Tim, you don’t have a spare key? (Tim checks his pocket. His face matches the bacon and ketchup-colored dawn as he holds up Candy’s extra key. /Candy: You get it now? You had what I needed all along–just as I’ve been telling you. (Tim and Candy go inside their home, Arnie following.

06/20/09
/Candy: I need to change. You guys can watch TV if you want. /Arnie: So, how’s your writing going? /Tim: It’s not. /Arnie: Why not? (Tim turns on the TV, sees a test pattern. He changes the channel, gets static. Changes the channel, again, finally gets an old rerun of “The Toilet Zone.”) /Arnie: I love this episode. Evil aliens from space zap everyone with a mind ray. /Tim: Yeah, I’ve seen it. The ray compels the humans to give up creative pursuits and instead perform meaningless tasks. /Arnie (chuckles): Yeah, and the funny part is those humans not assigned jobs are still compelled to look for one. /Candy (comes into the living room): Okay. I’m ready. What’cha watchin’? /Arnie: “The Toilet Zone.” /Candy: I don’t think I saw this episode. /Arnie: It’s only about ten minutes into the show. /Candy: That’s okay. I’d rather watch it from the beginning. It’ll come on, again. You ready to go eat? (Tim looks at Arnie, turns off the TV. They go to the diner, seat themselves at at booth.) /Arnie: So, Tim’s been telling me about his writing. /Candy: Yeah, what’s up with that? /Tim: Well, there’s not much to tell. I’ve been completely blocked for days. /Candy: You had that couple in a gang or in jail, right? /Tim (sighs): Yeah, I’m just so tired of those people and their adventures in Nudie-Land. It just seems so lame. And nothing else comes to me. (He shrugs.) Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a writer. /Candy: That’s not true and you know it. /Arnie: Yeah, you’re a great writer.

06/21/09
/Waitress: How is everything? /Tim: Fine, thanks. (He stabs his grits with his fork.) I just get so overwhelmed by the whole process: coming up with an idea, writing it, revising, then trying to sell my story–it’s hard to enjoy something that makes me so frustrated. /Arnie: Well, the good news is, you don’t have to dl all those things in one day. (Tim’s quiet.) /Candy: Yeah, and also, while revising the story, you can start writing another one, and while selling the first one, you can revise the second one. /Arnie: The main thing is, always have something new that you’re writing and gettin’ enjoyment from. /Tim (sighs): I appreciate your help, but I know all this, already. (Candy and Arnie don’t say anything for a while.) /Candy (in a voice colder than liquid nitrogen): Well, excuse us for trying to help. I guess Mr. Know-it-all doesn’t need our help. (She digs a wad of bills out of her purse and throws the pile on the table.) I’m going to the car. Just to sit in the lot. I won’t drive off, just like I didn’t drive off last time, not until I got worried about you. (She storms out. Tim and Arnie look at each other and shrug.) /Arnie: I’ll stay here and wait for the check. You go to your girl. /Tim: Thanks, buddy. /Arnie: Sure. (Tim walks to the car, gets in.) /Candy (sobs, sniffles, wipes her face with her sleeve): I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to flip out in there. /Tim (rubs her back): That’s okay. I’m sorry, too. Let’s go home and get some sleep. You want me to drive? [Author’s note: I need to elaborate a little about cars. I guess when Arnie was at Candy’s house, he was in his parents’ car. I’m not sure yet if Candy took her car and followed Arnie, and if so, why? Maybe Arnie wasn’t planning on going back to Candy’s house after breakfast?]

06/22/09
/Candy: I’ll be okay.It’s not far. (They pull up in the driveway, both are silent. They get out of the car, go into Candy’s house, and sleep. Later,…) /Candy: I have to work tonight. /Tim: Okay. I’ll be ready ina little bit. /Candy: I’m just going to work. /Tim: Didn’t you hire me to be a bouncer or something? /Candy: Yeah, but then we had that talk about giving me what I needed. /Tim: I thought you needed a bouncer. Or, I can help behind the bar. /Candy: Let’s talk about it later, okay? I have to go, now. (She blows him a peck, checks herself in the bathroom mirror, then leaves. Tim waves, the car leaves the driveway. Tim finds his wallet, takes out a card, goes to the phone, and dials.) /Voice at other end: Hello? /Tim: Hi, it’s Tim. /Voice: Yeah, I remember. How’ve you been? /Tim: Okay, I guess. What are you doing tonight? /Voice: Watching “The Test Pattern” on TV. /Tim: Why would you want to watch the test pattern? /Voice: No, it’s a new series. That’s the name of the show: “The Test Pattern.” It’s about how criminals beat the lie detector test. /Tim: Oh. /Voice: Of course this would happen. /Tim: What? It’s a rerun? /Voice: No, the signal went out. There’s a message on the screen: “Due to station technical difficulties, tonight’s program will not be playing. We apologize…” Great. /Tim: Well, at least it’s not a rerun. That ever happen to you where the second time, ever, you watch a show, it’s a rerun? /Voice: Of course. Oh, now they’re showing a test pattern. /Tim: Good. You’re show’s back. /Voice: No, it’s an actual test pattern. /Tim: Oh. /Voice; So, what’s up? /Tim: I was wondering if you want to go with me to the Candy Bar? /Voice: Sure. /Tim: Great. I’ll meet you there, then, Zeke. [Author’s note: I just figured out the Candy Bar ownership thing from earlier: maybe the bar was named when someone else ran it, then I need to explain why the original owner isn’t there, anymore, and Candy inherited it, took it over. This way, the coincidence about the name can stand.]

06/23/09
/Zeke (splutters): Hey, wait a minute. The Candy Bar–that’s where my ex-wife works. /Tim: Yeah, so? (silence at Zeke’s end for a while) /Zeke (Tim hears a thunk): Well, maybe the TV will work better afterward. I’ll meet ou there in twenty minutes. /Tim: Do you want to meet me here at Candy’s house, first? /Zeke (more spluttering): Why not just meet at the bar? /Tim: I don’t have a car. /Zeke (sighs): Okay, I’ll be there in a little bit. (Tim hangs up, turns on the TV. He has interference, too. He turnis it off, again. He hears a horn honking from outside. Tim peeks out the windows, then goes outside.) /Tim: Hey, Zeke. /Zeke: Get in. (Later, Tim and Zeke step into the Bar and approach the counter. Candy has her back to them.) /Candy: I’ll be with you in a moment. (She turns around. Her mouth drops open. Her face pales, but it’s hard to tell in the muted neon lighting. She and Zeke just stare at each other.) /Zeke: You’re looking good. /Candy: Well, aren’t ou gonna tell me what you’ll have? Other customers are waiting. /Zeke: Water with a twist of lime on the rocks. /Tim: And, I’ll have my water with lemon, straight up, in a frosted glass. /Candy: Neither one of you fellas want a real drink? /Tim: I’m broke. /Zeke: And I paid you enough, already, in our divorce. (Candy sighs, returns wit two beers and a stiff brandy.) /Candy: On the house, guys. (She slides the beers over, and drains the brandy.)

06/24/09
/Tim (reads the beer bottle): ‘Swiller?’ /Candy: At least it’s not ‘1.5 Xs.’ /Zeke: My bottle says ‘Sauerbier.’ Hey, I got a German brand. (They take a sip from their bottles.) /Tim: Didn’t you used to have candy dishes? /Candy: I still do. They’re behind the counter. /Zeke: Could we have some candy? /Candy (sighs): Sure, but I should warn you guys–(They greedily grab the chocolate treats and stuff their faces, then gulp down their beers and pucker their lips.)–that your beer will taste extra sour after eating the sweet candy. /Tim: Why not serve salty snacks, instead? /Candy: Because my name isn’t “Pretzel.” Why did you guys decide to come here, anyway? I have beer and candy, and pretzels, at home. /Tim: Good point. Bye. /Candy: Hey, wait. You’re not leaving me with my ex. (Tim, already off his stool, starts walking toward the door.) /Tim: Do you want him to leave? /Zeke: So, Candy sweetie, you want to go another round? And, I don’t mean booze. (He smiles and winks.) /Candy: No. /Tim: No, you don’t want him to leave? /Candy: Yes. /Zeke: Yes, you DO want to give us another try? /Candy: No, I mean…/Tim: Need a bouncer? /Candy: yeah, I guess. As long as it’s not Zeke, /Tim: Zeke are you harrassing the lady? /Zeke: I guess so. /Tim: Then, I’m going to have to escort you out of here. /Zeke: I’m going. /Tim: I’ll walk you to the door.

06/25/09

(Tim walks Zeke to the door. They step outside.) /Tim: Thanks for letting me bounce you out. /Zeke: Oh, we’re not done, yet. I still got my beer. (Zeke whips out his beer bottle and throws it against the building. It shatters. One shard bounces off the wall, ricochets off the door frame as someone walks out complaining–“No peanuts or pretzels to snack on, just candy.”–rockets inside, skips off the bar, and–) /Candy: Ow! /Tim (runs back inside): Candy? /Candy: Something’s in my eye. Feels like glass. (Tim calls an ambulance. Later, at the hospital…) /Tim: I’m here to visit Candy. /Nurse: Her last name? /Tim: Uh, gee, I can’t remember. She has glass in her eye. /Nurse: Oh, yeah. Visiting hours are over. /Tim: I can’t see her? /Nurse: What did I just say? Hold on, the doctor’s coming. /Doctor: Are you Tim Timmons? /Tim: Yes. /Doctor: We managed to excise the shard from Candy’s eye. However, the retina is still damaged. It will heal completely in a month. In the meantime, she must rest and not do anything stressful. Most important, Candy must not cry. If she does, her eye won’t heal properly. /Tim: Will she see out of that eye? /Doctor: If it heals properly, yes. If, however, scar tissue forms over the retina, then it could lead to partial or total blindness for that eye. /Tim: Could you give her a message for me? /Doctor: Depends on the message, but go ahead.

06/26/09
Tim (tugs on his collar, looks around, can’t stop fidgeting): Just tell her I’ll take care of the bar while she’s–/Nurse: Doctor, patient Candy’s blood pressure just dropped. (Doctor runs out, follows nurse. Tim waits in the waiting room. Two hours later two police officers enter the hospital, spot the doctor, and chase after him. He has his back to them. The nurse sees them, alerts the doctor. The doctor holds an index finger up to the officers, confers with other staff, then meet the officers at the counter.) /Doctor: Sorry to keep you waiting, officers. I had to work on a patient–it couldn’t wait. /First officer: We understand. We have to act fast, too, in emergencies. (He lowers his voice. The other officer joins in, they look at Tim. The doctor follows their gaze, his eyes widen for a moment, then narrow, then become expressionless, like a poker face. He joins the discussion. Tim can’t hear anything they’re saying. The officers then leave the counter and approach Tim. The first one hands him a sheet of paper.) /First officer: You have just been issued a restraining order to keep away from Candy Bar. You are not allowed within 100 feet of her. /Second officer: So, unless you’re a patient, we suggest you get out of the hospital. /Tim: What’s this all about? Didn’t my fiancee just go into shock or something? How is she? /First officer: The doctor is not allowed to tell you. Privacy laws, plus your restraining order. /Tim: Wow. So, she put out a restraining order on me? /First officer: That is correct. /Tim (studies the paper): It says when she had requested the order. /First officer: Yes. /Tim: So, the doctor rushed back to her before the time on here. /Second officer: Yeah, so? /Tim: So, I can deduce that she recovered before issuing the order. /Second officer: No. /First officer: You think doctors and nurses don’t know how to treat sudden drops in blood pressure? Anyway, we suggest you leave now. /Tim: Well, I drove Candy’s car here. /First officer: Well, we suggest you find another ride, unless you want to ride with us. In handcuffs.
06/27/09
/Tim: Well, I’ve been staying at Candy’s house. All my things are there. /First officer: Hey, that’s not our problem. You have to give up your things, anyway, when you’re in jail. At least now you still have your freedom. /Tim: Yeah, but I have no job and no place to go. /Second officer: We can give you a roof over your head and meals, even a job making license plates. /First officer: We gotta get back on the beat. I think we’re done here. (The officers leave. Tim looks at the order. “…100 feet from Candy Bar, her business of the same name, and her residence. Failure to do so will result…” in free room and board at the County Jail, he finished. He checked his wallet. After cab fare he would have just enough for the blue plate at the 24 hour diner. (Later, at the diner…) /Tim: Arnie! /Arnie: Tim, how’s it going? /Tim: It’s just you here? /Arnie: Yeah, sit down. Sometimes I just got to get away from my parents, you know. /Tim: Yeah, I guess. /Arnie: So, where’s Candy? /Tim: At the hospital. (Arnie’s eyes widen.) She’s alright. A piece of glass went in her eye. No permanent damage, thought. I think we broke up, though. (Arnie’s eyebrows shoot up.) /Arnie: You two? Split? (Tim tells him what happened.) /Arnie: Wow. You have the order with you? /Tim: Yeah, right here. /Arnie: Lab’s see it. (His forehead furrows as he reads.) Are you Zeke Underwood? /Tim: No. /Arnie: Well, you have his order, then.

06/28/09

/Tim: You sure both our names aren’t on there, Zeke’s and mine? /Arnie (hands the order back to Tim): This is all you gave me. Got another sheet? /Tim: No. /Arnie: Well, I guess you’re in the clear. /Waitress: Here you go. (She plunks pickled scrambled eggs in front of Tim.) /Tim: I ordered scrambled eggs with cheese, not pickles. /Waitress: I’m sorry. Hold on. (She goes over to a table with a guy and a pregnant lady.) Hi, I’m sorry, but I gave you the wrong plate by mistake. /Lady (looks at pickled plate): And, I need some rhubarb jelly. (Waitress returns to Tim.) /Waitress: Sorry about that. It’s been a long day. Or night. I’m not used to third shift. /Tim: That’s okay. You’re not the only one who’s had a long day. /Waitress: No? /Tim: Earlier tonight, or morning, two cops gave me someone else’s restraining order. /Waitress (eyes and mouth both open, too stunned to speak at first, then…): Wow. I’d be pissed. Didn’t you tell them? /Tim: How could I even notice at the time? I was too busy hearing them threaten me with arrest. Well, anyway, you’re busy, too. Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant. It’s just my fiancee is in the hospital and the cops wouldn’t let me be with her. /Waitress: Oh, is she alright? /Tim: Yeah, she’s fine. Her ex-husband threw a glass bottle at her. The bottle broke, but the doctors got all the glass out of her eye. She’ll still see normally. /Waitress: That’s good. (She turns to Arnie) So, how about you? Where’s your fiancee or wife or girlfriend or…/Arnie: I’m not seeing anyone. [Author’s note: Last sentence, I couldn’t make out, so I’m making it up] (Waitress starts grabbing ketchup bottles, seeing how full they are.)

06/29/09

/Tim (gets up, throws some bills on the table.): I should be getting back to the hospital to check on Candy. /Arnie: She might have left, already. /Tim: True. I should call. (He goes to the pay phone, calls.) Yes, I’d like to know if Candy Bar has been released. /Receptionist: Hold please while I get a doctor. /Doctor (to Tim): I can’t release that information. Patient confidentiality. /Tim: But, I’m not asking ABOUT her, just if she’s still there. /Doctor: What is your relationship to the patient? /Tim: I’m her fiancee. /Doctor: Which is French for not married–sorry. (Click) (Tim stares at the receiver in his hand, then hangs up and walks back to the table. /Arnie:  So, is she there? /Tim: The doctor wouldn’t tell me. Her house is closer. Maybe we should try that, first? /Arnie: If you want, but didn’t you leave her car at the hospital? /Tim: Yeah. /Arnie: So, you can pick up her car then, and drive it home for her. /Tim: Good idea. (He checks his wallet.) I don’t have enough left for a second cab. /Arnie: That’s okay. I’ve got it covered. (He holds up some keys.) My parents finally trust me with their station wagon. (They go outside and get into the Woodie. Arnie  starts the car. It turns once, bellows like a bull at a slaughter house, shudders, then dies. Arnie turns the key again. Nothing.) /Arnie: Well, I’ll help with the cab. (They go back inside the restaurant. Arnie reaches into his pockets, pulls out bills, counts them, then nods.) Yeah, I’ve got enough for a cab for us. /Tim: You dropped something. (Tim reaches over catches a fluttering receipt, hands it to Arnie.) /Arnie (smiles): Thanks. /Tim: Looks like our check receipt for here. Is that a phone number? /Arnie: Yeah. /Tim: Well? Read it. Arnie reads: “Call me. Mindy.” A phone number follows. /(Their waitress from earlier walks over. Her name tag says “Mindy”.) Mindy: Hi. Back already? /Arnie: Yeah, we’re about to call a cab.

06/30/09

/MIndy: I get off in four hours. /Arnie: Well, we kind of have to leave before that. /Mindy (looks at her watch): Hold on a sec. (Later, she comes back, smiling.) The boss said I can knock off early ’cause it’s slow. I’ll take you to your friend’s fiancee. (Arnie and Tom follow Mindy outside.) /Arnie: Where’d you park? /Mindy: The park? I thought you wanted the hospital. /Tim: No, we mean where did you park the car? /Mindy (her forehead furrows): Park cars? I’m not a valet. Our restaurant doesn’t even have valet parking. /Tim: No, where did you park YOUR car? /Mindy: I don’t have a car. I take the bus. (She looks at her watch, again.) Buses are running, now. (Red rays of dawn stab the night.) /Mindy: The bus will be here in 20 minutes. (Twenty minutes later the bus pulls up.) /Tim (sighs): Great. (He starts to board.) /Mindy: Hey, wait. /Tim: What? /Mindy: This is OUR bus. Yours isn’t here, yet. (Tim steps off. Mindy and Arnie start boarding. Arnie slaps Tim on the back.) /Arnie: Later, buddy. Good luck. /Tim: Thanks. You, too. /Arnie: Thanks. (The bus pulls away. Later, another bus arrives. Tim boards.) /Tim: Do you go to the hospital? /Driver: See the bus stop sign out front? /Tim: No, not from in here. Should I get out and look, or do you want to just tell me? /Driver: Yeah, we go there. /Tim: Thank you. (He sits. Later, he tries to get up. Something’s pulling him back. Great. He had sat on gum. Still fresh, of course.) /Driver: Here’s the hospital. (Tim tries to get up, again. He makes it, but hears a ripping noise.

07/01/09

(Bus pulls up to the front of the hospital. Tim gets off, goes inside.) /Tim: Is Candy Bar here? /Nurse: Vending machines are in the waiting room. /Tim: No, the PATIENT Candy. /Nurse (checks log): She has already been discharged. /Tim: Thanks. (Tim takes the bus to Candy’s house. He lets himself in with a spare key.) /Tim: Candy? /Candy: Wunh? (Tim walks to the bedroom, sees Candy wearing an eye patch and a nightgown.) /Tim: Candy. /Candy: Hey, I was asleep. /Tim: Sorry. /Candy: That’s okay. Waking me up isn’t the worst thing you’ve done. /Tim: Okay–WHAT? /Candy: You have any idea what I’ve been through? What the HELL were you thinking? Bringing my ex  to my bar–I can’t even wrap my brain around that. Why the–WHY? /Tim: I’m sorry about that. I had no idea he was going to throw that bottle at you. /Candy: Well, he used to knock me senseless from time to time. /Tim: I had no idea he was violent. /Candy: Well, it’s not something I like to reminisce about. But, you haven’t answered my question. Why would you bring him into my bar, anyway? /Tim (blushes): Well, I was going to bounce him out after he started getting rowdy or something. I was going to show you that you DO need a bouncer, and that I would be a good one. /Candy: I only need one eye to see that that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. /Tim: I’m sorry. /Candy: YOu know what else happened? Once I left the hospital, I drove off in my car and halfway home the front driver’s side tire blew out. I had to get out and change it–with one eye. Alone.

07/02/09

/Candy: Where the hell were you all this time? /Tim: I followed you to the hospital, then while I was there two cops came out and threatened to arrest me if I didn’t stay away from you. So, I left the hospital. It wasn’t until much later that I found out that the restraining order they had given me wasn’t even for me. (Tim shows Candy the order.) /Candy: This is from a year ago. I had just gotten divorced and Zeke had flipped out. /Tim: Well, he should have gotten it, then. /Candy: He did. This is just an extra copy to let YOU know. /Tim: Why give me Zeke’s order from a year ago? (Candy looks at Tim with her good eye and points at her bad eye.) /Candy: To prevent THIS from happening. You had violated Zeke’s order when you brought him to the bar. Now, you get it? /Tim: Yeah, I think so. /Candy: I still can’t figure out why you would want to bring him there. You two are friends or something? /Tim: No, maybe acquaintances, if that. /Candy: Well, anyway, do you think you can refrain from bringing him over to me, so this (she points again at her bad eye) doesn’t happen, again? /Tim: Sure. Before (he blushes), it’s so silly, I had brought him over–/Candy: Yeah, you told me, Mr. Bouncer. Has it ever occurred to you that a good bouncer wouldn’t have let him in in the first place? (Tim’s silent.) Well, anyway, it’s over, now. I need some sleep before work, tonight. /Tim: You’re going to work? Don’t you need to rest? /Candy: That’s what I’m going to do now. /Tim: No, I mean until your eye gets better.

07/03/09

/Candy: Maybe. I’ll close my other eye now, then see how I feel later. /Tim: Yeah, just go to bed, first, THEN close your other eye. /Candy (smiles): No, I was going to close my good eye first. /Tim: Well, you probably won’t feel so great after you bump into things on the way. /Candy: I guess I’ll need someone to lead me to bed. /Tim: You want me to lead you? /Candy: Yeah. (points to eye patch) I’ve been winking to you this whole time. (Tim laughs. He takes her hand and leads.) /Candy: Oh! /Tim: Oh, yeah, I’m good. /Candy: No. I mean, you are really good, but my eye–I need an ambulance. (Tim, looks sees blood soaking through the patch and oozing around it. He grabs T-shirts and shorts for both of them–/Candy: Call NOW. (Tim calls. Later, to Candy…) /Tim: They’ll be a little delayed. /Candy: WHAT? Why? /Tim: They said something about getting a flat from a piece of glass in the hospital parking lot. /Candy: That’s their only ambulance? /Tim: That’s not already out on call, yeah. Come on, I’ll drive you there. (Candy falls on the floor, knocks a vase off the counter on her way down. Tim half drags, half carries her toward her car.) /Candy: Ooh. /Tim: Just rest, I’m driving to the Hospital. (Later…) /Tim: Finally, a space. (Much later…) Tim: Come on, baby. We’re halfway there. Just another mile to the entrance. (They finally get to the front entrance and to the front desk. A nurse is there.) /Tim (to nurse): My fiancee needs to see a doctor. It’s an emergency. /Nurse: An emergency? (She looks around.) Gee, I’m glad you told me. I never would have guessed. Are you sure you’re not here to redecorate our waiting room? /Tim: My girl needs a doctor.

07/04/09

[Author’s note: I don’t see a page dated 07/04/09, but when I started reading 07/05/09, I didn’t detect a break in the story. So, I either missed a day or dated the sheet wrong.]

07/05/09

Tim: Look, my lady’s bleeding from her eye. /Nurse: Here (She hands Tim a clump of tissues.) /Tim: What’s this? /Nurse: What do they look like? /Tim: No, why did you give me these? /Nurse: To stop the bleeding until the doctor can see her. (Tim throws the tissues back.) /Tim: She needs a doctor right now–she’s losing blood, she’s losing consciousness, and I’m losing patience with you. (He goes back toward Candy, find her passed out on the floor in a pool of blood. He runs back, yelling.) HELP! My girl is dying. (Two orderlies bring a stretcher, put her on it and take her to the back. The same two cops from earlier approach him.) /First officer: You have the right to remain silent. /Tim: What? /First officer (smiles): Just kidding. Seriously, though, we’ve had reports about someone impersonating an ER nurse. Second officer: Yeah, here’s a sketch of the perp. /Tim: Hey. That’s the nurse I just dealt with. /First officer: Thanks. (Tim points them toward the counter, then goes back to the olive cracked vinyl chair. He tries to read a LIFE magazine, but he can’t focus on any of the words. His eyes tear up, burn, blur his vision. His world looks like a jumbled jigsaw puzzle. He gets up, walks back to the counter) /Tim: Could you check on my fiancee, please? /Nurse (a different one from the imposter.) Her name? /Tim: Candy Bar. /Nurse: Hold on. (She asks someone behind her, goes back to the counter.) The doctor isn’t ready, yet. Candy is still in intensive care. That’s all I know right now. /Tim: Thanks (He goes back to sit.)

07/06/09

(Tim sits with the LIFE in his lap. He still can’t focus on any of it. What’s taking so long, anyway? He looks back down at the magazine. The cover is now shredded. He looks at the clock–only five minutes have passed, though it feels like an hour. His stomach rumbles–hot acid erupts, no food is there to soak it up, so it shoots up his esophagus. His throat muscles tighten, he runs to the men’s room and dry-heaves. He then splashes cold water on his face, turns, and nearly runs into Arnie.) /Arnie: Hey, buddy, you okay? You don’t look good. /Tim: I’m not. What’re you doing here? /Arnie: Here in the men’s room? /Tim: You know what I mean. /Arnie: Yeah. (A couple minutes later they’re both in the waiting room.) I called your house, no answer. So, I came here to check on you and Candy. /Tim: Thanks. Where’s Mindy? /Arnie: Asleep. She just got off work. So, where’s Candy? /Tim: Intensive care. /Arnie: Ouch. What did the doctors say? /Tim: That was it. That she’s in the ICU. /Arnie: Oh. /Loudspeakers: Tim Timmons to the counter, please. (Tim gets up, stumbles. Arnie catches him.) /Tim: Thanks. (Leaning on his friend, Tim gets up, again.) /Loudspeakers: Tim Timmons, please report to the counter. /Tim: I’m coming. (He approaches the counter.) What’s up? /Nurse: Please wait for the doctor. He’ll be right out. (The doctor appears.) /Doctor: Tim, please follow me. (They approach Candy’s bedside. Tubes are spread out from her–a butterfly caught in a web. Machines beep.) /Doctor (sighs): There’s no easy way to say this: Candy’s in a coma. /Tim: What? /Doctor: I’m sorry. Even jf she DOES wake up, she’ll probably be completely different.

07/07/09

(Tim doesn’t remember walking back to the waiting room.) /Arnie: What did the doctor say? /Tim: Candy’s in a coma. (Arnie’s silent. He opens his mouth to speak, can’t, closes it again. Tim feels a big hand on his shoulder. He turns to swat it, instead finds a priest, jumps back.) /Priest: Hi. I couldn’t help overhearing you–/Tim: You mean you couldn’t help being nosy. /Priest: It’s okay, I know you’re angry. /Arnie: Hey, we’re kind of having a private moment, here. I don’t care if you ARE a priest. BUTT-OUT! /Tim: Thanks, buddy. /Priest: You’re welcome. /Tim: I wasn’t talking to you. /Priest: Look, I know it’s tough, now. But, remember, somehow, though we don’t understand it, this is all part of His Divine Plan. [Author’s note: Unless He (or he) simply makes it up as he goes along.] /Arnie: Okay. I really think you should leave. /Tim: No, wait. He can stay. Hey, Priest. /Priest: Yes, child? /Tim: How the Hell does my fiancee’s coma fit into any kind of plan? /Priest: Like I said, we can’t comprehend the Lord’s thinking. /Tim: Maybe YOU can’t, but I’d like to give it a try. (The priest’s eyes light up.) /Priest: Go on. /Tim: I’m a writer, and I say there is no Divine Plan. (Priest’s mouth drops open.) /Tim: If there were a Divine Plan, my fiancee wouldn’t be in a coma. Hold on, let me explain. As a writer, I decide what happens to my characters. A coma, though, shows a lack of planning. God can’t decide whether Candy should live or die, so he just puts her in a coma. I bet your precious God is nothing more than a frustrated, unpublished writer who doesn’t even have an outline. [Author’s note: Here is where I start with some new text (in Dec. 2012).] /Priest: Unpublished? What about the Bible? /Tim (crosses his arms in front of his chest): The Bible? You want to discuss the Bible? Great. Have you read the Bible? /Priest: Of course. /Tim: No, I mean have you REALLY read it? With the eye of an editor? Or a literary critic? I bet he plagiarized it from a no-talent hack who didn’t want his name associated with that verbose claptrap. I mean, think about it. If you were a publisher, and someone whom you absolutely knew for certain was NOT God, AND was indisputably the actual author of the Bible submitted it to you as a manuscript, would you publish it? It even proves my point–you can’t honestly tell me that the Bible is something that sprang from even an outline, let alone a Divine Plan. The Bible is nothing more than a rambling discourse about people who killed some people and beget others. The author doesn’t even stay long enough with any one character for the reader to grow sympathetic for him or her. /Priest: It’s common, human, and totally acceptable to doubt Him during times of stress. /Tim: Oh, I have absolutely no doubt about God–if He did author the Bible, He’s a lousy writer who only got published because He’s God. Oh, sure, he can create trees and grass and sky and all the animals and us, but creating worlds with only words–now, that takes REAL talent. /Priest: And those words come from an alphabet, right? /Tim: Of course. /Priest: Well, then, what’s the Periodic Table, but merely another type of alphabet? (Tim doesn’t have an answer.)

07/08/09

/Priest: Now, to explore your idea that God is nothing more than a frustrated, talentless writer, I ask: who created this writer? /Tim: What do you mean? /Priest: I mean, your God may not be THE God. Your God, the unpublished writer, may simply be a person like us, but in a different universe. /Tim: Yeah, so? /Priest: So, the God “I” pray to is the God that not only created us, but also your writer, the unpublished author of us. (A nurse walks over to the priest, talks to him in low tones.) /Priest: I gotta go. Got a dying patient to pray for. (Tim jerks his head around.) /Tim: Not Candy? /Priest: What room number is Candy in? (Tim tells him.) Relax. It’s a different number. Remember, don’t confuse the true God with an unpublished writer. (He holds up his Bible.) The real God wrote the first bestseller long before there was even a New York City, and a New York Publishing House with an editor who wouldn’t have let it see print. /Tim: Thanks, but how’s any of this going to save Candy? /Priest: Are you talking about saving the everlasting life of her soul, or merely postponing her eventual death by a few decades? /Arnie (just came back from the vending machines.): He’s talking about getting his girl out of her coma. Don’t you have a collection plate to pass around, or something? (Before   the priest can form an answer, the nurse calls him.) /Nurse: Uh, Father, if you’re ready…/Priest: You’ll be in my prayers. /Tim: Hey, wait. Before you go, um, I enjoyed our, um, Bible study discussion. It helped to talk about that, you know, with Candy and all (Tim feels himself choking up. He can’t speak. His eyes sting. The priest comes over, gives Tim a hug. Tim wants to keep it together, but starts shaking and sobbing in the priest’s arms. A few minutes later, he stands back.) I was doing better when we were discussing the Bible. /Priest (smiles): Exactly. You are learning about the true power of a poorly written work. /Tim (pauses, thinks for a moment, then looks back at the priest): Yeah, you’re right. If it were well-written, it wouldn’t be nearly as interesting. /Priest: Maybe God meant for the Bible to be written by a no-talent hack. Maybe by making it so imperfect, He, in His wisdom, makes it more accessible; easier for imperfect creatures such as us to grasp. Maybe He makes it more REAL. /Tim: Well, I don’t want to keep you, but our talk definitely helps with–with everything. /Priest: So, you think maybe you’re starting to see how God helps–in His way? /Tim: Interesting. You definitely gave me stuff to think about. /Priest: I didn’t give you anything. He did. /Tim: Thanks, Father. /Priest: Don’t thank me. Thank Him. (With that, the priest turns and follows the nurse out of the room. Arnie and Tim watch them leave. Arnie turns to Tim.) /Arnie: I had an uncle who died of some kind of sclerosis–I forget which one. But, he had to keep paying all these nurses to come to his house and take care of him, help him with basic bodily functions. /Tim: What about his wife? /Arnie: He was never married. Anyway, one time I was helping him write checks to pay his bills, and even with all his medical and home care expenses, he still had to pay a huge membership fee to his church. So, I don’t think much of clergy, anymore. All they do is sell without showing evidence of having an actual product TO sell.

07/09/09
/Tim: I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should stay with Candy here at the Hospital, but a coma–it could be years before she wakes up, or…/Arnie: They’ll call you as soon as they know anything. /Tim: Yeah (sighs). /Arnie: What else can you do in the meantime? /Tim: I don’t know. (Buries his face in his hands, sobs.) /Arnie (picks up a magazine, waits for Tim’s sobbing to die down.): What’s going to happen with her bar? /Tim: I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. /Arnie: Well, we have no control over what happens to her, but we can mind the bar for her, right? /Tim: Yeah. Sure. Did you want to work there with me? /Arnie: I can help drink her beer. /Tim: That’s a start, I suppose. /Arnie: I can’t promise to be much help with running the place. I’m just too lazy. /Tim: That’s okay. Being a customer is an important position. The most important, I’d say. /Arnie: Well, I can’t be a customer without a bartender. /Tim: Well, I guess I’ll check on Candy right before we leave. (They walk to the counter.) /Nurse: Yes? /Tim: I’m checking on Candy Bar? /Nurse: Vending machines are around the corner. There are also some in the waiting room. /Tim: No, the patient. /Nurse: Name, please? /Tim: I told you–Candy Bar. /Nurse: Hold on.(She goes back, gets the doctor. They both return to the counter. /Doctor: Nothing has changed, yet. /Tim: Thanks. (They walk out.) /Arnie: Want to ride with me? /Tim: Sure. /Arnie: Mindy lets me borrow her car. Get in. (Tim gets in. They leave the hospital.)

07/10/09
/Tim: I just remembered, I left Candy’s car in the hospital parking lot. /Arnie: You’re in no shape to drive. Besides, Candy can use it to get home. /Tim: Yeah, thanks. /Arnie: So, where are we going? You want t eat something? /Tim: I can’t handle any food right now. /Arnie: You want to go home? /Tim: I don’t know. I’ll just be pacing back and forth, waiting for the hospital to call. I guess I’ll go to the Candy Bar. /Arnie: We’re just leaving from there. /Tim: No, the bar she owns. I’ll try to keep it running for her. /Arnie: The hospital can call the bar? /Tim: Yeah, they have both numbers, bar and home. (They drive for a while. Finally, they see Candy’s car at the end of the hospital lot. /Arnie: You still want to leave her car? /Tim: Yeah. How did you find such a close space for your car, by the way? /Arnie: Easy. Someone else was leaving. You want some company at the bar? /Tim: Sure. Thanks. Hey, does Mindy need her car? /Arnie: Not yet. She’s still asleep. I’ll swing by later and check on her. Or, she can call. I gave her your and Candy’s home and bar phone numbers. [Author’s note: In case I hadn’t mentioned before, this story takes place in a time and place without cell phones and internet.] Do you care if I get something to eat on the way? /Tim: Why should I care? (They see a sign for Bruno’s Beefcakes.” Arnie pulls into the drive-thru.) /Arnie: I’ll ahve a double beefcase, extra meaty, a side of potato sticks, a thermos of soup, and two colas. /Cashier: Would you like a pint of frozen beef batter to take home for just a quarter more? /Arnie: Why would I want that?

07/11/09
/Tim: Cancel the soup. I think I’d rather have a doughnut. /Arnie: Alright. (Arnie pays, gets his food, and drives off.) /Tim: Pull in here. /Arnie: What the hell is this place? /Tim: “Doughnutrition.” It’s like a health food store for doughnut lovers. I’ve never tried it. /Arnie: They don’t even have a drive-thru. /Tim: That’s okay They’re open. I’ll just walk in. You want anything? /Arnie: No, I’ll just sit in the car and eat my beefcakes. /Tim: Alright. (He walks in.) /Clerk: Hi. Welcome to “Doughnutrition.” /Tim: Thanks. How can a doughnut be healthy? (Clerk points to an explanation on the wall. Tim reads.) /Tim: “Doughnutrition: we use only whole grains dough, extra-virgin olive oil, pure unrefined cane sugar, all-natural fruits for our jellies: nothing artificial. Ever.” (to clerk) So, where’s your menu? (Clerk points to another wall. On it is a picture of a fish with a name tag called “Artie” and a red slash across it. Tim’s forehead furrows.) Excuse me, what’s with the fish with the slash? /Clerk: You can’t figure that one out? The slash over Artie the fish is supposed to mean “Nothing artificial.” /Tim: Okay. Thanks. (Tim reads the menu: “The Dip ‘n’ Drip: a dougnut and coffee combo. Go ‘nuts doughnuts: A walnut-peanut-hazel nut coated doughnut for that extra nutty flavor. Doughnuts ‘n’ berries: Go ‘nuts doughnuts tha are jelly-filled wit all natural mixed berry preserves.” (to clerk) I just want a bag of doughnuts to go. /Clerk: Keep reading. /Tim: “Nathan’s ‘nut sack: Our manager’s favorite: Grab a ‘nut sack of your favorite flavors. A beker’s dozen, or if you’re not so hungry, grab a bag of mini doughnut balls. (to clerk) I’ll have the nut sack. /Clerk: Which ones? /Tim: Mix-em up. And a coffee. Extra cream.

07/12/09
/Clerk: Here you go. Enjoy your ‘nut sack. /Tim: Thanks. (Back in the car…) /Arnie: Hey, a whole bag. You feeling better? /Tim: My stomach is, yeah. I’m still bummed, though. /Arnie: Of course. So, where are we headed? /Tim: I guess to the Candy Bar. Where else? /Arnie: Maybe I can take you home? You look beat. /Tim: I am. I don’t think I can sleep, though. /Arnie: Well, I’m sure the bar can wait. I don’t have anything I have to do. I can hang out with you. We can watch TV or play a game or something. /Tim: TV sounds good. It’ll help me fall asleep. What about Mindy’s car, though? We can drive back to the hospital and pick up Candy’s car. /Arnie: Mindy isn’t going to need a car for a while. She’s still asleep. She’ll be snoozing for hours, yet. And when she does get up, she only has to walk a couple blocks to get to work. You’re in no shape to drive. Let’s go back to your place, park the car, walk inside the house, THEN crash. /Tim: Okay. It’s really Candy’s place, though. /Arnie: You live there with her, don’t you? /Tim: Yeah. /Arnie: And your things are there, right? /Tim: Yeah. /Arnie: So, it’s your place, too. (He starts the car.) I’lll drive you to your place. /Tim: Thanks, buddy. (Later, at the house…) /tim: I’ll be right out. /Arnie: Take your time–I’ll just sit on the couch and grab a ‘nut. Maybe I’ll grab a few and stack them. /Tim: Don’t be playing with my ‘nuts, now. (Later…) /Tim: What’s this? /Arnie: Some crazy infomercial. /Tim: What the hell? /Arnie: Exactly. Some weird grooming device–a comb for toe hair.

07/13/09
/Announcer: Got unsightly toe hair? Don’t hide it or yank it out. Comb it–with “Comb-a-Toes”. Only $!.99 plus 50 dollars shipping and handling. Each “Comb-a-Toes” comb is personally tested for strength and durability. Our “Comb-a-Toes” combs go the distance. /Tim (tries to swallow, can’t. His mouth hangs open, dries out, finally whispers.): Comb-a-Toes. Real funny. /Arnie: Yeah, they really suck. /Tim: Who the hell combs their toe hair, anyway? /Arnie: Who grows enough toe hair to make combing it even possible? /Tim: Good point. I don’t see how they’ll be able to sell any of them. (Arnie shrugs.) I should call the hospital. /Arnie: I’m sure they haven’t found anything new with her. If they had, they would have called you. /Tim: yeah, well, maybe they called the bar? /Arnie: So? When you didn’t answer they would have called the house. (Silence answers him.) Tim? (Tim stares at the screen. Tears track down his cheeks. He makes no move to wipe them away.) /Tim: I’m calling them. (He picks up the phone, dials.) Hello? Comb-a-Toes? /Operator: Thank you for calling Comb-a-Toes. How may I help you? /Tim: What kind of sick, twisted bastard are you? You know my fiancee is comatose? And she’s never even heard of your product. /Operator (somber mood music plays in the background): You know how many of these exact types of calls we’ve had? Just like yours about a loved one in a coma? /Tim: Probably a lot. /Operator: Nope. You’re the first. Could I interest you in a free sample of our product? /Tim: I don’t think so. I never need to comb my toe hair. No–enough of this. How do you stay in business, anyway? /Operator: Please hold. (After a brief pause…) Okay. The manager had just informed us that this company has just folded.

07/14/09
/Tim: Just folded? /Operator: Yup. So, I’m now out of a job. I don’t know why the phone still wo–(silence). /Tim: Hello? Hello? (Nothing. Suddenly, the room tips. His vision clouds.) /Arnie: Tim! /Tim: Why am I lying on the floor? /Arnie: You moaned real loud, then collapsed. /Tim: Collapsed? /Arnie: You dropped like a turd. /Tim: How long have I been out? /Arnie: Not long. A couple minutes. As soon as you got off the phone, you just fell. (Tim’s head starts to clear. He starts to get up. Arnie grabs him.) /Arnie: Slowly, pal. Take it real slow. /Tim: Thanks, but I’m better. He nudges Arnie back, gets up and sits on the couch.) /Arnie: I guess you crashed after those doughnuts. /Tim: That phone call…/Arnie: What about it? /Tim: That company died while I was talking to them. /Arnie: Don’t you mean they closed down? Not “died”. /Tim: Don’t you get it? Sure, it was a business I was dealing with on the phone, but just think about it. This company went from Comb-a-Toes to nothing. Right now, Candy is comatose. /Arnie: That doesn’t mean she’s going to die. /Tim: You don’t see the pattern? /Arnie: Sure, I see it. But, just because a business had to fold doesn’t mean Candy will, too. Think about it. You’re the writer. This company going out of business may look like foreshadowing, but remember what we’re dealing with–a writer who can’t even decide if he or she wants Candy to live or die. That’s why she’s in a coma to begin with. /Tim: I guess…/Arnie: You’re tired. You really need to go to bed. /Tim: Maybe the hospital tried calling while I was on the line, though? /Arnie: Call them now if you want. (Arnie leans back in the recliner.)

07/15/09

(Tim dials the hospital.) /Operator: Thank you for calling “Our Lady of–” /Tim: I’m asking about a patient: last name is Bar, first name is Candy. (Tim hears a click. To Arnie…) She hung up on me. /Arnie: Of course she did. “Candy Bar” sounds like a crank call. Try again, but don’t give the whole name like that. /Tim: Then who do I ask about? The pope? /Arnie: /Try giving just initials. /Tim: Thanks. (He dials the hospital, again.) /Operator: May I help you? /tim: Yes, I’m–” (click) She hung up on me, again. /Arnie: She probably recognized your voice. /Tim: Great. Now what? /Arnie: Simple. Grab some sleep. Then later, call the hospital after the operator has finished her shift. /Tim: Thanks. Hey, do you want to go back to the hospital? Then we can simply ask. /Arnie (yawns, scratches himself): I think we both need some shut-eye. /Tim: Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know how I’ll sleep, though. (He goes to the bathroom, turns on the sink. Later, Arnie goes up, checks on Tim. Tim’s standing in front of the mirror–just standing.) /Arnie: Tim? (Arnie shuts off the water) Tim! (Tim reaches for the knob, then sees the water’s already off.) /Tim: I just don’t know what to do. /Arnie: I told you–get some sleep. /Tim: I guess I’ll try. (Tim goes to bed. Arnie turns down the volume on the TV. Tim tosses around. He pulls the blanket up, then throws and kicks it back off.) /Tim: Arnie? Arnie? (Arnie stirs, yawns.) /Arnie: What? /Tim: I can’t sleep. /Arnie: Neither can I. /Tim: You want to go there with me? /Arnie: Alright if I sleep, first? I’m really beat.

07/16/09

/Tim: I’m going to try calling the hospital again. (He dials the number.) Hi. I’m calling about a patient of yours: her last name is spelled B-A-R. That’s right, just one “R”. Yeah, that’s right–her first name does start with a C. Thank you…Oh…Oh…Okay…Thanks. (Tim hangs up the phone.) /’Arnie: Well? What did they say? /Tim: Nothing’s changed. She’s still in that coma. Her vitals are otherwise okay. /Arnie: How are you going to pay for all her medical bills? (Tim stares at Arnie for a full minute.) /Tim: My girl might die. Or, she might wake up with permanent brain damage. I never even thought about her medical bills. /Arnie: I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up. /Tim: No, that’s okay. I will have to think about it, soon, anyway. /Arnie: Well, I can’t do anything about Candy’s condition, but if you need help with her bills, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do. /Tim: I can’t ask you to help with her medical expenses. /Arnie: You don’t have to ask. I just offered. (Tim’s eyes tear up. He tries to talk, coughs instead, clears his throat.) /Tim: Thanks. /Arnie: Hey, that’s what friends do. (Tim’s quiet. He starts yawning. He gets up, goes to bed. Then, comes back out a minute later.) /Tim: I’ve got to do something, first. (He grabs a sheet of paper and a pen.) I don’t consider myself religious at all, but, being a writer, I can’t help thinking we’re characters in someone else’s story. /Arnie: Well, like the priest said, the Periodic Table of Elements could be like the alphabet. /Tim: Yeah, before he mentioned that, I had never thought of it. Anyway, I’m going to write something, just for kicks. /Arnie: Go to bed.

07/17/09
/Arnie: You really need to get some rest. (He gets up and bangs his right shin on the oak coffee table.) /Arnie: Ow! (he rubs his shin) So, if we’re just characters in someone else’s story, then none of this is real? ‘Cause that coffee table sure felt real to be. /Tim: Exactly. To us, it is real. Everything’s real to the characters within the story. /Arnie: You better get some sleep before I start having an existential crisis (whatever that means). /Tim: Hey, how did you get traparent? /Arnie: Transparent as in fading out of existence? /Tim: Hey, how did you get transparent? /Arnie: Transparent as in fading out of existence? /Tim: Yeah /Arnie: I was gonna ask you the same thing. (Tim’s eyes widen, they stare at each other for a moment, then both bust out laughing.) /Tim: I am tired (He puts his paper in an envelope, seals it shut.) /Arnie: What are you gonna do with that note? /Tim: Hide it. /Arnie: Why? /Tim: See if the Author of us answers. /Arnie: You really need some rest. /Tim: What are you gonna do? /Arnie: Pick up Mindy from work. She still has a couple hours. /Tim: Hey, if you want, feel free to bring her here. /Arnie: Sure. Thanks. Good night. /Tim: ‘Night’. (Tim goes to bed, slides his note under the mattress, and falls asleep.) Hours later, he gets up, finds the note and reads. Below the questions: “Why can’t you make up your mind about Candy? Why don’t you consult your outline?) /Tim sees the answer: “I don’t have an outline. I don’t even have a title. I just make it up as I go along. I’m not God, just a frustrated writer like you. For all I know, my existence may also be an illusion. Anway, I hope this answers your question.

07/18/09
(Tim’s hand shakes. The sheet of paper flutters like an angry moth trapped inside a car, beating its wings against the windshield.) /Tim: I don’t care what you call yourself–God or not, it’s your fault my girl’s in a coma. Why’d you do it, anyway? Huh? (A book slides off the bookcase, hits Tim in the shin.) Ow! Motherfff. (He kicks the book and stubs his toe.) Fuck! What the–(He looks again at the book. It’s about writing, and is open to the page about story development. He reads: “Make sure to always have conflict. Happy characters with an easy life are boring, and won’t get you published.”) Hey, I’m gonna leave this book for you, Mr. Writer. There’s a good chapter here about making a goddamn outline! (Tim steps on the book as he walks out of the bedroom. He picks up the phone and calls Arnie.) /Arnie: Hello. /Tim: Hope I didn’t wake you. /We weren’t asleep, yet. But, we were in bed. /Tim: Good. /Arnie: No, not good. /Tim: Why not–oh, I’m sorry. Should I call back later? /Arnie: Hold on. (pause) No, tthe mood is gone, already. What’s up? /Tim: I have proof of the existence of God, or whatever he calls Himself. /Arnie: So? I was about to meet Him personally, until you called. (Tim’s face gets hot, he’s glad Arnie can’t see him.) /Arnie: Hold on. What, Mindy? Ow! /Mindy: Tim? /Tim: Yeah? /Mindy: Sorry about my boyfriend. He can be a brute, sometimes. I smacked him on his bottom. (To Arnie) You bad boy. Tim’s girl is in a coma. Or, have you forgotten? (Back to Tim) So, you have proof?

07/19/09
/Tim: Yeah. I’m sorry to have bothered you, though. What I have can wait. /Mindy: No, that’s fine. We’ll be there in a half-hour. /Tim: Great. Thanks. /Mindy: Sure. (Click. Forty minutes later…) /Tim: Thanks for coming, guys. /Arnie: Sure. Show us this proof. /Tim: I wrote to God, and he wrote back. Here, see for yourselves. (Arnie and Mindy study the paper, then look at each other without saying a word. Mindy nudges Arnie, who looks at Tim.) /Arnie: Who else have you shown this to? /Tim: You guys are the first. /Arnie: Good. Don’t show anyone else this paper. /Tim: Why not? /Arnie: Take a look again at your “proof.” What do you notice about the handwriting? (Tim looks at the sheet. Looks at it again. Tires to keep it from fluttering in his hand.) /Tim: How did I not see that? Yeah, the handwriting looks the same, but I know I didn’t write the answer. /Mindy: What Arnie is trying to say is you’ve been through a lot, what with your girl in a coma, so you’re just reacting to stress the way any normal person would. Isn’t that right, Arnie? /Arnie: Absolutely. /Tim: I know I didn’t write that answer. /Arnie: Hey, it’s okay. We know you’re a writer. So, God is just a character in your story. /Mindy: Yeah, and you wrote yourself in as another character. /Tim: Well, what about the Bible? Lots of people think God wrote that. /Arnie: Yeah, but in your note to yourself, you even say you’re not God. /Mindy: Look, no one thinks you’re crazy, just stressed. Just tear up that paper and forget about it. /Tim: Okay.

07/20/09
(Tim tears the sheet in half, then again, then again, then again. He scoops up the pieces in his hands and throws them into the wastebasket.) /Tim: Much better. Thanks, guys. Thanks so much for coming over. /Arnie: Hey, what about all those times before I met Mindy when I hung out with you and Candy? There’s no third wheel among friends. /Tim: Who said anthing about being a third wheel? (Arnie’s silent. Tim slowly smiles at him. Mindy barks a sharp laugh. All three share a laugh.) /Tim (looks at the TV): What’re we watching? /Mindy: Don’t know. We haven’t been paying attention. /Arnie: Looks like an infomercial. (TV: Are you tense? Uptight? Then you need to pop one of these: Relaxatives–in two delicious flavors: dark chocolate and chocolate raspberry. Just listen to these happy customers…) /Mindy: That’s okay, we just won’t. /Tim: Go ahead and change the channel if you want. It’s a rerun, anyway. /Mindy: Of course it is. It’s an infomercial. /Tim: And Arnie and I already saw it. (Mindy turns her head sharply to look at her boyfriend.) /Arnie: Yeah, want me to tell you what happens? (Without waiting for Mindy to say no…) Later, they introduce a bonus free third flavor: ‘chocolate prune’. /Mindy: Yummy. (She bed pans–I mean, deadpans.) /Tim: Did you guys hear that? /Arnie: Hear what? /Tim: That God or writer or who ever–I think He was just narrating. /Arnie: You’re kidding, right? /Tim: No, but He was. Or, he was trying to, but it wasn’t very funny. /Arnie: You need to rest.

07/21/09
/Mindy: You know, I also could use some rest. I’m going to have to work later tonight. Come to the diner later tonight, Tim, okay? /Tim: Sure, thanks. And, thanks for coming over now. /Arnie: Sure, buddy. We’re friends. Tha’s what friends do. /Mindy: Hey, when you come over to the diner later, maybe you can bring some of your writing? /Tim: Maybe. I haven’t written anything in a while. /Mindy: Well, how about your earlier stuff? I’d be interested in reading it. /Tim: Thanks. (Mindy and Arnie leave. Tim heads back to bed, sees a taped-up note on his pillow. The same torn note. He grabs the note, runs outside into the road.) /Arnie: Mindy, LOOK OUT! (Mindy slams on the brakes. The car stops inches from Tim. Mindy jumps out, yells at Tim.) /Mindy: What the fuck you think you’re doing? You have any idea how close I came to hitting you? /Tim: Look at this. /Arnie: You taped your note back together. So? /Tim: I didn’t tape it. /Mindy: Okay. Sure. Let me ask you something: Do you want to keep your note? /Tim: No, that’s why I tore it to start with. /Mindy: Okay. See that empty metal trash can? /Tim: Yeah. /Mindy: Got a match or lighter. /Tim: Yeah. /Mindy: Come on, Arnie, we’re gonna watch Tim burn his note, then maybe I’ll be calm enough to drive us back home. (They gather around the trash can. Tim drops the sheet, then a lighted match. The paper catches fire, their faces glow blue and orange from the reflected firelight. Tim waves away the smoke, Mindy coughs.) /Tim: Sorry, I didn’t mean to move the smoke your way. /Mindy: That’s okay. I can still drive once my eyes stop tearing up.

07/22/09
/Arnie: Are you gonna be alright, buddy? /Tim: I guess I have to be. /Mindy: I could call the diner, ask to take off work. /Tim: Thanks, but what would be the point? It won’t get Candy out of her coma. /Mindy: Well, come by and see me, okay? /Tim: Sure. Oh, I left Candy’s car at the Hospital. /Arnie: That’s okay.I can pick you up in Mindy’s car. /Tim: Thanks. /Arnie: Sure, buddy. (Tim watches Mindy and Arnie walk toward her car. On the way, she drops her keys. Tim can’t help noticing her pert round bottom as she bends down, bobbing it in front of him like a life raft on a stormy sea. Then, she straightens up again and resumes walkingf toward her car, leaving Tim to drown in his salty tears. He watches them get into the car and drive off. As Tim turns to go back inside, a gust of wind starts, so strong it nearly knocks him down. Nearly, but not quite. He manages to keep his footing, then hears a clang. The trash can just fell. He walks over toward it, then turns away before the ash that blows forth can sting his eyes. He finds the door and goes inside. The wind follows, somehow Tim manages to shut the door. Too tired to get ready for bed, he collapses on the couch. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up, rubbing his eyes, and walking toward the bathroom. He doesn’t walk far when he bangs his shin on the coffee table.) /Tim: Ow! (He rubs his shin as he looks down at the coffee table. He looks again. His knees go rubbery and he sits back down on the couch, his need for the bathroom forgotten. Written in ash on his coffee-colored coffee table is that same note, word for word. As he watches, a gust blows in, although the doors and windows are closed, and forms a new message.)

07/23/09
(Tim watches the ashes stir around on the table. New words appear. “Watch your…” There’s a third word, but it’s hard to make out “skin?” “shit?” Then, the ashes swirl again, and blow into his face.) Ow! (He closes his eyes, but too late. Bits of ash find their way into both his eyes. His eyes burn and water. Eyes still squeezed shut, he feels his way toward the bathroom. On the way, he slams his left shin against the coffee table.) /Tim: MotherFUCKER! (He yells. His eyes fly open. So, THAT was the third word. He rubs his shin a moment, then blinks rapidly. His eyes no longer sting. He looks at the coffee table and the carpet beneath and around it. No trace of ash, anywhere. Not even residual pain in his eyes–it’s completely gone. Only his shin still hurts. He limps toward the bathroom, finally makes it inside. He looks in the mirror. No evidence of ash on his face. No smears, no tear trails, nothing. He then gets an idea and goes back outside. He doesn’t see the overturned trash can. Maybe it rolled away? Tim looks around, then barely keeps from stumbling. The trash can is standing. So what? He thinks. Someone just picked it back up for me. The ashes still won’t be here. He lifts the lid and peers inside. It’s late afternoon, but there’s enough light left in the sky to clearly illuminate the ashes inside. Well, okay, he thinks. It’s just different ashes. Another gust starts, completely inside the can. Tim watches the ashes shift and swirl and form a new message: “It’s the same ash. Watch your step.” Tim staggers back, nearly falls down, doesn’t, turns around and steps on the garbage can lid. The lid swings up and smacks his shin, the same one he hurt before.) Fuck! (He shouts and rubs his shin again. He slams the lid back on the can and heads toward the door. He hears a thunk and turns around. The lis is back on the ground.)

07/24/09
(Tim staggers inside, still rubbing his shin. He drops into the bed, kicks off his shoes, and sleeps. And dreams. Giant clouds of ash float up, form Candy’s face, and talk. “How could you let this happen to me? It’s all your fault.” Tim opens his mouth to speak, nothing comes out. He clears his throat and is about to try again, but her features melt, dissolve, and resume being clouds of ash. The clouds combine to form fewer but larger clouds. Tim wants to run, but as often is the case in dreams, he’s frozen in place, staring stupidly at the clouds–no, now it’s just one giant black-gray cloud. Rain falls, not the usual freshwater variety–this downpour is hot and salty. It stings his eyes, burns his throat. And still it falls. Now, the cloud itself is descending, getting lower and lower and closer to Tim. Tendrils grow out the sides, reach for him, encircle him and drag him toward the cloud. Tim kicks, pushes, wakes up to find himself tangled in the covers. His eyes and throat still burn. He has been crying. He finally, somehow, extricates himself from the covers and pads over to the bathroom. Amazing how therapeutic a long hot shower can be. He gets dressed–after getting out of the shower–and heads toward the kitchen in a wrinkled T-shirt, a baseball cap, and chinos. I didn’t know Candy has a cappuccino machine, he thinks. He doesn’t have the patience to figure out how to use it, so instead he boils some water and reaches for the jar of instant coffee. He grabs the top of the jar, the lid comes off in his hand. The jar falls to the floor. It doesn’t break, but half the coffee grounds spill onto the floor.

07/25/09
(Tim stares at the coffee grounds, waiting for a message to appear, but they just remain a pile of instant coffee grounds. Tim goes to a closet, grabs a brush and a dustpan, sweeps up the grounds, stares at them until he starts getting a headache, then dumps them into the trash. He then picks up the coffee jar, pours soke instant into his cup and looks for sugar, but only finds Sweet’N’Low. He sighs. That crap always has an aftertaste. He finds the creamer and tries to pour some out, but it’s empty, except for a couple granules. He, he says, I see a message, here. Buy more fucking sugar and creamer. He opens the fridge, finds some milk. He checks the date. Long expired. He peeks inside. So, that’s how they make butter, he says to himself. he tosses the useless carton into the trash. The water boils. He wonders if he should still pour it into his coffee or just pour it into the sink. He doesn’t wonder long. He dumps it out into the sink. He checks the time. Mindy will be working in a few hours. He can watch TV until then. He goes into the living room and turns it on. “Test Pattern” was going off, but a new crime series was starting: “Queens, NY.”) /TV: Mandy Underwood, Undercover Drag Queen. /Mandy to boss: But, I’m already a woman. /Boss (named Kyle Baskin): You don’t think the other queens could tell a real woman from one of them? You’re going to wear a special “layered” disguise: first, you’ll wear a high-tech military grade costume to pass you for a fully functioning man, complete with a voice-deepening Adam’s apple. Then, you’ll dress in drag over it. Do you accept this assignment?

07/26/09

/Mary: That’s the whole assignment? To be a man dressed in drag? /Kyle: Actually, no. That’s your beat. Your actual assignment is to find out what happened to Captain Al T. Tude. /Mandy: The dirigible pilot? /Kyle: Yeah, he disappeared in Queens last night and hasn’t been seen since. /Tim: The pilot episode. Well, this show better get better fast, or it will also disappear–from the network. The visual effects are okay, but the writing is horrible. Cops don’t talk or act like that, Kyle asking Mandy if she accepts her assignment. If that’s her assignment, then that’s her assignment–she accepted it when she got sworn in. (He clicks the set off. His stomach rumbles. He steps outside. Damn. He forgot Candy’s car was in the hospital parking lot. Well, it’s a nice evening. He’lll walk until he finds a place that sells food. He checks his wallet. Turns it over. Shakes it. Shouts into it and hears an echo. Turns around, goes back inside the house. Opens a cupboard, finds some moldy bread, a sticky, warm empty jam bottle (mixed fruit), stale, crumbled crackers, big jar of cash, unopened, expired box of grits (homestyle)–Tim steps back, pinches himself, then peeks in again. Yup. Still there. He takes out the big jar of cash, sets it on the counter, and turns the lid. Stuck. He tries again. Still won’t turn. He tries running hot water over it. Then, picks up the wet jar, turns, the jar slips out of his hands, smacks onto the tile floor. /Tim shuts his ees. Blinks. No glass. Checks his hair, clothes. Nothing. It just broke in several big, clean pieces. He carefully extricates the money from the glass and puts it in his wallet. Now, he can take a cab if he wants. He walks over toward the phone, then stops. He then grabs the brush and dustpan and sweeps up the glass. The phone rings.

07/27/09
/Tim: Hello? /Hospital nurse: Is this Tim Timmons? /Tim: Yes? /Nurse: We need to talk to you about Candy Bar. /Tim: Did she wake up? /Nurse: No. (Tim’s legs stop working. He doesn’t remember falling to the floor.) /Tim: She…she…/Nurse: Is still in a coma, yes. /Tim: Oh. /Nurse: We wanted to know if you want to keep her on life support. /Tim: Of course. She still might wake up. /Nurse: Yeah, well, there’s another aspect to this. It costs a lot of money to keep her going. /Tim: Well, what about her ex-husband…her parents? /Nurse: Her parents have both died. They didn’t have much money, whatever they left her already got spent on her care. /Tim: And her ex-husband? /Nurse: Candy and Zeke already had a court settlement for their divorce. And as for her accident, the police still can’t prove he was the one who threw the glass bottle. /Tim: But, I was there. I saw him throw it. /Nurse: According to the police report, another witness, aother witness saw the two of you standing, then saw a bottle get thrown. When Zeke was questioned, he said that YOU threw the bottle. /Tim: That’s a lie. /Nurse: And that’s why we can’t get him to pay for Candy’s care. /Tim: So, that’s what it comes down to? Money? (He spits the last word into the phone, as if it were a hair in his food.) /Nurse: It costs a lot just for day-to-day operations, so yeah. /Tim: So, if I can’t pay? /Nurse: We’ll give you a week to arrange some form of payment schedule, and we’ll continue to monitor her condition. She still could wake up, anytime, but don’t get your hopes up. If another week goes by without any improvement, she’ll likely have too much brain damage by then to save, anyway. /Tim: I’ll get your blood money. Keep her going. /Nurse: You’ll get our bill in the mail.

07/28/09
/Tim: Oh, I just remembered. I had left Candy’s car in the lot. /Nurse: Actually, it’s not her car, anymore. It went toward her medical expenses. /Tim: Oh. /Nurse: Hold on, please, her doctor is coming. /Doctor: Tim? Hi. This is her doctor. I need to remind you: if she does wake up, it doesn’t mean she’ll be the same person. Her brain may be permanently damaged. She might need help with basic things. She might not remember you. Whether she wakes up tomorrow, a week from now, or stays in the coma, either way it’ll be a long haul. In my professional opinion as a doctor, I think the best decision is to simply yank out the cord, to pull the plug. Candy will die quickly and painlessly in her sleep. /Tim (his voice quavers, he’s shaking): And cut our losses, right? Nothin’ doin’. You’ll keep her plugged in and you’ll get your money. Send me the bill. I’ll figure out something. And, don’t call me, again, until Candy’s out of her coma. (Tim slams the phone into the cradle. He starts to call information for a cab, calls Arnie, instead. Arnie’s mom answers.) /Mom: Hello? /Tim: Is Arnie there? /Mom: He’s at Mindy’s. I think he lives there, now. /Tim: Thanks. /Mom: You have her number? /Tim: Yeah, I think so. /Mom: Hey, I heard about your fiancee. I’m real sorry about that. /Tim: Thanks. /Mom: You know my husband and I are separated, so if you ever have to come over to relieve some tension…/Tim (quickly): Thanks, I’m good. /Mom: Are you sure? I know it’s frustrating being alone. /Tim (glad she can’t see him blushing over the phone): Really, I’m fine. Thanks, anyway. Really. /Mom: Well, just keep me in mind in case anything comes up. /Tim: I-I’ll do that. /Mom: You have my number. Just call me, anytime. Okay? /Tim: Got it. Thanks.

07/29/09
(Tim hangs up the phone. Before he can take his hand away the phone rings again. He jumps, drops the receiver, picks it up.) /Tim: Hello? (He turns the receiver around) Hello? Hello? /Arnie: Tim, what’s up? /Tim: Nothing. I was just about to call you. You hungry? /Arnie: Yeah. I was going to go with Mindy to her work. We can come by, pick you up. /Tim: Thanks. /Arnie: See you in twenty minutes. /Tim: Okay. (He hangs up the phone. He’s already ready to go, so he turns on the TV.) /TV: (Infomercial) “We’re not just any national chain. /We’re a local chain. For any and all kinds of chains, come to The Chain Store. We’ve got it all: necklaces in our jewelry department, driving chains and tire chains in our automotive department, chain-link fences in our garden department. We even have an S&M department. So, bring your ball and chain. We even opened up a new department called “Chain Reaction!” What if you already have a chain, you ask, but it does not hold together? No problem. We sell individual links in all makes, models, and sizes. Even sausage links–the only ones made from actual lynx. So come on over, and bring the gang–to The Chain Store.” /Tim: Why am I watching this? (He changes the channel.) /TV: You, too, can be a neurosurgeon. Just grab a scalp, plug in your drill. and call 1-800-CUT-HEAD to sign up for Dr. Kwak’s Cranial Correspondence Course. Again, that number is (click.) (Tim thinks, I hope that’s not who they got at the Hospital for Candy. He jumps when the car horn blares.) /Tim: Coming. (He steps outside, turns to lock the door, and sees a guy hammering in a foreclosure sign in the front yard.) /Tim: Hey, the Hospital said I have a week. Ijust talked with them earlier today. (The guy looks up from his work.) /Guy: This has nothing to do with no hospital. (Arnie steps out of the car.) /Arnie: What’s going on? This is my friend’s home. His fiancee is in the Hospital. She lives here, actually, it’s her home. /Guy: Actually, it’s another’s home. It belongs to the bank. By order of President Zeke, himself.

07/30/09
/Tim: Hey, wait. Your Zeke and my Candy used to be married. They divorced, and Candy got the house. /Guy: Yeah, as long as she didn’t fall behind on her mortgage payments. /Arnie: But, Zeke can’t have the house if the settlement already awarded it to Candy. /Guy: Zeke’s not getting the house. The bank is. /Tim: Hold on. I remember Candy telling me the house was already paid off. /Guy: Show Zeke the mortgage. Or any other bank representative during business hours. In the meantime (he tests the sign), I’m done here. /Arnie: Come on, Tim. /Tim: Hey, my writing is in there. I better get it. /Arnie (looks back at car): Well, the thing is, Mindy really needs to get to work. She’s already late. The bank won’t lock you out yet. And later, I can drop you off so you can get your things. /Tim: Well, okay. /Arnie: Thanks, buddy. /Tim: No problem. (In car) /Mindy: You know, after Arnie drops me off, why don’t you and him go to the hospital to pick up Candy’s car? /Tim: Because it’s not her car, anymore. The hospital took it for her medical expenses. (They arrive at the diner. Mindy gets out. She’s already dressed in her waitress uniform and gets right to work, waiting tables. She takes orders from customers, then works her way toward the kitchen in the back, where her boss gives her more orders.) /Arnie: So, no house, no car? That’s fucked up. /Tim: I don’t care, really. No fiancee. That’s a million times worse. And that creditor (he points his finger up to the ceiling) doesn’t even need a legal document to take her. /Arnie (sighs): Well, buddy, there’s always the chance she’ll wake up. /Tim: Yeah, but will it still be her? She could be damaged. Permanently. In ways we can’t even imagine. I’m mainly mad about the car and house because they were hers. And, now I feel like I failed her. /Arnie: How the hell’s it your fault? You didn’t cause her coma.

07/31/09
/Tim: I feel I should be with her. /Arnie: What’s the point? She wouldn’t even know you were there. /Tim: Well, in case she wakes up. Or dies. /Arnie: Won’t the hospital call you? /Tim: Yeah. Oh, crap. /Arnie: What? /Tim: How can they call me at home if I’m being kicked out? [Author’s note: In case I didn’t mention it before, this takes place in a time before cell phones, internet, and all that other stuff] /Arnie: Give them my number. Also, don’t they have the number at the Candy Bar? /Tim: Yeah, that’s right. I guess I should start working there. Try to earn some hospital money. (Mindy brings them food, refills their glasses, and sits with them.) /Mindy: Hey. /Tim, you don’t have to worry about having a place to stay. You can stay at my place. /Arnie: Don’t you mean OUR place? /Mindy: Who pays the rent? /Tim: I know I can’t afford to pay it. Not with Candy’s medical bills. I hope the bank doesn’t take away her bar. /Mindy: /Well, maybe I can earn enough to pay it for you? /Tim: I can’t ask you to do that. Having a place to stay is more than enough. (They finish their meal.) Well, I guess I gotta go work at the bar. /Mindy: Don’t you want to pack your things, first? /Tim (sighs): Yeah, I guess you’re right. (Mindy gets up, goes back to work. Arnie drives Tim back to Candy’s house. They arrive to find the front door chained and padlocked. All the furniture, belongings have been tossed into the yard. Tim’s stories and Candy’s documents are all blowing around. Tim and Arnie run through the grass, try to gather the paperwork.) /Tim: They just toss out all the papers and let them blow away. Don’t they know Candy’s in a coma? /Arnie: It wouldn’t make a difference to these bastards. /Tim: Did you feel a drop? /Arnie: I don’t know. (Lightning splits the sky. Sheets of rain fall down.) /Arnie: Now that, I felt. (They continue gathering up whatever soggy papers they can find and throw them in the car.

08/01/09
/Tim: I feel bad about trashing Mindy’s car. All this water can’t be good for her upholstery. /Arnie (shrugs): Well, the water isn’t good for yours and Candy’s things, either. /Tim: Yeah, but that’s not Mindy’s fault. /Arnie: It sure ain’t your fault, either, bud. (They continue working.) /Arnie: Anyway, all this will eventually dry. At least the wind seemed to have died down. /Tim: Yeah, the rain is letting up, too. /Arnie: Yeah, unless you live in monsoon country, it never rains heavy for a long time. /Tim: Looks like we got all the small things, at least whatever didn’t blow away or get stolen. /Arnie: Yeah, we filled up the back and trunk of the car pretty well, too. I guess we’ll come back for the furniture. In the meantime, we can start drying out here. Tim: True, so I guess we’ll head for the bar. /Arnie: You want to work there, now? What about your stuff? /Tim: I’m going now to the bar. I can sleep in the back. /Arnie: I’ve seen the bar. There’s no room in the back to store all your stuff and live there, too. It’s just a drafty storeroom. No, roommate, that ain’t happening. You’re staying with me. /Tim: What about Mindy? /Arnie: I already discussed it with her while you were chatting with Mr. Foreclosure. She’s kthe one who suggested it. /Tim: Wow. You’re both such great friends. (They drive to Mindy’s apartment.) /Arnie: She lives in a brownstone. (They pull up in the driveway. Arnie looks at his watch. /Arnie: Great. I was supposed to pick her up from work an hour ago. (He reaches for the front door, unlocks it. /Arnie: Go on get comfy. All that. Bye. (Arnie darts out to the car, pulls out of the driveway…)

08/02/09
(…and turns sharply into the flower bed to avoid a head-on collision with a cab. Back door of cab opens, Mindy jumps out.) /Mindy: What the fuck?!? You tryin’ to get us killed? (Arnie doesn’t open his door, just sits there.) Open up, you maniac. At least face me like a man. (She opens the driver side door. Arnie falls out into the mud.) Get up. I know you’re okay ’cause you didn’t even hit anything. (Arnie gets up.) /Arnie: I don’t know why I did that. All I know is I was racing over to pick you up. /Mindy: I know you were busy with Tim, so when you didn’t show up, I figured I’d take a cab. /Cabbie: Hey, does someone want to pay me? /Tim: I got it. (He pays the cab.) /Armie: Sorry about the flower bed. /Mindy: That’s not important. What the hell were you thinking acting like you were hurt? If it ain’t an orgasm, don’t fake it. /Arnie: Okay. Hey! Were you…did you…/Mindy: You’ll never know, will you? (Tim’s face is the color of a ripe tomato.) /Tim: Hey, Mindy. (they all go inside–except for the cabbie, who had left after getting paid.) /Mindy: What, Tim? /Tim: If you switch the last two letters of my first name, what do you get? /Mindy (her forehead furrows): T…M…I? /Tim: Exactly. (He smiles. Arnie chuckles.) Mindy: I don’t get it–oh. TMI. Well, it’s hard to think straight after nearly getting killed and then Arnie’s stunt after that…Well, anyway, what do we want to do for lunch? /Arnie: How about the–/Mindy (gives him a warning look): Don’t even say it. /Tim: What about the diner? (Arnie erupts with laughter. Mindy looks at Arnie, then Tim, then joins in.)

08/03/09
/Mindy: Tim, how about I show you to your room now, then we’ll figure out lunch. /Tim: Thanks. (Tim follows Mindy to the guest bedroom. He follows her inside. Heavy mellow music is playing and scented candles are burning. Time hears a click, turns around. He sees Mindy unbuttoning her waitress uniform.) /Mindy (her voice husky): If you didn’t already have someone, I would have chosen you over Arnie. /Tim (swallows with a loud click): Thanks, but nothing’s changed. I STILL have someone, and besides, Arnie’s my friend. (He bends down, picks up and hands back to Mindy her 34DD bra.) I think you dropped this. Here, you can just put those away, now. Thanks, anyway. (Mindy reaches between Tim’s legs.) /Mindy: Your mouth says no, but your–/Tim: My mouth is closer to my brain. That’s all you need to be listening to. (A knock sounds on the door.) /Arnie (through the closed door): I called for pizza. I got too hungry towait. I’m gonna watch TV. (Mindy tackles Tim, he tries to push her off of him. Her lips lock onto his. Tim jerks his head sharply to the left. Mindy’s head hits the edge of the headboard, a candle falls.) /Mindy: Ow! You made my head hit the headboard. /Tim: Is something burning? /Mindy: Yeah, candles. /Tim: No, not just candles. (Smoke fills the room. Tim and Mindy duck down. Tim puts one hand over his face, tries the doorknob, jerks his hand back and winces–too hot. He grabs the bra, tries the knob again. He can hold it, but it won’t turn. The wood and metal of the locked door are warped from the heat and smoke and won’t move. /Tim strains to see through the smoke, flounders, crashes into a floor lamp. He grabs it, yanks it from the wall. “Stand back!” he yells. He smashes it against the door. The door splinters, breaks. Tim and Mindy crawl through, yell “FIRE!” Smoke and flame follow them out of the room. Tim grabs Mindy, finds Arnie, and grabs him. The front door is still open. They run outside. A neighbor meets them.) /Neighbor: I called the Fire Department.”

08/04/09
(Sirens blare. Fire truck arrives. After the fire goes out, a firefighter comes over.) /Firefighter: We were able to contain the flames and smoke in one apartment. So, if you don’t live in the apartment that caught fire you can go back, now. /Neighbor: That’s a relief. (The neighbor leaves. The firefighter talks to Mindy.) /Firefighter: The burnt apartment is yours? /Mindy: Yes. /Firefighter: The brick walls of your apartment helped contain the flames, so tyey wouldn’t spread. /Mindy: That’s good, isn’t it? /Firefighter: But, the smoke was also contained. Because you have radiators and no central air or heat, the smoke can’t spread throughout the building, but that also means the smoke can’t leave your apartment. At least, not very fast. It’s gonna take at least a couple months for the smoke to clear. After that, you’ll need to call a building inspector to check for safety. Do you own your apartment? /Mindy: No, I rent. /Firefighter: Then, your landlord will be contacted and notified about this incident. Oh, and one more thing. /Mindy: Yes? /Firefighter: Next time there’s a fire, you might want to try [AUTHOR’S NOTE: I have to interrupt, here. The firefighter was getting ready to give safety advice to Mindy. Usually, I just let the story play out, but I just want to make it clear this is just a story I’m writing, and absolutely none of it should be taken seriously, especially anything that fictitious firefighters spew forth. Please consult actual firefighters if you have any questions about fire safety. Okay, he’s leaving now. It’s now safe to return to the story, already in progress.] /Mindy: Great. Now, I have to move. And, I can’t even go in to pack my things, or even see what can still be salvaged. /Arnie: I guess we’ll stay with my parents. /Mindy: You sure there will be room for us, there? /Arnie: Sure, we’ll manage. /Tim: I can stay at the bar. /Arnie: We discussed that. The bar only has one walk-in closet barely big enough for your things. /Tim: Oh, I just remembered something. /Mindy: What? /Tim: The hospital doesn’t have any of your numbers. //Arnie: We’ll call the hospital from my parents’ trailer. /Tim: Trailer? /Arnie: Yeah. /Mindy: Double-wide? /Arnie: No.

08/05/09
/Mindy: I guess I know where my tip money is going. I need a whole new wardrobe. Well, I guess we’ll go eat somewhere, then I’ll drop you guys off at Arnie’s parents and go shopping. /Tim: Alright. /Arnie: Let’s go. (They drive off. A while later they pass a sign called “Restroom Rant”) /Mindy: Did they misspell ‘restaurant’? /Tim: I don’t know. /Arnie: Let’s check it out. I’m starving. (They park and go inside–well, outside the car and inside the Restroom Rant.) /Hostess: Hi. Welcome to Restroom Rant. I’ll show you to your seats. /Tim: Don’t you mean ‘table’? /Hostess: No, I mean ‘seats’. Follow me. (They follow her past other groups of people. Tim stops.) /Tim: Something’s different, here. /Arnie: I notice it, too. No one’s eating. /Mindy: Well, it looks like they’re doing something. Wait what kind of seats are you leading us to? /Hostess: Toilet seats. /Mindy: You mean–you mean you don’t have separate rooms for…for…/Hostess: We have a men’s room and a women’s room, of course. The men’s restaurant is down the hall on the right, across from the women’s dining area. /Tim: /But, why are everyone–? /Hostess: Simple. Instead of having people eat in public and do the other in private, the owner decided to reverse that. /Mindy: Why? /Hostess: It’s a psychology experiment. Once customers get in and get comfy, he wants to see who actually stays, even against all their customs and training. The owner is a psychologist. /Mindy: Interesting. I actually work in a diner–nothing like this. /Hostess: These toilet seats okay? /Tim: Fine with me. Hostess: Your server will come by shortly with toilet paper. In the meantime, here’s some reading material. (Tim, Mindy and Arnie drop their pants, skirt, pants and sit down.) /Mindy: This is so weird. /Tim: Yeah, they shouldn’t offer us reading material if we’re doing this socially.

08/06/09
/Arnie: This is way beyond weird. /Tim: I’m dreaming, right? /Mindy: I thought “I” was the one dreaming. /Arnie: You’re both wrong. I’m the one having the dream. (Waiter comes over.) /Waitress: One ply or two? /Tim: Always two, and keep it coming. /Mindy: This really is a crazy dream I’m having. /Waiter: Actually, madam, I’m the one who’s dreaming. I’m a waiter in real life at Greasy Fork Diner. /Mindy: So am I. /Waiter: The same one? /Mindy: Yeah. /Waiter: How come I never see you there? /Mindy: We must work different shifts. /Tim: I have another idea for what may have happened. /Mindy: We drove through a rift in space and time to arrive in an alternate universe? The waiter already said he worked at a diner. /Tim: Or, maybe he really works here, and dreams that he works at a diner? This would also explain why we’re still here. /Arnie: How? /Tim: Once you’re in another universe, you’re subject to its laws. /Mindy: I get it. This has to be a different universe, because back home the Board of Health would have shut this place down. /Waiter: We pay our taxes. /Mindy: Yeah, so? /Waiter: So, the Board of Wealth won’t be shutting us down, then. /Arnie: Board of Wealth? /Waiter: Yeah. Don’t you know that, already? Board of Wealth of the Commonwealth. /Arnie (shakes his head): Never heard of it. /Tim: Me neither. /Mindy: Are you sure your taxes went to the right place? /Waiter: No. Hopefully, the owner is, though. Anyway, I better get going. Really nice chatting with you. /Mindy: Thanks. /Arnie: Well, I’m gonna check out the men’s restaurant room. I’m starving. You coming? /Tim: In a little bit. /Arnie: Okay.

08/07/09
/Mindy: If we weren’t sitting on toilets right now, I’d kiss you. /Tim: So, if just one of us were on the toilet, you’d still kiss me? /Mindy: Absolutely. I just can’t reach you now when we’re both sitting. /Tim: I guess I’ll stay, then. (Mindy frowns.) /Mindy: After we’re done, do we go wash our hands somewhere? /Waiter: I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you guys: we pass around a finger bowl. Just one. For everyone in the restroom rant. /Tim: Finger bowl? /Waiter: Yes, for your hands. /Mindy: I’m gonna check out the ladies dining room, now. (The waiter leaves. Mindy gets up, walks over toward Tim.) After I kiss you. (She leans in, finds Tim’s lips with her own, and hangs on like a jungle leech.) /Tim: MMPH! MMPHFFTTM! (Mindy finally lets go.) /Mindy: You like it, too. I can tell. (Tim’s gasping, panting.) Look how excited I got you–breathing fast and everything. /Tim: ‘Cause you cut off my air supply. (pant, pant) Couldn’t breathe. (Arnie walks back, sits back down on his toilet, sees Tim still panting.) /Arnie: Hey, now, don’t try so hard. Take a break and go to the mens dining room. Their food comes with these free ‘relaxatives’. /Tim: Well, actually, (Mindy gives Tim a warning look.) that’s not a bad idea. (Tim gets up, pulls up his pants, and walks toward the men’s dining room. He goes inside and finds a lavish buffet. Leading from the buffet are parallel rows of stalls, each one designed to block a diner’s view of his fellow diners. He can hear female voices through the wall separating the men’s dining room from the women’s dining room, but his fellow male diners are all quietly eating.) I just realized something, he thinks to himself, a diner can mean both a restaurant or a person. So, if someone goes to a place called ‘The Hungry Diner’, he might not make it out. Anyway, I better grab some of this tasty food before the author comes to his senses and sends us back to our normal earth. (He remembers to take a relaxative before leaving.)

08/08/09
(Tim grabs a sugar cookie, then goes over to the punch bowl.) /Tim: Where are the glasses? Plates? Some buffet. Oh, well. (He dunks his cookie into the punch bowl and is about to take a bite when the door opens and Arnie walks in.) /Tim: Where are the cups and plates? /Arnie: Don’t eat that. /Tim: Why not? I’m starving. (Tim feels a pinprick in his neck and turns his head. Everything shimmers, darkens, then clears. Tim looks around. He finds himself in a twin bed in a windowless room. The walls are institutional green. A man in a white lab coat and stethoscope is standing over him and talking to Arnie and Mindy.) /Doctor: He’s coming around. Hello, Tim? Do you know where you are? /Tim: I don’t even know what universe I’m in. /Doctor: You’re in the same universe you’ve always been in. /Tim: No. Arnie, Mindy, you remember that restroom rant. /Doctor (To Arnie and Mindy): That’s not slurred speech. It’s a term he came up with. (To Tim) Tim, listen to me. I’m Doctor Feingood. You’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress, which led to a break in how you perceive reality. /Tim: That’s ’cause Arnie, Mindy and I were in an ALTERNATE reality. /Doctor: No. There is only ONE reality. /Arnie: Tim, buddy, like the doctor said, it’s stress that did this to you. (The doctor takes Tim’s pulse and blood pressure, notes the results on his chart.) That’s why you defecated in Mindy’s diner, and started dunking a urinal cake in the toilet bowl. I found you in there just in time to stop you from taking a bite of it. /Tim: What? You’re saying I’m crazy? /Doctor: No one’s saying you’re crazy. We’re only saying that you’re extremely stressed. We’re giving you medicine to help you relax. /Tim: I already took a relaxative. /Mindy: There he goes again combining words. /Doctor: Yes, but it’s treatable.

08/09/09
/Arnie: Also, about words, Tim would write himself messages, and claim they came from God or something. /Doctor: Really? So, he thinks he’s a prophet? That’s bad. /Tim: Bad? How bad? /Doctor: Well, just look at Moses, for example. After smoking some hallucinogenic plant, the old “burning bush”, he claimed to have conversed with God. /Tim: Yeah, so? /Doctor: So, he should’ve been locked away and treated, but back then, people bought into his delusions, so instead, he became a powerful cult leader. And, we all know what happened, then. /Tim: Yeah, so? /Doctor: So, claiming to have parted the Red Sea when he was nowhere near it? /Arnie: Why do you say he wasn’t actually at the Red Sea? /Doctor (rolls his eyes): Oh, come on. Wandering around the desert for FORTY YEARS? That’s longer than all my college, medical school, and residency training COMBINED. Didn’t he climb some mountain, too? You really think he walked across a sea? In modern times, Moses wouldn’t have gotten away with all that. Actually, scratch that. A friend of my sister’s joined a cult and was never heard from again. /Tim: With a name like ‘Feingood,’ aren’t you Jewish? /Doctor: Sure, but that doesn’t mean I would’ve followed a mentally impaired person around a hot desert for forty years. I would’ve tried treating him, instead. Judaism isn’t just about Moses. It’s actually more about questioning your own religion than anything else–but, I don’t want to bore you guys, and myself, with sermons. /Mindy: Thanks, we appreciate that. /Tim: Didn’t we just have a sermon? About Moses? /Doctor (clears his throat): Uh, yeah, I guess. /Tim: And you say I’m the crazy one. /Doctor: No, I never said that. You broke down under an extreme amount of stress. It could’ve happened to anyone. You’re absolutely NOT crazy. /Tim: What am I, then? /Doctor: Stressed, maybe confused.

08/10/09
/Arnie: Relax, buddy. You’ll be alright. /Mindy: Yeah, and I’m not mad at you for the incident at the diner. I called my boss and explained the whole thing, and he even gave me my job back. /Tim: You were fired? Because of me? /Mindy: And then rehired, right away, so forget about it. /Doctor: Okay. Now, we need to let the patient rest. /Arnie: How long will he stay here? /Doctor: At least overnight. Beyond that–well, how much can he afford to spend? /Arnie: Well, his fiancee is in a coma and–/Doctor: Sorry to interrupt. Could we go outside, so Tim can rest? /Arnie (nods): Absolutely. (Arnie steps out, followed by Mindy and the doctor. Tim hears muffled voices outside the closed door. He looks around. No window, not even a TV. They’re not taking any chances exposing him to the outside world. Makes perfect sense, he thinks, if they’re trying to protect me from the reality of the alternate universe. A nurse comes in.) /Nurse: I’m just gonna make you more comfortable. (She takes an IV tube out of his arm and reaches down to fluff his pillow. Tim gets an all-too-clear view of her bra-less breasts, as they sway in front of him. She pops one out.) /Nurse: The hospital is trying to cut costs, so you’ll be having milk for every meal. (Tim turns away, but her pink nipple is still pointing in his direction.) /Nurse: Maybe you’re not hungry, yet. I’ll come back, later. (She leaves, shuts the door. The doctor comes back in.) /Doctor: I know I’m trying to get you to relax, but I better warn you of something. A mentally disturbed woman is making the rounds, pretending to be a nurse and molesting our patients. If you happen to see her, be sure to buzz for me or another member of our staff. /Tim: S-s-s-someone was just hear. She took out my IV and tried to feed me her teat. (The Doctor’s forehead furrows.) /Doctor: She wasn’t supposed to take out your IV. Even if the bag is empty. /Tim: But, what about…? /Doctor: She’s our wet nurse.

08/11/09
/Tim: She’s the –HUH? /Doctor: Who’s the what? /Tim: You know, the nurse. /Doctor: You want to see the nurse? /Tim: No, I’m okay. Except, I am hungry, though. /Doctor: I’ll get the nurse. (The same nurse walks back in.) /Nurse: I was in the area, thought I’d pop in. /Tim: Well, (sighs) I guess you can pop it out for me, ’cause I’m starvin’. /Nurse (glares at Tim): Excuse me? /Tim: You know. It’s not my first choice for a meal, but, since you ARE the wet nurse, I guess it’s okay. /Doctor (clears his throat): Hey, Tim? /Tim: Yeah? /Doctor: I know you’re stressed, but that does not give you the right to call my nurse names. /Tim: B-but, that’s what YOU called her. /Doctor: I know. You’re having another break from reality. Well, that’s still no excuse. You owe ‘wet’ an apology. /Tim: Did you say–/Nurse: Rhett. I’m Rhett. /Tim: Rhett, I’m sorry for offending you. /Nurse: Thank you. And, that’s okay. Just get some rest and get better. /Doctor: Well, I’ll go, now. Got other patients to tend to. /Tim: Before you go, could you tell me about Candy Bar? /Doctor (wrinkles forehead): A plank of chocolate wrapped in foil? /Tim: No, a patient and my fiancee Candy Bar. She’s in a coma. I was just wondering if anything new happened? /Doctor: I don’t know. I’d check for you, but I won’t, because you need to focus on yourself right now so you can get better. /Tim: But, isn’t that why I got so stressed to start with? /Doctor: Possibly. Whatever. I’m your doctor, and I’m telling you to relax and focus on yourself. Right now, you’re a danger both to yourself and to society. You need to get better, know what’s real and what’s not. So, if you’ll part the covers for me, I’ll reach under your hospital gown and give you a happy ending. /Tim: Doctor? /Doctor: Yeah? /Tim: Do I need to get my medication adjusted? I still see and hear things that aren’t real. /Doctor: I’ll check.

08/12/09
/Doctor (looks at Tim’s chart): It’s too early to tell if your medication needs adjusting. I will switch from IV to pill form. A nurse will bring you dinner. I have to go, now. See you. (Having nothing else to do, Tim closes his eyes. His right hand tingles. Now, it’s vibrating, fast enough to start humming. Then, it stops, rummages around the night stand, finds a notepad and a pen, and writes, “Thank you, Tim.”) /Tim: Are you the–/”I’m the guy that talked to you in ash and in your own handwriting.” /Tim: Yeah, about that. Why did you make it my handwriting? Now, I’m stuck here in this hospital room. /”I have an idea about that. I think we’re counterparts. In a way.” /Tim: You know, I thought the same thing. But, I took it one step further. YOu can’t physically step into my universe, and I can’t materialize in yours. /”Yeah, so?” /Tim: So, you can manipulate things in my world. /”Yeah?” /Tim: So, I should be able to manipulate things in your world. I even tested this theory. You know the boss of yours you can’t stand? That assistant–something? /”Yeah, she left. And, I already thanked you for that.” /Tim: Yeah, well, remember my gesture of goodwill when you decide what to do about Candy. /”Okay, And, thanks, again.” /Tim: Sure. May I have my hand back, now? (Nurse walks in with a tray.) /Nurse: Cravin’ raven? /Tim: Sure. /Nurse: The chef fired it up special in his favorite bedpan. /Tim: B-b-bedpan? /Nurse: Sorry, I meant to say piddle. /Tim: Piddle? /Nurse: I meant ‘griddle’. It’s been a long day. (Tim moves his notepad and pen off his lap to make room for the tray.) /Nurse: You a writer? /Tim: I was. I haven’t written anything for quite a while. /Nurse: Keep it up.

08/13/09
/Tim: No, I said I haven’t been writing. Not much, anyway. /Nurse: I gotta go. (She leaves. Tim looks at his tray.) /Tim: Why would they serve ice cream together with the rest of the food? And right next to the steaming–did she say “raven?” Maybe it’s just a style of chicken, like Buffalo wings? Maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m hungry. (He tries the raven–it’s a little bit like duck. He smacks his lips, wipes his chin, takes another bite. Not bad. When did raven become poultry? He buzzes the nurse.) /Nurse: Yes? /Tim: I’m done with the tray. The raven was delicious. /Nurse: “Raven?” We don’t serve raven. That was blackened chicken. Why did you think it was raven? /Tim: Because you told me. /Nurse: It must’ve been another of your hallucinations. I’ll let the doctor know in the morning. /Tim: Or, you could note it on my chart. /Nurse: Oh, yeah. I’ll do both. /Tim: Thanks. I think he said it takes time to work properly. /Nurse: Anything else before I go? /Tim: No, I guess I’m set. Except for finding out about Candy Bar, I suppose. /Nurse: You want a candy bar? /Tim: I want to know if my fiancee Candy Bar is still in a coma. /Nurse: That’s so sweet how you call her pet names.What’s her name? /Tim: I told you. Candy Bar. /Nurse: I’ll be right back with a candy bar. (She leaves. Tim reaches for his notebook.) /Tim (writes): Doesn’t that joke get old? /”Yeah, it does. I’m just trying to fill up the page right now.” /Tim: Why did you make me think I was eating raven instead of blackened chicken? /”It sounded better than burnt, dried out chicken.” /Tim: Burnt and blackened are not the same. /”Like I said, just trying to fill up the page.” /Tim: So, what is the deal with Candy? She can’t just stay comatose forever. Right? /”You’re right.”

08/14/09
/Tim: I’m going to try to sleep, now. Wake me up when you decide to wake my fiancee from her coma. /”Don’t you mean ‘if’?” /Tim: You’re the mean one. (Next day during visiting hours…) /Arnie: So, how’s your writing going? /Tim: It’s actually gotten better since I decided to start a new story. /Arnie: Yeah? Let’s see it. /Tim: It’s still in the planning stages. Basically, it’s based on the old religious question ‘Did God create man or did man create God.’ (Arnie’s forehead furrows.) /Arnie: So, you’re story is about God? /Tim: Not exactly. It’s sort of hard to explain, but basically I’m starting to believe that the Author of the story we’re all in and I have sort of a shared consciousness. /Arnie: You completely lost me. /Tim: What I’m trying to say is my new story is about someone who I think is the Author of us. /Arnie: So, are you the author or the character? /Tim: Both. /Arnie: Are you writing about yourself? /Tim: No. /Arnie: Hey, I figured it out, I think. You’re writing about that spirit or whatever you’ve been chatting with. /Tim: Yeah, how about I just show you what I have so far? (Arnie looks at Tim’s notes.) /Arnie: So, what I think you’re saying is the character you’re writing about already wrote us into existence? /Tim: Yes, exactly. I believe we can have God-like powers in each other’s universes, but not in our own. /Arnie: I guess I’ll just have to see it written out. So, you have a name for this character? /Tim: I didn’t write a name? /Arnie: Nope. None that I can see. (Arnie passes the notes back to Tim. Tim looks them over.) /Tim: Hmm. I must’ve been napping. Hmm. “Napping…nap…yeah, I’ll name him NAP. /Arnie: What kind of name is “Nap?” /Tim: Those are his initials: N-A-P. Because his writing makes people nap. /Arnie: Because they’re so bored? /Tim: Exactly. (Arnie smiles.) /Arnie: On this sheet, you have him living in 2009. /Tim: Yeah, I have him living in a world forty years in the future.

08/15/09
/Arnie: So, what’s this future world like? Do they have flying cars? Lunar colonies? /Tim: No, nothing like that. Computers have taken over. /Arnie: Computers? Those over-sized calculators? One computer takes up a huge room. /Tim: Well, these computers are smaller. And they infiltrate and expand the phone lines. People are so dependent on them they can’t live without them. Communication, information, entertainment–everything is dependent on computers. /Arnie: What happens if the computers crash? /Tim: Oh, they do. Not if, but when. /Arnie: Well, when, then? /Tim: Individual computers crash all the time. The network still holds, though. /Arnie: So, what are you calling this network of yours? /Tim (his forehead furrows): Well, actually, I haven’t called it anything, yet. I suppose ‘net’ will be part of the name, because the whole world is caught in it. Maybe ‘Infonet’? /Arnie: But, it’s also for entertainment. So, you have to somehow combine ‘information’ with ‘entertainment’. /Tim: Hmm…well, how about ‘Enternet’? (Tim’s eyes light up) Then, it could be also about entering and not leaving. /Arnie (smiles): Yeah, I like that. Oh, but if you left it with ‘Infonet’, the first part ‘in’ could be like they’re trapped ‘inside’ the net. /Tim: That’s true. If we can somehow combine ‘Enter’ with ‘Inside’, then we’d have it. /Arnie: How about ‘Inter’? /Tim (smiles wider): that’s brilliant. They enter inside and then are caught by the computer network. Inter-net. Internet. Perfect. Thanks, buddy. /Arnie: Sure, glad I could help. They should move you to a room with a window. Doesn’t it get stuffy in here? /Tim: I never noticed it, until now. Thanks. /Arnie: Oops, sorry.

08/16/09
/Arnie: Hey, I was wondering something. /Tim: What? /Arnie: If you quit writing about this NAP character, would he cease to exist? (The nurse walks in.) /Nurse: Visiting hours are over. /Arnie: See you later, buddy. (Arnie walks out.) /Nurse: It’s time for your sponge bath. (Tim looks up. Attractive in a typical teenage male fantasy sort of way; even though he’s a writer, he doesn’t mind the cliche.) /Nurse: You might want to move your notebook out of the way. (Tim obliges, smiling.) Here’s a plastic cover so the sheets don’t get wet. Here’s the basin of warm, soapy water, and here’s the sponge. I’ll come back later to pick up these things when you’re done. (Nurse turns around, steps out through the door.) /Tim: Damn. I forgot to ask her about moving to a room with a window. (Tim shrugs, takes off his gown and bathes.) I must have really needed a bath. This water’s gettin’ filthy. (A few minutes later, the door opens. The same nurse is there.) /Nurse: How was your–? (Before Tim can tell her he’s not quite done, the nurse runs out and returns with the doctor.) /Doctor: Hi, Tim. /Tim: Hi. I guess ZI’m don, now. You got a towel? /Doctor: You have napkins, there. /Tim: Napkins? /Doctor: Yeah, they came with your soup. You, apparently, had another hallucination, unless you normally give yourself soup baths. /Tim (looks around): So, that’s why the water seemed funky. /Doctor: Well, obviously you’re going to need your meds adjusted. In the meantime, why don’t you hop into the shower, and I’ll send someone over to change your sheets and gown. Do you need assistance with the shower? /Tim: No, I think I’ll be okay, now. /Doctor: Okay. Be careful.

08/17/09
/Tim: Thanks, doctor. Oh, one more thing. /Doctor: Yes? /Tim: Is it possible to move to a room with a window? /Doctor: Space here is limited, so in answer to your question, no. Now, I have to make my rounds, and you need to clean up. /Tim: Okay. (Doctor leaves. Tim takes his shower. When he comes back to bed, he sees a clean hospital gown on a freshly made bed. He gets dressed, then grabs his notebook and gets into bed.) /Tim (writes): Lunar colonies, personal jet packs, galactic empires–none of these exist in NAP’s world of 2009–well, there may actually be a jet pack or two, but they’re not common. Trapped in the sticky snare (he pauses, looks at what he wrote, crosses out “snare” and writes “web” above it, then looks at it, again.) A web is sticky, but if I take out snare I lose the alliteration. (he crosses out “web” and rewrites “snare”. He also crosses out the fragment about the possibility of some jet packs existing, then re-reads it.) “Lunar colonies, peronal jet packs, galactic empires–none of these exist in NAP’s world of 2009. Trapped in the sticky snare (he continues writing) of the Internet–a global computer network that captured the entire planet like a giant spider web–people instead pass back and forth (mostly) useless information that does nothing to further the cause of humankind. (He pauses, again. Just what IS the cause of humankind? Does it even HAVE a cause? He hears a knock on the door. Relieved, he puts away his notebook.) /Tim: Yeah? (The door opens, the nurse appears.) /Nurse: I brought you some dinner, since the soup didn’t work out. /Tim: Thanks. /Nurse: Hey, are you a writer? /Tim: Yeah. /Nurse: I do a little writing, too. Mostly poems. /Tim: I’m a prose guy, myself. /Nurse: Neat. Mind if I ask what you’re writing about? /Tim: Not at all. It’s a story about a world set forty years in the future where computers have taken over the world. /Nurse: Interesting. How do computers manage that? /Tim: They’re everywhere. They take over almost all forms of communication. /Nurse: Don’t they have one giant computer in a huge room? How would that computer spread? /Tim: Computers get smaller and more numerous. Practically everyone has one. They’re even in phones. /Nurse: Sounds interesting. More fiction than science. /Tim (shrugs): Yeah, I’m not really going for realism. /Nurse: Well, good luck with it. /Tim: Thanks. /Nurse: Enjoy your dinner.

08/18/09
(Tim is about to take a bite of his hospital burger when the nurse comes back.) /Nurse: Your friend Candy just woke up. She asked for you. /Tim (drops his burger): Really? /Nurse: Yeah. Sit in this wheelchair. I’ll push you over there. Do you want to change first to your street clothes? /Tim: No time. Let’s go. (He gets out of bed and into the wheelchair.) I was wondering, though, why don’t we both just walk there? /Nurse: Hospital regulations. (The nurse tries to pull the wheelchair toward the door. It doesn’t move.) /Tim: Are the brakes on? /Nurse: Yes. And they seem to be stuck. Yeah, the switch for them is broken. I know. Get back in bed. It’s on wheels, too, I’ll simply roll that down the hall. /Tim: Or, I could just walk with you. /Nurse: I already told you. Hospital policy. Regulations. /Tim: Yeah, so I heard. (Tim gets out of the chair and climbs back into bed, feeling silly. The nurse grabs the rail and steers the bed through the door.) /Nurse (smiling): Now, we’re rolling. /Tim: Yup. (They keep going. Eventually, they arrive outside the door to Candy’s room. They go in. Candy is sitting up in bed and facing him.) /Tim: Candy? /Candy: Tim, I’m still in my coma. Wake up. /Tim: What? Doctor, what’s wrong with her? /Doctor: Besides that she’s still in a coma, we don’t know. /Tim: What do you mean? She’s sitting up in bed and talking to me. /Doctor: Wake up. /Tim (his muscles tense, he yells): I AM awake. And so is Candy. (Tim thrashes around, tosses his blanket on the floor, opens his eyes. A nurse is standing over him.) /Nurse: We heard you yelling and went to your room to check on you. /Tim: Where’s Candy? /Nurse: Candy? /Tim: Candy Bar. She was just here. /Nurse (shakes her head): No, she wasn’t. She hasn’t left her room for weeks due to her coma. /Tim: She DID leave. This is her room. You wheeled me in here. /Nurse: No, this is YOUR room. I never took you to see Candy. You just had a bad dream. /Tim: Not as bad as reality. Could we find out about Candy?

08/19/09
/Nurse: I’ll check with Candy’s doctor. (Nurse walks out. A few minutes later, Candy’s doctor comes in.) /Doctor: Hi, Tim. /Tim: Hi. /Doctor: Candy is still in a coma. Since you’re being treated for mental problems, we will wait until you’re successfully treated before we discuss pulling the plug. Anyway, don’t worry about that now. You just focus on getting better. [Author’s note: I just noticed something. Candy and Tim aren’t married, so it wouldn’t be Tim’s place to pull the plug, anyway. Well, hopefully, the plug won’t have to be pulled.] (Doctor leaves. Tim sits and rocks back and forth in the bed. High pitched little whimpers bubble up from his throat. “Pull the plug.” Tim would like to pull the plug on reality. His eyes sting, water. He doesn’t bother wiping away the tears that fall, or the stream of drool that joins it. His heart aches so much it makes his whole chest hurt. Breathing becomes a conscious effort, one he doesn’t see the point of making. He stares at the wall in front of him. He just wants to tune out the world. He sits, stares. His eyes start to glaze over. A soft, filmy glaze starts to form in front of him. A protective bubble, a barrier between him and the world. The door opens. Tim doesn’t even turn his head–he’s in his bubble. He still hears voices, but they’re softer, faded. /Doctor: Tim. Can you hear me? /Arnie: Tim, buddy. /Doctor (to Arnie): He appears to be catatonic. /Arnie: Can he still hear us? (Tim hears the voices growing fainter, until they’re barely a light buzz. He’s going to stay in his bubble, just continue sitting here until the whole world fades to nothing. A voice punctures the void: “Tim, wake up.” He tries to ignore it, but it’s persistent: “Tim, wake up.” Finally, Tim jerks his head, sees himself in his empty room.) /Tim: Who said that? (Silence answers him. Tim looks at his notebook and reads: “I did. You’re the main character. You can’t be catatonic. There wouldn’t be a story, then.”) /Tim: This already isn’t much of a story.

08/20/09
/Tim: Why’d you like to me like that? /NAP: “Just trying to fill the sheets.” /Tim: You’re mean. I’m going to write you up. /NAP: “Write me up?” /Tim: You’ll see. (Tim writes: Though NAP calls himself a writer, he hasn’t yet made a dime off his words. So, he works a day job, sitting of course, by a computer. His job won’t even let him have a cubicle. Instead, he sits so close to his co-worker, that the other day, when she pops open a can of pop, a drop of pop lands on his face. Being the uptight prick that he is, NAP gives his co-worker a dirty look as he wipes and wipes and wipes his face.) /NAP: “I remember that. YOU wrote that?” /Tim: Yeah. I also wrote that the boss won’t even let you have a key to the office. /NAP: Wel, I did admit to my co-worker that I had overreacted. /Tim: Yeah, whatever. At least I didn’t put YOUR significant other in a coma. /NAP: “That is true.” /Tim: So, why don’t you wake up Candy, already? (Doctor walks in.) /Doctor: Tim, get your things. You’re going home. /Tim: I’m cured? /Doctor: No just broke. We’ve liquefied yours and Candy’s assets. It’s all gone. Actually, I probably shouldn’t have told you to go home, since your home isn’t yours, anymore. /Tim: So, do I have to take medication? /Doctor: Probably. But, we couldn’t find the right dose that would actually work. Besides, you can’t afford medication, anyway. /Tim: What about Candy? /Doctor (sits down heavily at the edge of the bed.): She’s still in a coma. We’ll give you a month to get a job, then we’ll garnish your paycheck to keep her alive. Unless, you’d rather cut your losses and have us pull the plug. Really, we can’t just keep her like this forever. Anyway, you think about it. I’ll let you pack, now.

08/21/09
(Doctor steps out. Tim just sits there. There’s a knock on the door. The doctor steps back in.) /Doctor: Yeah, we’re short on rooms this evening, so if you can hurry up a bit, that would be swell. Do you need any help packing up? /Tim: No. (Doctor leaves, closes the door behind him. Tim gets out of bed, picks up his notebook.) This NAP guy’s a jerk. I need to get him back, somehow. In the meantime, this part where I had written that NAP plays the lottery, wins it all, then gets an upset stomach and develops facial tics? I’m going to rip out the page where he plays for and wins the ten million dollars, but keep the rest. (He tears a page out of his notebook, then tears that page into confetti. A moment later, the pieces getg up and start dancing, like dead leaves in an autumn breeze. Tim notices cool air on the back of his neck. He turns around and sees the open window.) Way to go, NAP. You can’t even be consistent. This room didn’t COME with a window. You can’t maintain continuity. (He goes to the nightstand, picks up his wallet, tries to put it in his pocket, forgot to change out of his gown. He changes to his street clothes, picks up his wallet off the floor, puts it in his pocket, grabs his pills–PILLS? Tim clearly remembers the doctor saying he didn’t have any pills, ’cause he couldn’t afford them. He reads the label: “You can afford these.” Great, he thinks, except that they couldn’t even find an effective dose that works. He drops the pills on the floor. He picks them up and re-reads the label. “These anti-hallucinating pills are guaranteed to work for Tim Timmons.”) /Tim: Great, now all I need is water to take them with. (The label starts peeling, sticks to his hand. He tries to pull it off and reads: “Take one tablet without water. Don’t swallow. Let tablet dissolve on tongue. YOUR tongue. Hallucinations will disappear. Tim shrugs, pops a pill. The bottle promptly disappears.

08/22/09
/Tim: Now, wait a minute. I just took an anti-hallucination pill, which caused the pills, which I guess were a hallucination, to disappear. Well, how can the pills work, if they’re just a figment of my fevered imagination? (He still feels a cool breeze on his cheek. He turns. The window is still there.) Hmm. Well, since the pills, themselves, weren’t real, then they couldn’t have worked, and that window in the windowless room proves it. (He pauses a moment.) Although, I DO feel a breeze. (He looks arouind. Sees the door is open.) I bet the breeze is coming from the hall. (He closes the door. The breeze stops.) Alright, now things are back to normal. (He looks around, again–the window is still there. And still open. He shrugs. He knows it’s not really there. He picks up his notebook and pen, puts them in his sack, puts his bag on his shoulder, and starts walking toward the door. He feels a tug, looks back. The window breeze is reversed–it’s blowing TOWARD the window. He pulls against it. He reaches for the door, but can’t reach it. He’s losing ground, inching closer to the window. He gets down on his hands and knees and crawls, pulling against the tug of the window. He moves forward an inch. Then another. The doorknob is right there. He reaches with his arm, stretches his hand, extends his fingers. He made it. His fingertips touch the tip of the doorknob. He can almost grab it now–the door busts open, a row of doctors and nurses push their way inside, not seeing Tim, they push him back toward his bed, and toward the window. Tim tries to shout, but the window breeze grabs his breath, lifts his feet off the floor. He tries one last time to grab the window as he slides past, but can’t close it in time, he sails right on through. He overhears the doctors say something about drug interactions and “Stat.” And he’s gone.

08/23/09
(Tim looks around, but there isn’t much to see. Just a gray blur.) /Tim: A window instead of a rabbit holek still an L.C. ripoff, don’t you think, NAP? (NAP doesn’t answer. Tim looks down. Nothing but more of the same gunmetal gray. Wait a minute–there really IS nothing. No bag, no clothes, no skin? He tries wriggling his finger. He feels nothing. No movement. No resistance to movement. There IS nothing TO move, so nothing needs any resisting. Tim tries scratching his head, but he has no head and nothing with which to scratch. Hey, he thinks, maybe I’m dead or in a coma. COMA! Maybe I’ll see Candy again? And, yes, he is seeing an end to the silver shade. That bright light at the end, though cliched as hell, isi there now, growing bigger, and bigger. He feels a jarring impact, equal to a car crash at 90 miles per hour, without a seatbelt. If he had a body, still, it would not have made it. He has to think about closing his eyes, and the light disappears. He thinks about opening them, again. The light reappears. He DOES have eyes, again. He looks down. Hands, feet, and body, are all there, but they’re not his. Everything is different. Obvious differences such as a week-old beard that needs to be shaved, to a slight toothache to subtle differences such as a right-eye retinal floater. He also notices a facial tic or two. His head is positioned where he can look down and see proof this body isn’t his. His host is much, much smaller in at least this one area. He tries to move, but can’t. I guess I don’t have complete control of this new body. He sees what looks like a car driving toward him (them?), but then sees what looked like headlights are twin flashlights that his host is trying to attach to a band that he can then put around his head. Though he can’t move his head, he sees enough in his host’s periphery vision to see the clock radio on the nightstand. When he was at the hospital, it was 6:30 pm. Now, it’s 12:30 am. It didn’t feel like six hours had passed. If he somehow got transported somewhere else, the local time COULD be different. Wait, his host fumbling with a homemade headlight when his power isn’t even out? Tim KNOWS who would be stupid enough to waste time doing this–his character NAP that he had created. The same idiot who thinks that he created Tim and Tim’s world. Who knows? If NAP is real…he tries to shrug, but NAP doesn’t want to shrug. NAP is too busy being fascinated by his mini flashlights. All so he can write in the dark. It would be easier for him to just get up and turn on the light.

08/24/09
(Tim follows NAP’s gaze to what NAP’s written. Tim can’t believe it. This is exactly like what HE has been writing. His character (creator?) NAP can write in the dark, already, on his personal computer that’s commonplace in his (NAP’s) time. Of course, his stupid headgear–no, wait. It’s not a headlight. This is even more stupid–he’s trying to make a pen that lights up! Looks awkward to hold, and the mini flashlights on there keep sliding around. Tim makes a mental note to write in his notebook to have NAP’s wife give him a real, genuine flashlight-pen, then have the battery run down in it. In the meantime, this pen-light would make more sense if NAP were camping, but he hasn’t camped in over a decade. Oh, great, now NAP is going to sleep. Tim isn’t even tired. Here comes NAP’s wife. Tim knows he didn’t get far enough in is story of NAP to mention anything about a wife. She probably sits at a computer all day, too. Maybe even in the dark. NAP’s eyes close, and Tim’s left to sit in the darkness.) /Tim: NAP? /NAP: “Hey, Tim.” /Tim: You know it’s me? /NAP: “Of course. I wrote you. Just like you knew it was me, since you think you wrote ME.” /Tim: But, I DID write you. /NAP: “Sure, whatever.” /Tim: Besides, I have memories from years ago, before you ever thought me up. /NAP: “Sure. Your past and memories were written in. I didn’t give you amnesia.” /Tim: So, you’re saying I remember things that never really happened? /NAP: “The story starts with you as an adult. An adult who has already lived for 30 years or so.” /Tim: Well, I thought I wrote you. /NAP: “Perhaps. Maybe I had to create you in order to exist, myself? Or, maybe you had to create me so I would create you so you could create me–It’s that whole chicken and egg question.” /Tim: Yeah, sure. Well, I’m not in my body, anymore. /NAP: “I know. Because you’re in MY universe. Your body is still in YOUR universe. Conservation of matter, and all that.” /Tim: I guess that makes sense. Anyway, why is Candy still in a coma? /NAP: “I’d be more concerned about you if I were you. You left your body unattended back in your world.” /Tim: So, they think I’m dead? /NAP: “No, not dead. Not yet. Unresponsive, but with a pulse.” /Tim: Like a coma? /NAP: “Yeah, I guess.” /Tim: Hey, so is Candy there? /Candy: Tim? That you? /Tim: Candy? /Candy: TIM? /Tim: CANDY! /Candy: TIM! /Tim: Candy, I missed you so much! /Candy: I missed you, too. /Tim: We have to hurry back. They want to pull your plug. /Candy: Where are we? /Tim: We’re in another universe. /Candy: How do we get back? /Tim: I’m not sure.

08/25/09
/Candy: You’ve got no idea how wonderful it is to–well, not sure if it’s ‘seeing’ you, but to, uh, perceive your presence. /Tim: Yeah, I got it. Same here. /Candy: I want to thank you for watching the house and bar while I’ve been, uh, here. /Tim: Well, actually, there’s a slight problem. /Candy: What? /Tim: You actually did lose those things. /Candy: You’re shittin’ me. That bar was my life. And my house, too? I guess if I ever get back, we’ll have to sleep in the car. /Tim: Well, actually…/Candy: REALLY? The CAR, too? Motherfu–well, at least we’ve still got each other. How the hell did you manage to lose all that? /Tim: Medical bills. To keep you plugged in. That’s why we have to hurry back. /Candy: Crap, I’m sorry. /Tim: That’s okay. /Candy: What the fuck am I worried about, anyway? I’m not even there. So, what happens, now? /Tim: I don’t know. I think NAP’s asleep now. /Candy: No, I mean what happens to our bodies? We’re not there paying for their upkeep or whatever. What’s gonna keep them from pulling the plug? /Tim: That’s what I’ve been saying. We’ve got to figure out a way to wake up, while it’s still possible to do so. /Candy: Holy shit! I was so caught up in finding you, then losing my bar and whatnot, it didn’t even sink in that I’m the next to go. /Tim: We both can go. /Candy: Nah, you just started YOUR coma. They’re not gonna pull your plug, yet. They want to give you a chance to wake up so they can bill you more. Me, though, I’ve been taking up space there for a while, already, I guess. Can’t really get any sense of time, here. “Here” being used rather loosely. Doesn’t matter, anyway. They might as well pull my plug. They already took everything else. What would I be waking up to, anyway? I lost my job, my home, I can’t even drive home from the hospital because they took my car. /Tim: If it were possible to see each other right now the way we did back there, you’d be seeing the dirtiest look from me, now. Who didn’t have any material things when we met? How would you feel if I had decided to just go ahead and commit suicide? At least we have each other, now. I missed you so much–my eyes would be tearing up and my voice breaking if I were back in my body. I don’t care about material things and neither should you, dammit. If we’re truly alive, we have a chance. No matter what else happens, as long as we have each other, we’ll be alright. /Candy: I’d like to believe that, but how long have I been in a coma? /Tim: Admittedly, a while. Weeks. /Candy: That’s a long time. Even if they don’t pull my plug, even if I do wake up, I may be damaged. Brain damage, or physical damage. I may be completely different from when we met, in ways we can’t even imagine. What about then? /Tim: I’m gonna love you and stick by your side no matter what. I promise. /Candy: Great. I’m gonna hold you to that. /Tim: If you can’t wake up, would you still exist here? /Candy: Probably not, but who knows for sure? Maybe I’d be flesh and blood in NAP’s universe? /Tim: Hmm. I don’t know. What do you think of NAP? /Candy: Well, I don’t really need to get into all that stuff about the coma and medical bills taking my job and home and stuff. That’s obvious. But, what really gets me is he has a special futuristic typewriter that lights up, yet he devotes all this time and effort to rigging up flashlights to a pen just so he can write in the dark the old-fashioned way? I honestly don’t know what to think of someone so incredibly stupid. You really need to work on creating characters a little bit more believable than THAT. /Tim: Well, about those high-tech typewriters, it’s easy to lose your work on those things. At least, writing by hand, he knows he has the paper with the text automatically saved on it. /Candy: Have you tried reading his handwriting? HE can’t even read half of what he wrote. Besides, why doesn’t he get up off his lazy ass and turn on the light? I’d do it for him if he didn’t put me in a fuckin’ COMA!

08/26/09
/Tim: I agree about his handwriting. Typing would eliminate that problem. /Candy: And if the typewriter thing erased his work, all the better. /Tim: Actually, those futuristic typewriters are actually computers that are small enough to be comparable in size. /Candy: Sounds neat. I’d like to read your sci fi after we get out of these comas. /Tim: And, I’d like to keep writing them. I just wish we had these typewriter-computers in our world in our time. I would write a lot more with one of those things. /Candy: So would I. /Tim: I didn’t know you were a writer. /Candy: I’m not. But, I’d try it out. /Tim: Damn. /Candy: What? /Tim: We can’t manipulate the universe we’re in, but if I were back home, I might possibly be able to indirectly influence events by writing that NAP brings you back from your coma. /Candy: According to your rule, you’d still be manipulating events in the universe you’re in. /Tim: Yeah, I guess. /Candy: You know, just because we’re not in our bodies doesn’t mean we’re entirely powerless. /Tim: No? /Candy: Not at all. /Tim: I tried possessing NAP. It doesn’t work. /Candy: Not in the physical sense, no, but we can have some effect on his thoughts. /Tim: You mean mind control? /Candy: No, more the power of suggestion. The trick, though, is NAP has to think it’s all coming from him, so he doesn’t fight back. /Tim: Can I try it? /Candy: Well, I didn’t show you an example, yet…/Tim: That’s okay. I get it. I’m NAP , and AI want to strangle my–/Candy: No, no, NO! NAP would never, ever do that on his own Don’t even finish that thought, or we’ll lose what little power we’ve got. /Tim: Sorry. /Candy: That’s okay. You haven’t been here nearly as long as I have. I’ll show you an example. See how he’s asleep now? /Tim: Yeah. /Candy: Watch this: ‘I’m going to sleep on my side, now.’ /Tim: That’s IT? What does THAT do? /Candy: Notice how NAP turns over? /Tim: I still don’t get it. /Candy: I made sure he had his writing hand under him. When he wakes up in the morning, his hand will still be asleep.

08/27/09
/Tim: Hey, he’s waking up. I didn’t know he had cats. /Candy: Yeah. /Tim: I never wrote anything about cats. /Candy: You also didn’t write about NAP putting us both in a coma. /Tim: Good point. /Candy: Yeah, the cats are pretty cool. The brown one is always biting NAP on his legs. It’s hilarious. /Tim: I wish I had written that. /Candy: Well, NAP is gonna write something. /Tim: Hey, so you were able to keep up with events back home, then. /Candy: No, not really. You ever try reading his handwriting? /Tim: It’s the same as mine. /Candy: Almost. But, do you write at 5:30 in the morning when you’re half asleep? /Tim: No. I don’t even write every day. /Candy: Well, this NAP moron thinks he has to write when he’s supposed to be asleep. But, that’s not the really dumb part. He doesn’t even use his special typewriter. /Tim: Computer? /Candy: It’s too small to be a computer, isn’t it? /Tim: Not in NAP’s time. /Candy: That’s right, you told me, already. Gee, I hope that’s not brain damage from the coma. /Tim: Let’s not even go there, alright? /Candy: Sorry. Anyway, NAP would be both faster and neater on his little computer. /Tim: You think he’s realistic enough? /Candy: He sounds way too dumb to be real, but he has to be real, I guess, since he put us in comas. So, I was wondering, can you kill him off? /Tim: If I were home I could. /Candy: But, you can’t here? Oh, yeah, that rule about manipulating the universe you’re currently occupying or something. /Tim: Yup. And, I bet that’s why I’m here, too. So, I don’t kill him off. /Candy: Good point. Anyway, the second reason I don’t try reading his stuff is simply because if I never wake up at home, then what’s the point of keeping up with events? /Tim: Good point. I believe I can make out his scrawl. Oh, he’s writing about us. You want me to read it aloud? /Candy: Sure. /Tim: NAP writes: ‘Nurse: Doctor, I see a flicker on Candy’s EKG. /Doctor: Is the plug loose? /Nurse: I’ll check.’

08/28/09
‘Nurse: The cord–(lights flicker, go out. Everything is quiet. No beeping or humming of machines.)–is fine. /Doctor: What? /Nurse: The cord is fine. Not that it matters, of course.’ /Tim: Hey, NAP, what happened to the emergency power? If you’re gonna kill us off, at least make your method believable. ‘/Doctor: Why didn’t our emergency power come on? /Nurse: I don’t know. The cord is fine. Ow! /Doctor: Nurse, you okay? /Nurse: Yeah, I just bumped my elbow on the bed. /Doctor: Hey, Nurse? /Nurse: What? /Doctor: Since it’s dark…/Nurse: Yeah? Are you trying to wink at me? /Doctor: How’d you know? /Nurse: The way you said that it’s dark. /Doctor: Why are we still talking? /Nurse: Keep talking so I can find you. /Doctor: Oof! /Nurse: You okay? /Doctor: Your knee found my groin. I’ll live. /Nurse: That’s what you get for trying to take advantage of me in the dark, you pervert. /Doctor: Would you rather I take advantage of you in the light?’ /Candy: So, Tim, are we dead? /Tim: I don’t know. All I know is we’re having this conversation. /Candy: Maybe this is it, then? Heaven? Hell? Doesn’t really feel like either one. /Tim: My guess would be Limbo. /Candy: Limbo. Of course. /Tim: Hey, Candy, looks like the power in the hospital is back on. (Silence.) Candy? (Nothing…then…something, a faint tug. Tim wants to ask NAP what’s going on, but his breath is sucked away. The rest of him follows and he plummets head first toward a bright light. Tim’s eyes open. Machines beep. A nurse runs inside.) /Nurse: You’re awake! Let me call the doctor. (Nurse leaes, comes right back with Candy’s doctor.) /Tim: Candy? /Doctor: Great. You know your name. /Tim: Her name. You’re Candy’s doctor. /Doctor (all smiles): Wow. All that time in a coma, and you woke up perfectly fine.

08/29/09
[REWIND: Before NAP revives them]–>/Candy: You know, Tim, I’m not a writer like you and NAP, but it’s still obvious to me that this NAP character of yours is making a grave, and quite foolish mistake by keeping us away from our bodies. /Tim: Yeah? How? (NAP can’t help but listen in) /Candy: Think about it. How do characters show emotion? /Tim: In Nate’s era they type a colon and a parenthesis to make a smile. It’s called an…um,…some combined abbreviation of emotion-computer something–/Candy: I don’t care what they do in Nate’s world! Back in our world, the REAL world, people use their BODIES to show emotion: vocal tones, volume changes, facial expressions, hand guestures–even things like respiration and prespiration: shaking when one’s not cold, sweating when not hot–/Tim: And when one doesn’t have a fever. /Candy: My point is, without our bodies, we just come across as flat, expressionless. Just dry text on a page. /Tim: Good point. I should have NAP interact more with others, so he can show more emotion. Thanks, Candy. Are you sure you’re not a writer? /Candy: I read a lot. Writing just seems like so much work. /Tim: For me, the work part doesn’t start until the second draft. You’re absolutely right, though. I wonder why I haven’t noticed it before? /Candy: Why should you? This isn’t YOUR story. /Tim: That’s right. We’re just characters, here. You think NAP is taking notes here? /Candy: Why would he? That dumbass thinks he’s better than we are. Don’t you think? [Author’s note: I should’ve taken notes. Then, I wouldn’t have had to backtrack just now. Anyway, we’re back in the present. Tim is awake in the hospital.] /Doctor (still smiling stupidly): We’ll still have to run some tests, observe you another night, but simply from what I see now, I’m just completely blown away by your complete recovery. You don’t know how close we got to pulling the plug. (The doctor gives an involuntary shudder) The power even went out, briefly. Hey, I need to ask you something. /Tim: Go ahead. /Doctor: After you leave, do I have your permission to use your name in medical journals? /Tim: No, and wipe that drool off your chin. (The doctor is silent.) /Doctor: Well, take your time and think about it. /Tim: I don’t need more time. /Doctor (sighs): Well, we can always change your name. /Tim: Run your tests, first. If I’m the same as before my coma, we’ll talk.

08/30/09
/Doctor: We’ll let you rest, now. We’ll run the tests in the morning. A nurse will come by in a little while to give you dinner. Good night. And (smiles wider) it is a Very. Good. Night. (The doctor leaves the room. Tim’s still lying in bed. Something definitely doesn’t feel right. He looks down at himself. What the–? A high-pitched scream fills his ears. It wasn’t until later that he realized he was the one screaming. He blacks out. Later…) /Doctor: The shock of waking up. Too much to bear. It’s my fault. I should’ve hung around longer. Or at least assign you to a physical therapist. You need to remember something–you haven’t moved, or even been aware, for weeks. I don’t remember offhand the exact number of days–it’s all in your chart. But, don’t worry. We’ll stay with you, and you’ll stay right here at the hospital until there’s no doubt that you’re all better. (He sits down at the end of the bed.) I’ll be straight with you for a moment. You were in a coma so long, we didn’t expect you would ever wake up. So, then it came down to money, and it got to the point where you were tapped out. You waking up, though, changes the picture. As a doctor, my first priority is to treat the patient. So, whether you have money or not, you’ll still be here, and taken care of, until you’re well enough to be discharged. So, just relax. You’ll be feeling just fine in a few days. /Nurse: Until you get your bill. /Doctor (to nurse): That isn’t funny. (The nurse’s lips clamp shut.) /Tim: That’s okay. She was just trying to make light of a new, scary situation. /Nurse (smiles at Tim): Thanks. Us sisters have to stick together. (Still smiling, she and the doctor step out of the room. SISTERS? wonders Tim. And why was my voice so high? Maybe it’s breaking from disuse? He clears his throat, tries his voice again. Still high. He has a sudden urge to pee. He sits up, reaches for the railing, tries standing. His legs shake. He doesn’t want to fall and have the doctor and nurse running in. He takes some breaths, steadies himself, then staggers over to the bathroom, goes inside, raises the lid, and pees all over himself. Perfectly normal after a coma, he tells himself, to not have control of one’s bladder. He looks at the–what the fuck? Is that a window? In the bathroom? They really mean it about observing me here. He looks again at the glass. Oh no. Oh my fucking God. The room spins, blackens, too much to process. Tim collapses. In the mirror, he saw Candy’s face. Later…) /Nurse: I’m going to stay right here, Candy. We’ll work in shifts, so someone will always be here to help you get used to doing basic things again. /Tim: My body–something’s wrong. /Nurse: You’ll be fine. It’s normal to feel strange after a coma.

08/31/09
/CtimANDY: What I’ve got, the doctors can’t fix. (S/He yanks out various tubes, looks around, finds a bag of clothes. Before he/she gets dressed she/he says) You know, NAP, if you’re going to do this stupid and cliched thing of waking me up in my woman’s body, at least be able to pull it off. (Tim/Candy pulls off her night gown.) I mean, you don’t know what to call me, or even which pronoun to use. /NAP: “Thanks. You’re right. I’ll call you ‘TIC’: Tim Inside Candy.” /TIC: Hey, I never said that out loud, did I? /NAP: “You didn’t have to. I read your mind.” /TIC: You’ve got to be kidding. /NAP: “About reading your mind?” /TIC: No. About these clothes. Look how small her underwear is. And this thing. How the fuck am I supposed to put THIS on? (TIC holds up a bra.) It doesn’t even fasten in the front. (she tosses it away.) I’ll burn this thing before I try putting it on. (TIC puts on a blouse and Capri pants, then walks to the door, opens it and leaves the room. And walks right into…) /TIC: Hey, that’s me. /Tim’s body: And that’s me. /TIC: Candy? /Tim’s body: Yeah. Tim? /TIC: Yup. (They go back into TIC’s room and sit on the bed.) /TIC: So, NAP did this to you, too. /CIT (Candy Inside Tim): Of course. NAP’s not creative enough to write anything new or interesting, so he just recycles old cliches. (CIT gets up and closes the door. He then reaches down and picks something up off the floor.) You’re not leaving without this. (He holds up the bra.) I’ll even clip it for you until you learn to put it on, yourself. (A moment later…) /TIC: Ow! A wire is poking me. /CIT: Just be lucky you have some support. How can you stand having all this junk sticking to your legs? Don’t they have a cup or jock strap for this? /TIC: Yeah, they do. /CIT: Well, we’re going clothes shopping. I got used to wearing cups and straps. Don’t see why I should stop now–your junk’s just a little farther down. Besides, those Capri pants you’ve got on make my butt look huge. /TIC: Yeah, well, my potbelly isn’t so attractive in that stained T-shirt, either. /CIT: Did I at least bring some makeup? Look in my bag.

09/01/09
/TIC: Yeah, you got some lip gloss, mascara, some other crap. /CIT: Great. (CIT stands over TIC, dabs some rouge, then grabs a towel and wipes it off.) I’m not used to doing it this way. /TIC: I have an idea. Follow me–or you, or whatever. (They go to the bathroom and both face the mirror.) /TIC: Now, stand behind me and try it again. /CIT: Hey, you’re right. This way feels more natural–if anything about this situation can be considered “natural”. (A few minutes later…) Not my best job, ever, but at least we’re done. (CIT scratches his face.) /TIC: We’re not done, yet. (TIC hands CIT a razor and shaving cream. CIT eyes them warily.) /CIT: Ow! Ow! Fuck! (TIC laughs.) It’s not funny! This is way harder than shaving my legs. All these dips and ridges, hollows and points. /TIC: Got that right. And, it’s hilarious watching you. If you think about it, it’s not really YOUR face you’re cutting into hamburger. /CIT: Maybe not, but I don’t see us switching back. At least we picked a good place to bleed. Got some iodine right here. (TIC shakes her head) /TIC: No, no, no, you don’t want to use that–it’ll burn. Just wad some toilet paper. Here, I’ll help you. (A few minutes later…) /CIT: I look ridiculous. /TIC: You look like a man. /CIT: Same difference. /TIC: No argument from me. /CIT: Are we ready to go? /TIC: I guess so. Oh, before we go, should we practice going to the bathroom? /CIT: No. I’m still potty-trained. Let’s get out of here, already. (They step out tothe waiting room, see Arnie and Mindy. /Arnie: So, it’s true. You’re both alive and about. /TIC: You don’t know what we’re about. /Mindy (somber): Um, we know you lost your house and car. /CIT: And bar, right? /Arnie: Yeah, but how would you know that? Weren’t you in a coma when they took it? Yours was much shorter than Candy’s–maybe I have the sequence of events wrong? Anyway, you’re both here and healthy. That’s all that matters. We’re taking you out. Our treat. [Author’s note: No, wait a minute–I don’t have any notes or comments to insert here. /TIC: YOU don’t. But, I do. YOU’RE the one who’s confused about the sequence of events. You’re just blaming it on Arnie. If you don’t tell Arnie about it, at least let the readers know–assuming you have any readers. /NAP: Can we get back to the story, now? /TIC: Sure. I’d like to leave the hospital, already.] They step outside in the early autumn evening.) /CIT: Oh, you’ve got no idea how wonderful it feels to be walking about, breathing in the fresh air after all that time in a coma. /Arnie (cocks an eyebrow at CIT): You think? You weren’t even out of it for that long. Imagine how it must be for your fiancee, here.
09/02/09
/CIT: I think I have a pretty good idea. (They all get into Mindy’s car and leave the hospital.) /Mindy: I bet it feels great to finally leave that hospital. /CIT: Who are you talking to? /Mindy: Candy, mainly. (CIT nudges TIC.) /TIC: I don’t know, really. I was out of it most of the time. I heard that Tim, here, got so stressed about me he was hallucinating. /Arnie (chuckles): I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing. The drug interaction from when they were trying to treat your condition let to your coma. (chuckles some more) Sorry, but Candy, did Tim tell you what he did at this fancy restaurant we were at? I forget the name of the place–/Mindy: It was the diner where I work. /Arnie: Oh, yeah. Why was I thinking it was somewhere fancy? [TIC’s note: We both know why, don’t we, NAP? I wish you’d quit picking on Arnie, like that.] /Mindy: And it really wasn’t funny, Arnie. Tim was not well, and I nearly lost my job. /TIC: Actually, yeah, Tim did tell me about that. Didn’t you, dear? /CIT: That’s okay. I don’t mind hearing Arnie tell it again. /Arnie: Thanks, buddy. Tim, here, he got the dining room and Men’s room confused. /Mindy: You know, sweetie, I really don’t think it’s funny that our friend Tim almost died. /Arnie (he’s quiet for a moment): Yeah, you’re right, hon. Sorry, buddy. Yeah, Candy, Tim was really worried about you. He kept calling the hospital, talking to your doctor, trying to find out if you were coming out of it. Your doctor kept trying to pull the plug, but Tim, here, wouldn’t even consider it, he kept stalling them, even when the medical bills took all your material things. But, hell, you can always get THINGS again. The important thing is you’re back. With us. (Arnie gets choked up. Mindy blinks rapidly, swipes at her eyes. TIC and CIT are quiet for a moment.) /CIT (tears run down his cheeks, he sniffles): Wow. I’m really lucky. /Mindy: We’re all lucky to have both of you. (They arrive at the restaurant.) /TIC: This is the same restaurant where Tim’s accident happened, isnt’ it? /Arnie: I guess. How would you know? /TIC: It looks familiar. /Mindy: That’s because it’s the diner where I work. You were here before your long coma. (They go inside. The host greets them.) /Host: Mindy, aren’t you off today? /Mindy: Yeah, I’m taking my friends and boyfriend out to dinner. /Host: Oh, okay. (He sees CIT and narrows his eyes.) For you, we have a delightful assortment of urinal cakes for your dining pleasure. (TIC punches the host in the jaw.)

09/03/09
/Host: Ow! Mother–/TIC: Fuck! I think I broke my hand. /CIT: Get some ice. I’ll finish up, here. (CIT picks up the host, makes sure he’s still standing, then knees him. Host doubles over in pain, then gets up and knees CIT back. CIT continues standing there.) /Host: Why aren’t you clutching yourself? /CIT: For a reason I will not share with you, I’m actually used to this kind of pain. (TIC comes back with an ice pack.) /Arnie: Well, I guess we’re not eating here. Right, Mindy? (pause) Mindy? /CIT: She already headed to the car. (In the car…) /CIT: My poor baby. Let me see your hand. /TIC: There’s not much to see right now. Wait until more bruises appear. I don’t think anything’s broken. I can still move my fingers a little. /CIT: Keep the ice on it. /TIC: I’m not used to these smaller, softer hands. /CIT: There’s something else you’re not used to, either. /TIC: What? /CIT (smiles): You’ll find out. Can you stand the sight of blood? /TIC: Yeah, I guess. Why? (TIC looks at CIT. He’s still smiling. He cocks an eyebrow.) Wait. My hand isn’t bleeding. /CIT: Oh, I’m not referring to your hand. You know how it feels to get kicked in the crotch? As a man? /TIC: Yeah, hate that feeling–wait. You’re talking about pain like cramps? (CIT nods) Followed by bleeding? (CIT nods again) From my–down there? (CIT nods vigorously) Oh, shit. /Mindy: How’s it going back there? /CIT: Just fine. My sweetie and I were just chatting about punctuation. /Mindy: You need some supplies? /CIT: Actually, if we see a place on the way…/Mindy: You got it. (Mindy finds a Fuel’n’Gruel) Will this work? /CIT: “Candy” says the Pharmers Market’n’Drugs around the corner will be better. (Mindy goes there, parks.) /Mindy: Here, take some money. /TIC: You sure? /Mindy: I haven’t been in a coma. Take it. /TIC: Thanks. /CIT: You want me to run in and get it for you, sweetie? I still remember what brand you like. /TIC: I probably should go in with you. (Quietly and privately to CIT) I need to learn. /CIT: (quietly) Good point. (To the others) You guys want anything? /Arnie: Filet mignon, medium well, sour cream and ketchup on my baked potato. (Mindy glares at Arnie. Arnie shrugs.) What? I’m hungry. /Mindy: Candy can fix you a knuckle sandwich. It’s her specialty.

09/04/09
/TIC: Actually, you’re off the hook, at least the right hook. My hand is still bruised and sore. /CIT: Well, we’re going in. (In the store) Noiw, I’m not really out of supplies. I just don’t think you want to use what I’ve got. (CIT points to a box on the shelf. TIC looks at it and can’t repress a shiver.) /TIC: Yeah, I definitely agree with you. /CIT: Now, this stuff here doesn’t require an applicator. /TIC: And nothing goes inside? /CIT: Correct. You simply attach this to an old pair of undies, and hope your aim is good. /TIC: Why not just get adult diapers? /CIT (glares at TIC): You already have a sore hand. Do you need a black eye, too? /TIC: I’m sorry. (The clerk comes over.) /Clerk: Hey, mister. Did I just hear you threaten to hit this lady? /CIT: It’s not what you think. /Clerk: Oh, it’s EXACTLY what I think. My wife used to be with a jerk like you. Nearly beat the very LIFE out of her. Luckily she reached the phone in time to call the cops. I was the cop on duty. I’m retired, now, but I can still whip your ass. And I don’t even have to read you your rights. I will, anyway. You have the right to march your sorry ass right out of my store, before I get violent with YOU. /CIT: But, sir–/Clerk: I’ve got a shotgun behind the counter, and I’m not afraid to use it. Not that I need it for you, you sorry sack of shit. /CIT: Alright, we’re leaving. /Clerk: Who said anything about “we”? The lady can stay and shop. (CIT opens his mouth to speak, pauses, shrugs, turns around and leaves the store.) I’m so sorry about that, ma’am. /TIC: Yeah, so am I. My fiance was helping me shop. /Clerk: Not like that he wasn’t. You may want to think about breaking off the engagement, before he breaks your bones or worse. /TIC: Well, could I get what I came here for first? /Clerk: Of course. (TIC grabs a box.) This is all you want? /TIC: Yup. /Clerk: You can have it for free. Do you need me to call a cab? /TIC: No, I have friends waiting for me outside. /Clerk: Okay. You need the number of a women’s shelter? /TIC: Isn’t that information in the front section of the phone book? /Clerk: Um…yeah, I guess. /TIC: So, I have it, already. /Clerk: Okay. Be careful. /TIC: Thanks. You do the same. (TIC walks to Mindy’s car, opens the door, and gets inside next to CIT. She looks at him for a long time. He doesn’t say anything. Finally, she speaks.) /TIC: Well…(CIT still doesn’t say anything.) well, he gave me the stuff for free.

09/05/09
/CIT: You know guys, it really is sweet of you two to take us out, but tonight I think we better just go back. /TIC: Ever since waking up from my coma, I just haven’t felt like myself. (CIT nudges TIC.) /Mindy: No problem. We’ll take you back to our place and I’ll show you your room. [Author’s note: I know about the smoke from before. For now, let’s assume the smoke cleared and Mindy’s place became livable, again. ] [TIC note: I noticed in the handwritten version you forgot who had the sore hand. /NAP: Hey, I caught that in the typed version, here.] /CIT: YOUR place? Oh, yeah, I forgot. My–I mean, OUR place had foreclosed. /Mindy: Yeah, sorry. /Arnie: Well, you just forget about all that. The important thing is you’re both back, healthy, and we’re together. You’ll always have a place to stay with us. /TIC: At least until we get back on our feet. /Mindy: You guys quit worrying about things. What’s ours is yours. Actually, I’ve got something for you, Tim, the writer. /TIC: Yeah? /CIT (a fraction of a second later): Yeah? (CIT nudges TIC) /Mindy: The difference between “ours” and “yours” is just one letter–“y”. And “y”? Because we like you. /Arnie: Thanks, Mickey. I mean, Mindy. (They pull up to Mindy’s brownstone, park and go inside, Mindy shows TIC and CIT their room.) /Mindy: I hope you two don’t mind sharing. /Arnie: You kidding? They probably can’t wait to be rid of us. Just leave some cash on the counter so they can order pizza and let’s skedaddle. /Mindy: Who the hell says “skedaddle”? Besides you, apparently. (Arnie and Mindy leave.) /CIT: Hey, look, they even brought our things. /TIC: I’m part of “they”. I was already living here during your coma. We had to move to Arnie’s parents’ house temporarily due to smoke damage from a fire. /TIC: So, the curtains weren’t always black? /CIT: Nope. /CIT: Well, we’ve got more important things to discuss. /TIC: Yeah, I know. Go ahead. Ladies, first. /CIT (stares at TIC for a full minute before blurting…): WHO’S the LADY? /TIC: Oh, yeah. Right. /CIT: So, YOU go first. /TIC: Alright.

09/06/09
/TIC (continues): The thing you’ve got to remember is: you can’t joke about hitting me when we’re out in public. I know that before the comas and the Switch you would joke about smacking me, and I know neither one of us would ever strike the other, but now, people just don’t understand us at all about it. /CIT: Yeah, and the way Arnie looked at me when you and I said we wanted to be alone and rest. I know what he’s thinking, and he really doesn’t get it. /TIC: Hey, now, that’s a sexy body you’re in. You can’t blame him for thinking that. /CIT: Oh, not at all. It’s just a little confusing to me, ’cause at first, when he winked at me, I thought he was flirting with me. I had to remind myself that hew was giving a guy-to-guy buddy sort of wink. /TIC: Yeah, Mindy looks at me differently, too. Anyway, you wanted to tell me something, too? /CIT: Yeah, about the restaurant. You can’t go around hitting people just because they piss you off. /TIC: Yeah, I know. I was hallucinating in there, and he was making fun of me–of us, ’cause of the Switch. /CIT: Well, anyway, that’s over and done with, now. And, that was a nice jab, by the way. I never knew I had it in me. /TIC: You did pretty well finishing him off, too. /CIT: Yeah, that did feel good. I got all this testosterone in me, now. Anyway, should we get down to business, now? /TIC: Uh, I don’t know if I’m ready, yet. It’s just so weird, you know? You’re like–you feel like my reflection. I’m just not sure if what we did together would even be considered sex in the traditional sense, or if it would feel more like, um, masturbating. /CIT (gives TIC a look that would chill the sun.) I was talking (he speaks in staccato, ice-pick bursts) about the box you picked up. And, it better not be adult diapers. /TIC: It’s not.

09/07/09
/CIT: You understand why you can never, NEVER EVER suggest adult diapers for a woman’s normal, healthy, monthly–/TIC: You just now explained it: because it’s ‘a woman’s normal, healthy, monthly’–/CIT: You’re just repeating back to me what I just told you. /TIC: Yeah, well, I get it, now. I didn’t mean to suggest that women were incontinent or unable to control their functions. /CIT: Exactly. It has nothing to do with control at all. We still go to the restroom, even while wearing what you got in that box. It’s more work, because we gotta change our–well, you’ll get a full initiation into womanhood, don’t worry. /TIC: So, did I get the right box? /CIT (reads the label): Yeah, this’ll work. I would’ve gotten a different brand, but that’s okay. Now, the first thing that’ll happen is–/TIC: OW! Why’d you kick me in the balls just now? /CIT: I didn’t kick you, and besides, you don’t even HAVE balls. /TIC: Oh, right. Well, it feels like I do and just got kicked in them–OW! There it is, again. (TIC feels like the breath has been knocked out of her. She struggles for air, it finally comes in rapid gasps. Her eyes well up. She doesn’t recall falling to the floor but she’s lying down on it clutching her groin. CIT is looking down at her.) /CIT: You’re fine. Don’t be such a baby. Your body’s been through it many times before, it’s just cramps. /TIC: Maybe so, but mentally, this is the first time for me. /CIT: Hand me your purse, I’ve got something in there that’ll help. Never mind, I’ll get it. (CIT walks over to TIC’s purse, rummages around inside it, and digs out a bottle of pills.) Damn, these things expired a month ago. /TIC: AAAHH! I don’t care! /CIT: I’m not giving you expired pills. I hardly ever take pills anymore, unless they’re REALLY bad, and yours aren’t bad. Hold on, I’ll be right back. (An eternal five minutes later, CIT shows up with a chocolate bar. TIC doesn’t even bother unwrapping it–she just bites right through the foil. Sultry chocolate melts in her mouth–bitter-sweet with a slight metallic taste. She spits out the foil. Brown rivulets of chocolate decadence run down the sides of her mouth, on her chin. As she focuses on the chocolate, she feels the pain receding from her groin and brain.) /CIT: Yeah, we’re definitely getting some more pills. Mindy might have some in her purse. You should ask her when she and Arnie get back from their date. /TIC: Shouldn’t YOU ask? /CIT (just looks at TIC for a moment): Look at me. /TIC: Oh, yeah.

09/08/09
/CIT: I’m no longer in the club. /TIC: W?ell, should we do this? /CIT: Sure (Later…) Well, I guess we oughta eat something. /TIC: Arnie and Mindy left us money for a pizza. /CIT: Alright. /TIC: Could we get chocolate for a topping? (CIT laughs. Later…) /TIC: So, I’m confused about something. /CIT: What? /TIC: I don’t understand that if our brains weren’t switched, then how is it that we feel like we switched bodies? /CIT (shrugs): I guess there’s more to us, to our identities, than just our physical bodies. /TIC: It’s easier for me to believe that our brains were secretly switched by the doctors. /CIT: Well, how were we able to communicate when we were in NAP’s world? /TIC: Maybe ESP or a dream or the drugs they gave us? /CIT: Yeah, maybe. Well, there’s still a problem with your theory. /TIC: Yeah? /CIT: Yeah. Who would pay for such an operation? /TIC: The government, of course. /CIT: You know, the pieces do seem to fit. /TIC: Yeah, and so do our brains, apparently. /CIT: Well, why would they do it? /TIC: Oh, that one is easy–to see if it can be done. And, we were both near death, already. Maybe they got our brains to communicate somehow, too, with some machines or drugs or both. /CIT: Well, then,why would they just let us go? /TIC: So they can observe us in our regular setting, and also so we wouldn’t suspect anything. /CIT: Well, that’s just dumb–of them, I mean. Of course we know something’s happened. /TIC: Yeah, this whole switching brains thing isn’t even a new idea. Cartoons are doing it all the time. /CIT: Well, anyway, should we have them switch our brains back? /TIC: We could ask, but it won’t happen. /CIT: Why not? /TIC: Who’s gonna pay to have it done, for one, and for another, it’s much too risky. /CIT: You want more pizza? The chocolate’s half-melted. /TIC: That’s okay. That just makes the crust more chocolatey. /CIT: Okay. (After a moment…) /TIC: Take it, I’m full. /CIT: Thanks.

09/09/09

/CIT: Actually, I’m full, too. I’ll put it away. (A moment later…) So, tell me more about this theory of yours. /TIC: Basically, the government either switched our brains or somehow found a way to transfer just the content inside. /CIT: I have an idea about the content part. /TIC: Yeah? /CIT: I’m not a brain surgeon or anything, but doesn’t the brain use electrical signals to convey information? /TIC: I’m not a doctor, either, but I remember something about electricity being involved. I know neurons do something, too. /CIT: Well, anyway, if the government can somehow duplicate or manipulate these electrical signals, then physical brain transfer might not be necessary. /TIC: The signals travel through the spinal cord to nerves. /CIT: Yeah, so why not a synthetic spinal cord to transfer our signals? Then, my brain will feel your body and vice versa. /TIC: Alright, I think we’re on to something, here. That’s assuming that the government somehow switched our brains or our electric signals. /CIT: Yeah, and they did it so they can learn how to pass classified information along. /TIC: Yeah, so now the question is: who’s responsible? /CIT: The government. /TIC: Well, who’s working for the government? /CIT: I don’t know. Whoever put us in comas, for starters. /TIC: That would be your ex-husband for your coma. /CIT: Zeke? He works at a bank. /TIC: And funds the project, I’m sure. Now that I think of it, that bottle toss did seem intentional. And doctors caused my coma. They gave me pills to, according to them, help me deal with your coma, but the drugs instead caused my coma. /CIT: And, your hallucinations. /TIC: Absolutely. A great move. The hallucinations discredit me and keep me under the doctor’s care. /CIT: So, what about Arnie and Mindy?

09/10/09
[REWIND]: (Scene: restaurant where TIC hit the host.) /Host (touching his face): Looks at CIT.): So, you need your girlfriend to fight your battles for you? /CIT: What’s wrong with that? I’m not afraid of you. Go ahead. Free shot. /Waitress (after the ball kicking takes place): /Two on one is not what I call a fair fight. This is for my boyfriend. (She hits CIT. CIT reaches back with a fist, but TIC stops him.) /TIC: I’ll handle this one. /CIT: I got it under control. (Pauses) Oh. /TIC: Exactly. It’s my turn to hit back. (TIC and the waitress exchange blows. CIT looks on, paces, finally can’t take it anymore, so he picks up the host and pushes him into the waitress. Both of them fall down, unconscious. /TIC: Thanks. My hand was really hurting from all those blows I was giving. /CIT: I have an idea. /TIC: Yeah? (A few minutes later, they examine their work. The waitress and host are both in their underwear, she’s lying on top of him. Her left hand is entwined in his right, their other hands are carefully positioned on each other. Arnie and Mindy leave the restrooms.) /Mindy: So, where are we sitting? /TIC: In your car. (Scene: back in Mindy’s apartment, TIC and CIT are waiting for the pizza.) /TIC: I’m gonna see what kinds of toppings Mindy has in her kitchen. /CIT: Okay. (a moment later) /TIC: Hey, sweetie? /CIT: What? /TIC: Could you come here? /CIT: Sure. (in the kitchen…) What’s up? /TIC: I forgot I’m so much shorter, now. /CIT: No problem. What do you want? /TIC: The pickle jar. /CIT (faces TIC) /CIT: I know you can’t be pregnant. /TIC: Of course not. I just like to dip my crust in pickle juice. (CIT shrugs and gets the jar for TIC.) /TIC: Crap!

09/11/09
[Still REWIND]: (Jar falls to the floor and splits open.) /TIC: Damn it. I’m not used to these smaller hands. /CIT: That’s okay. At least the jar didn’t smash into a million pieces. Looks like it just fractured into a few large pieces. /TIC: Shouldn’t we clean it up? /CIT: Yeah, I guess. Where does Mindy keep the dust pan? /TIC: I don’t know. (there’s a knocking at the door. TIC answers it.) /TIC: Thanks. (she closes the door.) The pizza’s here. /CIT: We still have that broken pickle jar. /TIC: It’ll still be broken and reeking after we eat. /CIT: Good point. /TIC: The extra cheese was a good idea. /CIT: Hey, I just thought of something. /TIC: Yeah? /CIT: I can’t remember if you were allergic to certain types of food. /TIC: Nope. Not that I know of. And you? /CIT: No. /TIC: That’s good. [Finally, back to PRESENT. CIT just asked about Arnie and Mindy being spies.] /TIC: You think they’re government spies? They’re not spies. They’re our friends. /CIT: The perfect cover. /TIC: No, that’s crazy. They were there for me the whole time you were in a coma. /CIT: Not the whole time. /TIC: What do you mean? /CIT: Not when we were BOTH comatose. /TIC: So, you’re saying they’re fucking spies? That’s bullshit. (TIC winks at CIT, gets up.) I had lost you, the house, everything. I had hit rock bottom. (TIC leaves the room, goes to the bathroom. CIT waits outside.) And through it all, Arnie and Mindy have been right by my side. (TIC steps back out, grabs CIT’s hand and takes him inside. TIC closes the door and turns on the water in the bathtub.) /TIC: Place might be bugged. I saw this in a movie where they turned on the water. Anyway, I believe you. Question now is: what do we do about it? /CIT: I don’t know. /TIC: Do we confront them about it? /CIT: I’m not sure. I don’t want to get them in trouble.

09/12/09
/TIC: Get THEM in trouble? Oh. /CIT: Yeah, ’cause if they ARE spies or agents, they’ll have to report to their superiors. /TIC: Yeah, and if their cover’s blown…/CIT: It could be much worse than ‘not getting that promotion.’ /TIC: Yeah. (They hear the front door open, footsteps, voices. Arnie and Mindy appear in the bathroom.) /Mindy: Good, you got the water running, already. Could you fill this bucket for me? It already has soap in it. /CIT (shrugs): Sure. /Mindy: Thanks. /CIT: Here. /Mindy: Great. You can turn off the water, now. /tIC: No we can’t. /Arnie: Why not? /Mindy: Relax, Arnie. (To CIT and TIC) Why not? /CIT: Set the bucket down. We need to talk. /Mindy: Okay. But, with the water on? /CIT: Yeah, that’s for bugs. /Mindy: I think the busted pickle jar in the kitchen will scare away all the bugs. /TIC: Not those kinds of bugs. /Arnie: What’re you talking about, then? /CIT: You notice anything different about us since the hospital? (Arnie and Mindy look at CIT andTIC, then at each other.) /Mindy: Should we tell them? /Arnie: I guess so. Go ahead. /Mindy: Okay, the truth is, you guys were both in a coma, one of yu was comatose for a really long time. The fact that both of you survived at al is already a miracle. /TIC: We know that, already. /Arnie: Yeah, well what you may not know is both of you very nearly never came back. We had to fight the doctors to keep you alive. /Mindy: One hospital employee even went so far as to cut off power to the whole facility, just to shut you down. /Arnie: Yeah, but not only did you BOTH survive, you’re even able to think and move. /Mindy: The doctors, though, they warned us that there could still be unknown long-term effects of your comas. /Arnie: So, basically, if you guys bust a pickle jar or leave the water running…

09/13/09
/Mindy: Or, leave the water running to exterminate bugs–/TIC: Not THOSE bugs. /Arnie: Then, we figure it’s a result of the comas. (Mindy’s forehead furrows) /Mindy: Have you guys felt different since you came out of it? (TIC and CIT look at each other.) /TIC: Are we supposed to feel different? /Arnie: Well, like Mindy said, the doctors simply don’t know enough about your comas. /Mindy: But, if you are willing to talk with them then they could learn more about what you guys went through, how it’s changed you, and possibly figure out ways to help you. /Arnie: Yeah, comas themselves aren’t normal, healthy, or well-known, but what we do know is that no matter what, you guys can stay with us as long as you want or need and we’ll always stick by you, no matter what. /Mindy: Yeah. I imagine it must be really overwhelming to be nearly dead, and then come back. But, don’t even worry about money, jobs, or finding a place to live. Your place is with us. We’ll just take everything one day at a time. Tonight, I’m gonna clean up the pickles, then go to bed. /Arnie: You guys need anything at all, don’t hesitate to let us know. /Mindy: When you guys are done with the water, I trust you’ll turn it off. Goodnight. /ArnieA: Yeah, goodnight guys. /CIT (softly, with her head bowed): /Goodnight. (Mindy and Arnie leave.) /CIT: well, I feel like a total piece of shit. /TIC: Why? /CIT: You heard them. They’re our friends. /TIC: You believe them? Do friends arrange to have friends put into comas? /CIT: Look, I don’t know how we woke up this way, and it’s true I never met Mindy before my coma, but I do remember Arnie, and how we all would hang out at my bar, or at the diner, and read your stories. We need them–Mindy and Arnie.

09/14/09
/TIC: Well, all I know is I was hallucinating before they gave me medication at the hospital. /CIT: So, there you go. The problem was internal. /TIC: Then, how come I never hallucinated before I met Arnie? /CIT: That doesn’t mean Arnie had anything to do with you seeing things. I could just as easily say that I was never in a coma until after I met Arnie, but who’s the one who threw that bottle? Zeke. /TIC: Oh, yeah. /CIT: AND, who’s the one that BROUGHT Zeke into my bar in the first place? (TIC is silent.) Relax. I know you didn’t cause my coma. The question is, though, why aren’t we going after Zeke? /TIC: Well, first of all, there’s a restraining order against him. /CIT: Yeah, to keep him away from me. But, you still could’ve gone after him. Why didn’t you? /TIC: You know what? I think I was going to, but then my hallucinations started, I was losing our home to medical bills–/CIT: I’m not interested in hearing your excuses. Why don’t we go after him now? (TIC’s silent, again.) You know what? Since we were switched, this here is the first thing that’s working out. You don’t have to worry about seeking Zeke, now, because the restraining order is now for you. And, I’m free now to go after him. /TIC: So, you’re going to leave me and go back to him? /CIT: Absolutely. Since, I’m you, I can go there undercover. And, since I’m you, I don’t have to worry about going under actual covers with him. /TIC: So, when are you leaving? /CIT: You just can’t wait to get rid of me, can you? /TIC: That’s not what I meant. /CIT: I know. Tomorrow morning. Now, I just want to go to sleep. (CIT gets up, stretches, and shuts off the faucet. TIC gets up, too, and they both go to bed.) /TIC: Well, if you have to go, I guess I can handle being a woman. (CIT laughs.)

09/15/09
/TIC: What’s so funny? /CIT: What you’ve just said. Before my coma, I couldn’t even handle being a woman, and I’ve been one all my life. You men have it so easy. The only thing I’ve got to worry about being one of you is to figure out how to get used to having all this stuff between my legs. Ow! /TIC: I know that ‘ow.’ Here you go. (TIC hands CIT something.) /CIT: Baby powder? /TIC: Trust me. I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow. /CIT: Well, I need to find Zeke. He hung out with you right before he threw that bottle at me. And, you can’t come with me, anyway, ’cause of the restraining order. /TIC: What if something happens to you? That’s my baby you’ve got there. /CIT: You want it back? Let’s switch back right now. /TIC: You know we can’t just switch back. /CIT: Exactly. /TIC: Good night. (CIT’s snoring. Next morning, in the kitchen…) /TIC: Good morning. /Mindy: Good morning, everyone. They switched me to a day shift, so I have to go. You guys want to ride with me to the diner? We can all eat there before I start my shift. /TIC: Sure. /CIT: Okay. (Arnie nods.) /Mindy: Great (At the diner…) You guys want to sit at the bar? This way, I can stand in front of you and look busy. /Arnie: Sure, babe. (CIT nudges /TIC.) /TIC: What? /CIT (whispers): Ten stools over. /TIC: That looks like–/CIT: SHHH! Not so loud. Yeah, it is. I used to live with him. He’s the reason all this happened. /TIC: Not entirely, I don’t think. /CIT: What do you mean? /TIC: Maybe the bottle was just to get you into the hospital, so they could give you a drug-induced coma? /CIT: Hmm. Well, either way he’s still involved. I’m going over there, before he leaves. (CIT gets up.)

09/16/09
/CIT: Hey! Remember me? /Zeke (looks over at CIT, blinks): Yeah, aren’t you the guy that had the houseboat? /CIT: Houseboat? (CIT glances back at TIC. TIC motions for CIT to keep going.) /CIT: I’m not here to chat about houseboats. /Zeke: Well, if it’s about opening a new account, as you can see (he sips his coffee), I’m off duty. Although, if you got a joint account THIS time, you wouldn’t have to worry about your girlfriend stealing it all, again, with her being in a coma and all. (TIC knocks over her eggs and coffee to the floor, gets up, and bellows for Zeke. Arnie runs after TIC. CIT races to block TIC from Zeke.) /CIT: As you can see, I–I mean ‘my’ fiancee has recovered from her coma. /TIC (shouts): And is ready to put YOU in one. /Zeke: Candy? /CIT: Yeah, it’s Candy. Now, why did you throw that bottle at me–at her? /Zeke: Are you a cop charging me with a crime? /CIT: No, but what the hell does that have to do with anything? /Zeke: I don’t have to answer your question, then. /CIT: You wouldn’t have to answer me, anyway. You could just wait for your attorney to do the answering for you. /Zeke: Good point. What happened that day, was I got up to stretch my arms. The longneck was slick with sweat and condensation. It slipped right out of my hand. /CIT: Glass from that bottle landed right in my–in my fiancee’s eye. /Zeke: Hey, there is no way in hell I threw that bottle on purpose. If I had, it wouldn’t have hit the wall, first. (Mindy motions CIT over.) /CIT (snaps): Yeah, what? /Mindy: My boss sent me over here to tell you to stop harassing my customers. I’m sorry. It’s just that this is my job and the boss saw us come in together. (CIT sighs. TIC storms off.)

09/17/09
/Mindy (to Zeke): I’m sorry about that. Your meal is on the house. /Zeke: Thanks. I probably still won’t be coming back, even though it’s not your fault. (Zeke looks around. Sees TIC sitting at the bar stabbing at her toast with a butter knife. He drops his voice, but TIC can still hear him.) That chick that came over with her boyfriend? There’s actually a restraining order on me not to be around her. So, since she frequents this establishment, I’m gonna havta quit coming here. You guys do make great coffee, though. /Mindy: You want a refill? /Zeke: No, I need to go. /Boss is waiting. Hey, Tim? (Both TIC and CIT turn their heads. TIC quickly corrects and looks back down at her butchered toast. Zeke gives a small smile) Nice to see you, again. /CIT: I wish I could say the same about you. (Zeke gets up, starts to wave with his full hand, then lowers all but one finger. He goes outside. Mandy glares at CIT and TIC.) /CIT (shrugs): Well, he DID say he wasn’t coming back. /Mindy: The idea is for customers TO come back. Well, he had his free meal, which means it comes out of my pay. Thanks, guys. (She flips a rag.) I have other customers to tend to. Please try not to scare them away, too. (She bunches her shoulders and stalks off.) /CIT: I’m not hungry, anymore. /TIC: Me, neither. /Arnie: I’m still eatin’. /CIT: That’s okay. We’ll still go. See you later. (CIT and TIC go outside. Two men in dark suits motion them into the back of a black sedan. TIC and CIT start running in opposite directions. The men in suits start running after CIT, stop, and run into each other.) /TIC runs around the back of the diner and meets up later with CIT at the apartment.) /TIC: Did you SEE that? /CIT: Yeah, that sure was close. /TIC: Not to mention cliche as hell. /CIT: You know, I’m kinda sorry we didn’t go with them. It might have given us some answers. /TIC: Yeah. Hey, while we have the place to ourselves…/CIT: No offense, but one, I’m still not used to the idea of being you. Being you doing it with me? I just don’t know. I do know about…um, spikes in…um, desire to do the deed. Check your undies?

09/18/09
/TIC: What the–? (TIC’s complexion pales. CIT tosses her the box.) /CIT: Relax. It’s completely normal. /TIC: To bleed from my genitals? /CIT: Yup. Let me help you with that. The pair you got on need to come off and go right into the trash. Okay, now watch what I do with this fresh pair. /TIC: And this happens every month? /CIT: You know it does. Until you get pregnant. (CIT smiles) Then, you get to pass a seven to ten pound HUMAN through your genitals. /TIC: How can you ladies stand that? /CIT: It’s not so bad. The really hard part is putting up with you men. /TIC: What I don’t get is how can men refer to you as the “weaker sex”? /CIT (chuckles): That term always makes me laugh. You think a MAN could do what we do? /TIC: Well, I know from my own experience that any guy that tries it will be weak–from shock. Anyway, thanks for sticking around and helping me out with this. /CIT: Hey, no problem. Imagine being a twelve-year-old girl and having this happen for the first time, in school in front of all your friends. /TIC: /Well, I definitely have a new respect for women. Men just don’t have a clue. So, there’s no way to stop the bleeding? /CIT: You don’t use a band-aid for it. /TIC: How do I know I won’t bleed to death? /CIT: Because you’re not a complete idiot. Do we have any pizza left from last night? I’m starving. /TIC: Me, too. Let’s look. I also can use another one of those candy bars. (Later…) So, what do we do about switching back? /CIT: Who says we WANT to switch back? I kind of like being a man. No more periods, no pregnancies…I can learn to get used to this. /TIC: Hey! You can’t just quit on me. /CIT (smiles): Just trying to make the best of it.

09/19/09
/CIT (still smiling): /Don’t worry. You’ll get used to being a woman. /TIC: I don’t think I can ever get used to bleeding through my genitals. /CIT: Oh, sure you will. Besides, your monthlies won’t last forever. /TIC: They won’t? /CIT: Of course not. You know what happens next. Your hormones get all wonky, you get hot flashes, and you’re old. You’ll be wishing for your bloody cycles, again. /TIC: Yeah, ’cause afterward, ‘men’ll pause.’ /CIT (a chuckle escapes her.): You’re still the writer. /TIC (smiles back): Hey, I just thought of something. /CIT: Yeah? What? /TIC: Well, whether our friends Arnie and Mindy–/CIT: ‘Mindy’? I think I’ve been calling her ‘Mandy’, with an ‘a’. /TIC: As far as I know, it’s ‘Mindy’ with an ‘i’. We can check with Arnie, later. /CIT: You sure it’s not ‘Artie’ with an ‘i’? /TIC: That’s alright. You didn’t even know Mindy before you went under. /CIT: True, thanks. Anyway, you were saying? /TIC: Well, even if our friends are federal agents–/CIT: I’m gonna wash my hands. Could you come with me? /TIC: Uh, sure. (In the bathroom, CIT glares at TIC and whispers.) /CIT: Did you forget this place might be bugged? /TIC: Oops (CIT puts his finger to his lips, shuts off the water.) /CIT (loudly): Is THAT what they said they’d be for Halloween this year? That’s brilliant. Al they have to do is dress up and flash their badges. /TIC (also loudly): Yeah, they don’t even need gun props, ’cause their weapons would be concealed, anyway. I sure wish I had thought of that. /CIT: I know, maybe we can be the enemy spies? /TIC: Sure, then all we’ll need are trenchcoats and fedoras. (CIT turns the water back on.) /CIT: You’re lucky I can’t smack you.

09/20/09
/TIC: Hey, that’s more of a public thing. In private, if you want to smack me, go ahead. I’ll just kick you between your legs. /CIT: Which won’t really feel all that different from the cramps I used to get every month since I was twelve? Actually, just a swift kick, like what I got at that restaurant, isn’t even as bad, as you found out yesterday. /TIC: Yeah, I know. It’s more of a squeezing, so the pain lasts longer. And, I’d really rather not talk about it, anymore. (TIC looks at the running water.) That water’s cold, isn’t it? /CIT: Why are you asking me? Just stick your hand under. Or, your head, if you prefer. (TIC sticks her hand under, and splashes CIT in the face.) /CIT (startled): Hey! (CIT splashes TIC back. TIC grabs a cup, holds it under the faucet and dumps the contents on CIT’s head. CIT plugs the drain, increases the water flow, then scoops up TIC and dumps her into the tub. They’re both laughing at first, then abruptly stop.) /TIC: It hasn’t been that long since the switch. You forgot, already? /CIT: I guess so. /TIC: Well, congratulations. You’re officially a typical man. /CIT: Well, you did start with the water. /TIC:Z When I was twelve, I was playing soccer in the backyard with my friends. I was goalie. I went over to some bushes by the fence to retrieve the ball, and found it laying by a hive of angry bees. I ran screaming into the house, ran upstairs, turned on the faucet in the tub, took off my clothes, and jumped in. Right away, the cold water zapped all the pain away, and I no longer felt any of the fifteen stings I had gotten. /CIT: Fifteen? /TIC: Yup. What got me out of that tub was thinking that my guests might need to use it for their stings. No one else did, though. Anyway, I thought the cold water might help with the cramps.

09/21/09
/CIT: Don’t know. I haven’t tried cold water baths for that. Anyway, sorry about throwing you in the tub like that. /TIC: It’s gross. And embarassing. /CIT: Yeah, well, remember, I had a similar experience when I was twelve. /TIC: Yeah, well, just don’t start calling me Moses. /CIT (brow furrows in thought): You know, I never even thought about calling you that, but now that you mention it, there was that plague with the river. /TIC: I was thinking more about the sea he supposedly parted, but yours is even worse. Gee, thanks. (A key rattles in the lock. The front door opens.) /Arnie: Hey! /CIT: Don’t worry. I’ll keep him away, then come back with a towel and some dry clothes. /TIC: Thanks. I really appreciate this. I couldn’t do this woman thing without your help. /CIT: I’ll be right back. (TIC hears him talking to Arnie…) Hey, buddy. My woman and I were in the middle of being intimate. /Arnie: Oh, crap. I’m sorry, pal. I had no idea. It’s just that Mindy was having her monthly thing, and I heard that women that are together, for some reason, usually somehow coordinate their cycles. /CIT: Really? Well, I’m not a woman so I woudn’t know. All I know is, we were doin’ something, and…/Arnie: Say no more. I’ll just turn on the TV and crank up the volume. You two just go back to what you were doing and forget I’m even here. /CIT: Thanks, you’re a pal. /Arnie: Sure. Now, get in there. You don’t want to keep her waitin’. (CIT grabs a change of clothes for TIC and some towels, and goes back into the bathroom.) /TIC: Thanks. You have a trash bag? /CIT: Right here. /TIC: These wet clothes are going. /CIT (gives a mock look of shock): That was my favorite blouse and Capri slacks set. /TIC: Should’ve thought of that before you dunked me in the tub. /CIT: I’m just kidding. /TIC: I’m not.

09/22/09
/CIT: Well, um, you don’t need me now, so I’ll mosey on over to the living room. (CIT leaves. TIC hears him in the other room.) /CIT (to Arnie): Hey, what’s up? /Arnie: Nothing. Nothing at all. (CIT sits down on the loveseat next to Arnie. Arnie glances over at the empty recliner, turns his head and sees the couch, also empty. He takes his arm down that he had resting on the back of the loveseat.) /CIT: /Aw. This is comfy. /Arnie: You think this loveseat is comfortable, you outta try the recliner. /CIT: If the recliner is so great, why are you in the loveseat with me? (CIT rests his head on Arnie’s shoulder. Arnie fidgets, but CIT doesn’t move it.) /CIT: I forgot what you do for a living. /Arnie: I don’t do anything. As you can see, I’m still living, so something must be workkng, even if it ain’t me. /CIT: Where’s Mindy? /Arnie: She’s still at work. /CIT: So, there’s the something that works for you. /Arnie: Yeah, I suppose so. (TIC walks over, sits in the recliner.) /TIC: This recliner’s real comfy. /Arnie (looks at CIT): Told ya. /CIT: How was your bath? /TIC (glares at CIT): Once I was alone in there, not bad. Really messy with you in there, though. /CIT: Arnie and I were just talking about work. /TIC: What kind of work? /Arnie: The kind that someone else does. /TIC: Oh, like Mindy? /Arnie: Yup She and I have sort of a role reversal. She goes out and works, and I just sit around here at home. I guess we’re not too different form many other couples, but with the genders switched. (CIT and TIC share a look.) /CIT: Genders switched? (TIC glares at CIT again for a completely different reason) /Arnie: Gender roles. /CIT: You still carry around that briefcase of yours? /Arnie: I haven’t carried it around since your lady’s coma. Did you forget? /CIT: Uh, I guess. Worrying about my lady, you know.

09/23/09
/CIT: What are we watching? /Arnie: Some new show about a retired Army officer who now works as a rural veterinarian’s assistant. The vet (not the Army vet, the other one) specializes in equines. Anyway, the show’s called General Horsepital. /CIT: That’s a lousy title. /Arnie: It’s a lousy show. /TIC: Why’s that guy talking like that? So raspy? /Arnie: The horse doctor, he used to be a singer. Then, he blew out half his vocal cords, so now he’s hoarse. I don’t think this show’s gonna be around very long. Even for daytime TV, it’s pretty bad. I noticed you didn’t shave today. /CIT: Yeah, I did. /Arnie: Well, you left a huge spot right over your entire face. /CIT: That’s because I shaved my legs. (TIC shoots CIT a look.) /Arnie (smiles): Yeah? Let’s see. (CIT pulls up a pant leg.) /Arnie (rubs leg briefly): Smooth. Maybe I should try that? /CIT: Yeah, why let women have all the fun? /Arnie: Excuse me, guys. I have to make a phone call. (CIT and TIC look at each other.) /TIC: Should we turn down the TV? /Arnie: No need. I’ll just make the call from the den. I’ll close the door, then I won’t hear a thing. Except, of course, for the person I’m talking to. (Arnie leaves the living room. He goes toward the den, opens the door, and steps inside. CIT turns down the TV and puts a finger to his lips.) /Arnie: Hi. It’s Arnie. Yeah, I’m alone. Wait. Hold on. (The den door closes. CIT looks at TIC, cocks an eyebrow.) /CIT: So, what do you think? /TIC: About Arnie? I’ve known him for a while, since that night we shared a cab together. He does seem different, as if he’s hiding something. /CIT: Yeah, but WE’RE different, so he may be reacting to that. TIC (shrugs): Well, should we go? /CIT: Go where? The bar and house are both gone, remember? /TIC: Oh, yeah.

09/24/09
(Arnie returns to the living room.) /TIC: What’s up? /Arnie: I talked to your doctors. They’d like to set up an appointment to meet with you both. /CIT: Yeah? /Arnie: It’s just a follow-up. They want to know if there are any lasting effects from your comas, especially in your case, Candy, since yours lasted so long. /TIC: You’ve known both of us before our comas. What do you think? /Arnie: Well, I’m no doctor or anything, but–hey, you guys want some lunch, yet? /CIT: In a moment. You were saying? /Arnie: I was talking about lunch. My stomach’s growling. /CIT: No, before the part about lunch. /TIC: It’s okay. I’ll fix you lunch. Can–can I get you anything, Tim? /CIT: No, I’m not hungry, yet. You want some help? /TIC: No, thanks. (TIC slams open doors, rattles silverware, runs water, moves dishes and things around. Finally, she returns, hands a plate and a glass to Arnie.) /Arnie: PBJ! (He takes a bite, tries to clear his throat, grabs his glass, chugs his drink, clears his throat, pants. After he catches his breath…) /Arnie: Where’s the J? /TIC: I didn’t see any. /Arnie: And just tap water to drink? /TIC (sits down): Finish your story, then we’ll all get something to eat. /Arnie (sighs): Alright. Where was I? /CIT: You were telling us if we seemed different after our comas. /Arnie: Oh, yeah. Well, you guys do seem a little different. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there is something that seems…I don’t know…different. Anyway, that’s the best I can do. You guys ready to eat? /TIC: Sure. You want the diner, again? /Arnie: Nope. I want something different. /TIC: Well, you got us. You said we’re different. /Arnie: I mean food. /TIC: How about Donutrition? /Arnie: How do you know about that place? It’s new.

09/25/09
TIC: Um…I know it’s new. They just had an ad on TV. Didn’t you notice? /Arnie (shrugs): I guess I missed it. Well, Tim, you remember when we went there. What do you think? (TIC and CIT share a look.) /CIT (also shrugs): It wasn’t all that memorable. I honestly can’t say it left a lasting impression on me. /TIC (interjects): Which probably is why you forgot seeing their ad. (TIC and CIT share a small smile.) /Arnie (quiet for a moment, then…) Hey, I know where we can go. There’s a new restaurant that serves regular barbecue, and also serves frogs’ legs. It’s called ‘Rib-it.’ /TIC: I’ve never had frogs’ legs, before. /CIT: Me, neither. As for barbecue, I like it, but the feeling ain’t mutual. Something in the sauces, maybe. /Arnie: Really? Didn’t we have barbecue while Candy was still in her coma? (TIC studies CIT) /CIT: Sure. How do you think I know it doesn’t agree with me? (TIC breathes a quiet sigh of relief.) /Arnie: Good point. How about Italian? /TIC: Works for me. /CIT: Me, too. Let’s go. (On the way…) /TIC: Could you stop here for a moment? /Arnie: Sure. What do you want from the ‘Personal Space’ store? /TIC: An application. They have a HELP WANTED sign. /Arnie: You sure? /CIT: Could you get me one, too? /TIC: Sure. /Arnie: You guys don’t have to work. Tim, you already have a job. You’re a writer. And, Candy, you were at your job when you got injured. /TIC: That was a bar. This is a store. /Arnie: Could we eat, first? /TIC: I’m just picking up applications, now. (TIC opens the door, gets out, goes inside.) /Clerk: Hello, there. Let me know if you need anything. /TIC: Okay. I need a job application. /Clerk (smiles): Great. I can use some help. /TIC: I know. I saw the sign. /Clerk: Of course. Let’s skip the app. andgo straight to the interview. You ever kill someone?

09/26/09
/TIC: If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you, too. /Clerk: Alright. We’ll just skip that question. /TIC: Don’t you know when I’m yankin’ your chain? /Clerk: So, chains are involved? Never mind, I don’t want to know. /TIC: Gee whiz, do you really think I killed someone? /Clerk: No comment. /TIC (sighs): No, I haven’t killed anyone. But, (TIC leans forward and smiles) there’s a first time for everything. Next question. /Clerk: Has anyone ever killed you? /TIC: What do you think? /Clerk: What I mean is, are you a victim of murder? Or manslaughter? /TIC: Don’t you mean ‘attempted’ murder? /Clerk: No, actual. /TIC: Next question? /Clerk: Do you have any objections, at all, to working for someone who has been diagnosed as clinically insane? /TIC: As long as I get paid, no. /Clerk: Ready for the final two questions? /TIC: Uh, yeah, sure. /Clerk: That last one I just asked was the first of the two. Here’s the second. What is your name? /TIC: Ti–I mean, my name is ‘Candy Bar.’ /Clerk (lowers his voice): Get out of here. /TIC: Why? /Clerk: You know why. I tell you I’m clinically insane, and then you don’t even give me your real name. /TIC: That is my real name. /Clerk: Bullshit. I caught you stopping yourself from saying your real name. ‘T’-something. I would highly suggest you refrain from lying because you suck at it. Now, get out of my store. (TIC shrugs and turns to walk out, when Arnie comes in.) /Arnie: Candy Bar, are you done, yet? I’m starvin’. /Clerk: Did you just call her ‘Candy Bar’? /Arnie: Of course. That’s her name. /Clerk (smiles): /Candy Bar, when can you start? /TIC: Anytime.

09/27/09
[Author’s note: I seem to have lost my writing for this day. Maybe it’ll turn up, likely it won’t. What I can cobble together from 09/26/09 and 09/28/09 is that they’re hungry, then they’re at Mindy’s diner. They had started a new conversation on the 27th that the 28th joins in the middle. Anyway, based on what I just read and typed for the 26th, I’m going to write a shortened, alternate account for the 27th. If the actual page turns up, I can adjust later.]
Alternate 09/27/09 composed on 02/23/13: /Arnie: Anytime? How about anytime after we eat? That okay with your boss? /Clerk: Of course. Tomorrow morning at 8 will be fine. (TIC and Arnie walk to the car.) /CIT: Did you get an application? /TIC (smiling): Better than that–I got the JOB! I start tomorrow. /CIT: Great, but did you get ME an application? /TIC: Huh? There was only one job, and I got it, already. /CIT: Oh. /TIC: And thanks for defecating on my parade, by the way. /CIT (silent for a moment): I’m sorry. I’m happy for you. /TIC: Save it. (Arnie drives them to Mindy’s diner. They get out and go inside. Mindy meets them, she and Arnie share a kiss, then they sit at a table and order. While Mindy leaves to place their order, someone asks Tim (not sure who does the asking) if he thought of killing off his NAP character. One suggestion was some type of accident he and his wife have.

09/28/09
/CIT: How about they NEARLY wipe out, but don’t? /TIC: Where’s the fun in that? /CIT: Well, after their near-accident, NAP’s wife smacks the hell out of him. /TIC: But, would she, really? /CIT: Probably not. What bothers me though, is when I asked you what would happen here if we killed NAP, and you said ‘nothing.’ /TIC: Yeah, so? /CIT: Does that mean we all BECOME nothing? /Arnie (deadpans): That would be something. (They all laugh. Mindy comes over with the food.) /Mindy: Did I miss something? /Arnie: We were just talking about exit-tangent-something? /Mindy: Existentialism? /Arnie: Yeah. You remember when Tim was imagining things? /Mindy: Like what? /Arnie: Like that NAP character. /Mindy (shrugs): Yeah, I guess. What about him? /Arnie: Tim’s talking about bumping him off. /Mindy: Send him off to a better place? End his suffering forever? /TIC: Good point. If NAP stays alive, we can always do other things to him. /Mindy: Well, I gotta go wait tables. /Arnie: Hey, could you get me more coffee? /Mindy: Sure, but why? Your cup is still full and steaming. /Arnie (smiles): So, you’ll have to come back here to me. /Mindy: Aww. That’s so sweet. (Mindy holds Arnie’s hand a moment, then leaves.) /Arnie: Yup. I’ve still got it. So, Tim, what did you decide about your story? /CIT: I haven’t decided yet (he glances at TIC), but I think what I might do is have them survive the skid, so they could fight and get divorced. /TIC: Good luck with that. If NAP’s wife lets him drive after he nearly gets them killed, she likely won’t divorce him. /Arnie: Well, maybe she will. /TIC: After putting up with his mom for so long and STILL not leaving him?

09/29/09
/Arnie: What’s his mom like? /CIT: You don’t want to know. /Arnie (shrugs): Okay. So, you two ready for the big day tomorrow? /CIT: What do you mean us ‘two?’ /Arnie: The doctor, of course. He wants to run some tests to see how different you guys are since your comas. /TIC: I can’t go. It’s my first day of work tomorrow. /CIT: I can still go, tomorrow. When is the appointment? /Arnie: Eight in the morning. /TIC: Great. I can still go before work. I don’t have to be in until 11. [Author’s note: Yeah, I know, now. She never starts at 8, like I had written for the page I had lost. As I continue typing, maybe more information will be revealed that could shed light on the ‘Missing Page’. Who knows? Maybe we can eventually infer the whole thing?] /Arnie: They want to keep you two there all day. And overnight. /TIC: Well, tomorrow is definitely out. I’ll be at work. (CIT pushes back his half-eaten meatloaf.) [Author’s note: Another inferral! Now, we know what CIT ordered on the Missing Page.] /CIT: I’m full. Are we ready to go? /TIC: I am. (TIC backs away from her two-thirds eaten burger.) [Author’s note: Yet another inferral! Or, is it ‘inference’?] /Arnie: I guess I’m ready, too. (Arnie backs away from his five and three-quarters eaten plate.) [Author’s note: So, Arnie ordered an edible plate? Something like the bread bowl you can get with soup? Does the soup part count as part of the fraction of what he ate? Should I count this as another inferral?] /Arnie: Let’s go, then. /TIC: I’d rather go now, if you don’t mind. /Arnie: That’s what I meant. /TIC: I know. I was trying to be funny. (They go out to the car. Arnie drives them home. They get out of the car. Arnie unlocks the front door. TIC and CIT stay outside.) /Arnie: Coming in? /TIC: We actually want to stay out here. Nice weather. /Arnie (shrugs): Whatever. (Arnie goes in.) /CIT: So, what did you decide about NAP? /TIC: What did I say, before? I’ve been thinking about my new job. Makes it hard to remember what we said about NAP. /CIT: You forgot you were talking about bumping him off? /TIC: That part I remember. NAP himself, though, is easily forgettable. /CIT: So get rid of him. /TIC: Nah. I think I’ll keep him around, so I can pick on him. Hey, you know what? /CIT: What? /TIC: I can create a third universe. Just for NAP’s dreams.

09/30/09
/CIT: Another universe? You lost me. /TIC: When NAP’s asleep he travels to another universe, one in which his wife leaves him. /CIT: You should’ve just killed him, already. I’m kinda sorry I talked you out of it. /TIC (shrugs): How about if I make his back hurt while he’s at work? /CIT: Whatever happened to that story about Sam? /TIC: Oh, I abandoned that one. /CIT: Why? /TIC: Well, the whole nude universe–it just wasn’t working. Besides, we have nude beaches and nudist colonies here. /CIT: So, you’re sticking with NAP? /TIC: Yup. And so will he. Be sticking, I mean. /CIT: What DO you mean? /TIC: My new job gave me an idea. Did I mention about NAP not having any climate-controlled undergarments in his universe? [Author’s note: Another inference! TIC’s boss sells climate-controlled undergarments, and told TIC this on the Missing Page.] /CIT: You might have. /TIC: Well, I’ve got it figured out. In his universe, he’ll still have astronauts that land on the moon. But, the technology used to make their spacesuits will be different than here. /CIT: They still have to be–/TIC: Climate controlled, I know. The suits will be really bulky and heavy, though. /CIT: So what? Their scientists will eventually figure out how to make and market thinner models for everyone. The sales of these special undies help fund the space program. /TIC: I know they do, here. In NAP’s world, though, it just won’t happen. His government’s space program won’t have that extra income, and he’ll just have to chafe. /CIT: Doesn’t seem realistic to me. Is it because of the computers taking over? /TIC: I didn’t think of that. I actually don’t have computers take over until the late 1990s, decades after their astronauts land on the moon. /CIT: Well, wouldn’t there still be time for the undies to be invented? /TIC: I guess so. I guess people are just stupid over there. /CIT: There’s stupid, and then there’s unrealistically stupid.

10/01/09
/TIC: Well, laws are different in NAP’s universe. /CIT: I wasn’t talking about physical laws. I just don’t get it about the space undies. If the technology exists to make them comfortable, why not market them to the public? The technology exists over there to make toilet paper, right? /TIC: Yeah. /CIT: And they sell that to the public, right? /TIC: Yeah, of course. /CIT: So, why not do the same with the undies? It’s not consistent. /TIC (shrugs): I didn’t see it that way. /CIT: So, are you gonna change it? /TIC: Nope. /CIT (shrugs): Well, it’s your story. Anyway, how’s being a woman working out for you? /TIC: It’s tough. I haven’t been doing these cycles since I was twelve. The pain, followed by the blood…I never appreciated how great I had it as a man. How’s it going for you as a man? /CIT: Well, I don’t have the cramps and mood swings like I used to have, but I’m a little freaked out about my fly. Hundreds of interlocking teeth, all of which is right in front of my, ahh, new appendage. /TIC: Always make sure you’ve got underwear between you and your zipper. Then, you should be fine. /CIT: Also, I’m still trying to get the hang of standing in the restroom while I, you know. Aiming is a lot harder than I thought. So many guys brag about hitting targets in basketball, darts, skeet shooting, but when they can stand right up to their target and have a huge area to go for, the seat gets hit nearly every time. /TIC: So, raise the seat. I won’t care if you forget to lower it. I used to be you. /CIT: I know. I can’t even avoid hitting my hands. /TIC: Playing pinochle? /CIT: Pinochle? (he pauses) Ohhh. (They share a laugh.) That’s a good one. /TIC: I kept playing it all the way up to my coma.

10/02/09
/CIT: I guess there’s not much hope for me, then. /TIC: Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You used to be a woman. /CIT: So? /TIC: So, you’re already used to sitting down. /CIT (smiles): Are you sure I can’t smack you? /TIC: Yeah. (smiles back) /CIT (smiles bigger, eyes widen): Hey, remember how you used to tickle me? /TIC: Yeah, that was fun. You used to try to tickle me back, but I’m not ticklish (TIC pauses) Uh, oh. /CIT: You mean you USED to not be ticklish. (CIT sticks his hands under TIC’s arms. TIC howls with laughter, then gets an idea.) /TIC: RAPE! (CIT immediately stops tickling TIC, turns around and runs into the house. TIC follows, still smiling.) Hey. (CIT is sitting in front of the TV. TIC doesn’t think CIT is really watching, ’cause the set is off.) Where’s Arnie? /CIT: In bed. You better not see him, though. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be accused of rape, neither. (TIC sits down next to CIT on the couch. CIT gets up and moves to the recliner.) /TIC: Hey, look. I’m so sorry. That was real dumb of me to say the R-word like that. /CIT (glares at TIC): In public and at the top of your lungs. Even when you were a man, you should’ve known a woman shouldn’t shout that as a playful joke. I could’ve been arrested, locked up AND raped for real, all because you decided to get cute. /TIC: I really am sorry. /CIT: Just don’t talk to me right now, okay? I need a break from you. (TIC gets up and goes to bed. She doesn’t even go to the bathroom, first. She slams the door, climbs into bed and immediately starts sobbing. A sliver of light slices through the darkness from the open door and stabs TIC’s eyes. TIC blinks back tears, rubs her eyes, and sees CIT standing there.) /CIT: Hey, babe, I’m sorry I said that.

10/03/09
/TIC (sighs): Maybe I overreacted a little bit. Have I ever told you about my parents? /CIT (forehead furrows–deep trenches that together with some sparse acne nearly form a perfect question mark): I think you somehow always changed the subject whenever I brought them up. /TIC: Well, one night, when I was still a boy (chuckles a moment) /CIT: Before you became a grown woman? /TIC: Exactly. (They share a laugh.) Thanks, I’m feeling better. And I truly am sorry for yelling the ‘R’word in public like that. /CIT: That’s alright. I didn’t get arrested or beat up–HEY! /TIC: What? /CIT: You did it to me, again. /TIC: Did what? /CIT: You know what. /TIC (shrugs): You caught me. I guess I gotta tell you about my folks. /CIT: If you’d rather not, I respect your privacy. /TIC (stares back at CIT): What privacy? I’m having your periods. That’s far more intimate than any other couple on the planet. I don’t think I can have privacy from you any more than I can have my penis back. /CIT: It misses you, by the way (CIT winks). /TIC: It ain’t bleeding like my equipment is. /CIT: Good point. /TIC: So, you can just point that thing away from me. /CIT: You were changing the subject again? /TIC: Of course. No, seriously, my dad had a double stroke. /CIT: A double-stroke? /TIC: Yup. You know how a stroke leaves you paralyzed on one side of your body? /CIT: Yeah. /TIC: So, my dad was paralyzed on both sides of his body. He could still breathe, his heart still beated, and he could still chew his food and talk a little, but my mom had to do everything else for him. One night, she just couldn’t take it anymore and told him she needed a break from him.

10/04/09
/TIC: The next morning, my dad never woke up. Instead of sleeping on his side, he had somehow managed to be laying on his stomach. He was facedown on his pillow, and he suffocated. /CIT: Wow. How did he manage to turn himself to be facedown if he had two strokes? /TIC: That’s what the police asked my mom after they arrested her for murder. The autopsy report showed that even with two strokes, my dad had just enough strength left to make that quarter-turn. /CIT: So, the let your mom go? /TIC: They would’ve, if she hadn’t been killed while in jail. A lifer had held her facedown in the toilet and she drowned. /CIT: Wow. I’m sorry. /TIC (shrugs): It sucks, but, well, it happened so long ago. (smiles) I can honestly say I’m not the same person I was when they were alive. /CIT (smiles): That’s for sure. Hey, I am sorry about saying I needed a break from you. /TIC: And I’m sorry I yelled ‘rape’ when you were tickling me. /CIT: Yeah, you just can’t DO tha–Never mind. We’ve had that conversation. (they nod) Yeah, guess we’re even, then. /TIC (laughs): How could we even take either comment seriously? You know? There’s nothing we could do to ‘violate’ each other. I mean, if I want to cop a feel, I can touch my own chest. This used to be you. /CIT: Yeah, and I can’t even take a break from you. I AM you. /TIC: I guess we’re stuck with each other. /CIT (smiles): Well, I can honestly say I could’ve done worse. /TIC: Thanks. /CIT: Well? /TIC: Well, what? /CIT: Do you think you could’ve done worse? /TIC (shrugs): Yeah, I guess so.

[Author’s note: the Missing Page is no longer missing, so I shall type that up now before resuming the story.]
09/27/09
(TIC and Arnie go back to the car.) /TIC: I got a job. /CIT: Great. When do you start? /TIC: Tomorrow. /Arnie: So, now we’ll eat? /TIC: Yeah. Let’s go to the diner, so we can tell Mindy. /Arnie: Sure. (They drive toward the diner.) /CIT: so, is it full-time? /TIC: I’m not sure. I go in at 11 am tomorrow. (At the diner…) /Mindy: Hi. /Arnie: Hi, babe. Guess what? Candy got a job. /TIC: IO start tomorrow. /Mindy: Great. Where at? /TIC: ‘Personal Space Space-Age Surplus’. /Mindy: I’ve been meaning to go in there. (Mindy leads them to a table. They don’t need to order, she knows what to get them. [Author’s note: If I haven’t done so, already, I should add something about TIC and CIT swapping dishes.] Arnie heads toward the Men’s room. Mindy leaves to wait on tables.) /CIT (lowers his voice): Nice job getting a job. I know you wanted one before, but what about your writing? /TIC: I’ve actually been jotting down some ideas about that. /CIT: Yeah? /TIC: Yeah. You know that character NAP? /CIT: The one you say talked to you before, claiming to be the author? Yeah, we had a coma-induced shared hallucination or something about him. /TIC (smiles): So, it wasn’t just me. So, we really did communicate to each other in his universe. /CIT: I don’t know if we were actually in another universe, but somehow we did have an exchange and a shared impression, possibly a hypnotic suggestion? I don’t know. Anyway, what about him, your NAP? /TIC: Well, I –/CIT: Sorry to interrupt, I was just wondering: what if us thinking we have Switched is only a shared hallucination or hypnotic suggestion? /TIC: That doesn’t explain Mindy and Arnie. They see us physically like we had Switched. Unless they’re hypnotized, too, well…it’s much more likely we really are Switched, I think. /CIT (sighs): Yeah, you’re probably right. Plus, we’ve been in several public restrooms since the Switch and no one’s called the cops, yet. Anyway, what about NAP? /TIC: Well, I have him and his wife go to the beach to see a concert. On the way back, they try to find a hotel room ’cause it’s late, raining, and they’re tired. NAP has coffee and is still sleepy. So, I have him miss a turn, then when he goes back to get on the highway again, he drives too fast and ‘wipeout!’ /CIT: You’re gonna kill him off? And his wife? /TIC: Yup! /CIT: Well, if he’s also writing us, what will happen to us if you kill him off? /TIC: Probably nothing, ’cause I can’t change things over here through my writing, since we ARE here. /CIT: Well, it seems kind of extreme. (CIT’s eyes light up.) I have an idea. (Arnie comes back.) /Arnie: What’s up? /CIT: I was telling Candy about my writing idea. /Arnie: Let’s hear it.
10/05/09
/Arnie (knocks on bedroom door): Hey. /CIT (opens door): Yeah? /Arnie: I cancelled that hospital appointment rfor tomorrow. /TIC: How come? /Arnie: ‘Cause it’s your first day on your new job tomorrow. /TIC: Thanks. /Arnie: I’m gonna pick up Mindy from work. We’re going to Le Restaurante, then do some clubbin.’ /TIC (shakes her head): Those poor baby seals. /Arnie: Not THAT kind of clubbin’, of course. /TIC: That’s a relief. /Arnie: Yeah, I’m totally against THAT kind of clubbing. /TIC: Yeah, me, too. /Arnie: I mean, polar bears have to eat, you know. Anyway, you guys want to come along? /TIC: Thanks, but I’ll pass. I want to rest up before work tomorrow. /Arnie: How about you, Tim? /CIT: I think I’ll pass, too. /Arnie: You sure? /CIT: Yeah. /TIC: You can go, if you want. /Arnie: Yeah. /CIT: That’s okay. I don’t want to feel like a third wheel. /Arnie (rolls his eyes, gives an explosive sigh, like overheated air escaping from the hot brakes of a tractor trailer.): So, I guess all those times I went out with you and Candy, I was being a third wheel. (He turns and storms out.) /CIT: Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. (TIC pats CIT’s back. The front door slams, the car starts, peals out of the driveway.) /TIC: It’s okay. You were right to not want to go. The three of us hung out at the diner, but Le Restaurante is more of a romantic, fancy, pricey place. /CIT: Exactly. And I didn’t feel like ‘clubbin’ ’till the next morning, even if no seals are involved. /TIC: Damn right. Anyway, just let it go. When friends become roommates, especially in close quarters like this, tempers will flare from time to time. /CIT: So, what do you want to do? /TIC: You hungry? /CIT: A little, yeah. /TIC: Let’s see what we’ve got. (They go to the kitchen) I found a box of mac’n’cheese. Needs milk. /CIT: The milk’s sour.

10/06/09
/TIC: How sour? /CIT: It expired over a month ago. /TIC: What else we got? /CIT: Not much else in the fridge. In the cupboard is some instant coffee, sugar, and powdered nondairy creamer. /TIC: Great. We’ll use the creamer instead of milk. /CIT: Will that work? /TIC (shrugs): I never tried it with mac’n’cheese, but I use powdered creamer for oatmeal. (She lowers her voice) I even use it in coffee. /CIT (also lowers his voice): Oh, really? (They smile at each other. Later, while they’re eating…) This tastes fine. /TIC: Yeah, the creamer came through. I was afraid it would clump up. /CIT: It probably would have if you added it after the pasta, but you mixed it with water. /TIC: Yeah, but I mix my oatmeal with water, also, and the creamer clumps up sometimes. /CIT: Well, it worked in the mac. (He points at TIC with his fork) You could write a cookbook. /TIC (shrugs): Probably wouldn’t be much of a book. ‘Substitute coffee creamer for milk in cooking.’ One sentence alone doesn’t quite make a book. /CIT (slams his fork on the table. It bounces up, but misses him and TIC): Oh, come on! You’re a writer: you KNOW you can write more than one sentence. What did you just say about it clumping? How do you add the creamer to prevent that from happening? What different food could you add it to? Soups? Pasta sauces? How about some recipes? You could write a sketch for a cooking show that uses creamer where you have cops at what looks like a drug bust and a guy in handcuffs. One of the cops tastes a white substance that’s in a clear ziplock bag and says, “Yup. That’s creamer.” /TIC: That’s a great idea. Wish I’d thought of it. /CIT: Well…in a way, you did. It’s MY mind, but inside YOUR brain. /TIC: Um…that kinda freaks me out. /CIT: Yeah…me, too. Well…if you DID want to keep the book as short as you said, you might could possibly get away with it if you had just one word per page. /TIC: ‘Recipes for people who don’t like to follow recipes’ could be the title. /CIT: Maybe. You want to see what’s on TV? /TIC: Sure. (CIT and TIC finish eating, get up, and go to the living room. CIT turns on the set.) /TV: Hi, I’m Marty, the Mustacchioed Pistachio, with an important message: If you want a salty snack, go ahead and grab my nut sack. (Marty dances and waves a bag of nuts. Commercial fades, news is next.) /Anchor: Hi, I’m Suze, giving you the news, on the station most viewers choose. /CIT: Yeah, ’cause it helps them snooze. /TIC: Shh. I’m trying to watch. /Suze: –and a sharp rise in comatose victims naturally raises the question: Is the government behind this? And if so, why? (a burst of static appears on the screen, followed by a message.) /TV: Due to technical difficulties, this station will not be working for a while. /TIC: Damn. Did you see that, though? /CIT: Yeah. So, it’s not just us having the comas.

10/07/09
[Author’s note: while typing my formerly missing page of 09/27/09, I had added a section about TIC and CIT discussing the possibility that the Switch was an illusion or hypnotic suggestion that was forced upon them while they were in their comas. Well, most of 10/07/09 is about them discussing this, but after reading it, I decided they did a better job of it in the modified, rewritten version, so I’m not going to bother retyping an earlier draft if I had already said the same thing, but on a day when the timing was better. Other than the timing, the other difference between the two versions are that in the 10/07/09 version, they discuss something about possibly having false memories fed to them while under the hypnotic comas, if they were hypnotic to start with, but rereading it, it doesn’t make sense to me. So, I’m striking that part of it from the story. I’m going to replace it with something that, I think, makes more sense. Later, I’ll pick up from the original, but I don’t interrupt the story anymore every time I add or change something.] /TIC: No, I’m not talking about the comas. Did you see the part–wait, follow me to the bathroom. (They go to the bathroom.) /CIT: Yeah? (TIC turns on the tub faucet.) /TIC: What I was going to say was, did you see how as soon as the anchor said something about government involvement in the comas, the station suddenly quit broadcasting? /CIT: Oh. Oh, yeah. (shrugs) Well, the government is always doing shady things. They’re the government, it’s what they do. We can’t trust them, but we can’t live without them, either. /TIC: I wonder if other coma victims woke up in different bodies, too? /CIT (shrugs again): I don’t know. I was out longer than you were. /TIC: Well, anyway, I’m going to get ready for bed. /CIT: Alright. (TIC starts brushing her teeth, spits, then…) /TIC: Damn! /CIT: What? /TIC: I used the wrong toothbrush. /CIT: And you’re just now noticing? I’ve been using the same brush I used before the switch, even though the teeth are different. Force of habit. /TIC (looks at the brush in her hand, turns on the hot water in the sink and starts rinsing it): Yeah. It’s still kinda gross. /CIT: In our situation, do you really think it matters? We know more about each other, physically, than couples who’ve been married for decades. The good, the bad, the cramps and, as you so fondly call it, the genital bleeding. We’re way, WAY past worrying about using each other’s toothbrushes. We’re intimate to the extreme. /TIC: Yeah, good point. I’m still going to pick up some new toothbrushes tomorrow after work. /CIT (smiles): Fine. You already know what kind I like. /TIC (smiles back): That I do.

10/08/09
(In the bedroom…) /CIT: Hey. /TIC: Hey. /CIT: You up? /TIC: I was almost asleep, but yeah, now I’m up. /CIT: Well, since you’re up (CIT’s hand strokes TIC’s thigh.) /CIT: I miss my body. I wouldn’t mind getting back inside it. /TIC: Same here, but we don’t know how to switch back. /CIT: Who said anything about switching back? /TIC: But…oh. Remember something, though? /CIT: Remember what? Oh, yeah. It’s so easy to forget about your period since I’m no longer a woman. /TIC: Lucky you. /CIT: No argument, there. (CIT’s eyes close. His diaphragm slowly, steadily rises and falls like the rhythmic swelling of ocean waves. His snoring is smooth, like the gently crashing surf.) /TIC: He didn’t last long. And after such a clever line, too. (TIC’s eyes get heavy. Next thing she knows, Arnie’s shaking her.) /Arnie: Candy? Good, you’re up. Get dressed. /TIC: Why? It’s still dark outside. And, where’s Tim? /Arnie: I’ll tell you, later. (He turns the bedroom light on and steps out, closing the door on his way out. TIC grabs a clean pair of undies from the dresser, finds the box from the drugstore, gets dressed, then goes to the living room.) /TIC: What’s going on? /Arnie: I’ll explain in the car on the way to the hospital. (TIC climbs into the passenger seat. Arnie starts driving.) /TIC: So, what’s up? Besides us? /Arnie: Tim is convinced he switched bodies with you. He insisted that he be taken to the hospital. /TIC: Well, I don’t see him or Mindy in the back seat. /Arnie: That’s because Tim said he needed help right away, so Mindy called an ambulance. /TIC: So, he’s awake? Coherent? /Arnie: He was last time I saw him. (They pull into the parking lot of the hospital. TIC and Arnie get out of the car.

10/09/09
(TIC holds a hand up before they step inside the hospital.) /TIC: Hold on. Something doesn’t make sense. Tim needed to come here right away, so instead of taking the car they wait for an ambulance to come? What the hell happened to him where he needed an ambulance? /Arnie: Okay. You want the truth, now? /TIC: You mean you were lying to me up until now? /Arnie: He was found unconscious, like this: (Arnie doesn’t touch TIC, but everything shuts off like a light. Later, TIC opens her eyes. Her pupils contract against the brilliant, scintillating white glare. Once her eyes adjust, she looks up–the only direction she can look in, since she’s lying down in a hospital bed. Doctors–or people in white lab coats and surgical masks and stethoscopes–are thronged around her. TIC looks to her right, sees an IV drip in her arm. One of the doctors opens the bag and pours something into it, then closes the bag again. TIC blinks.) /Doctor: Hello, Tim. /TIC: I’m not Tim. /Doctor: I’ll start again. Hello, Tim. /TIC (tries to tell him again she’s not Tim, but to words that come out instead are…): Hello, Doctor. /Doctor: Good, the truth serum is working. Tim, which gender are you? /TIC: Right now I’m a female. I was a male most of my life, right up until my coma. When I woke up, I saw that I was female. My fiancee and I had switched bodies, somehow. And then, the next day, my genitals were bleeding. /Doctor (sighs): Okay, that last one I didn’t need to hear about. /TIC: Where’s Candy? And why did I pass out? /Doctor: I’ll let m nurse answer that. (A nurse approaches and takes off her surgeon’s mask, revealing Mindy’s face.) /Mindy: Hi, Tim. /TIC: I thought you worked at the diner? /Mindy: Only part time.

10/10/09
/Mindy: While you and Arnie were talking, I touched you with this secret nerve agent that instantly absorbs through the skin and causes the victim–I mean patient–to temporarily pass out. It is non-toxic with no lingering side effects. I knocked you out so that I could take you to this bed. Now, as for Candy…(Mindy pulls apart the curtain. TIC sees a man sleeping. Seeing the man is like looking in a mirror.) Yeah, that’s Candy. Now, the main question–why were you both brought over here? (Mindy sighs) Alright. We had arranged for both of you to be in comas, originally, as a secret government project to collect data from our enemies without endangering our spies. Although you two aren’t spies, we still needed test subjects, and you two fit the criteria. /TIC: Yeah, how? /Mindy: A loving couple that could adapt to the Switch, without a lot of family and friends that could tell something’s different about you. /TIC: To put it mildly. /Mindy: Well, anyway, you two were perfect. So, we had Agent Underwood give your friend a coma, then later, the doctor gave you a drug-induced coma. With our secret, high-tech equipment, we closely monitored both of your comas throughout the entire procedure. So, now you’re both here because our plan was to switch you two back. /TIC: Great. Let’s go. (Mindy’s silent) Wait…you said “was”? /Mindy (avoids looking at TIC): Yeah. Unfortunately, our funding abruptly stopped before we could switch you two back. /TIC: WHAT?

10/11/09
/TIC: So, you’re telling me the government won’t change us back because they can’t afford it? /Mindy: Yeah. You know the election that happened the other day? /TIC: What about it? /Mindy: Well, the new administration decided to stop funding the project. /TIC: But…but they Switched us in the first place. /Mindy (shrugs): I don’t know what else to say, except…well…you could write to your congressman. /TIC: Would he even know about the project if it’s so secret? /Mindy: Probably not. Well, is being a woman really so terrible? /TIC: No offense, but after being a man most of my life, yeah. I wasn’t twelve when I first bled through my genitals. For me, it happened just a few days ago. /Mindy: Well, you should be almost done, then. (Mindy reaches over and touches TIC again with the nerve agent. TIC’s eyes close, then open again. She finds herself back in Mindy’s apartment. CIT is still snoring next to her.) /TIC: Hey, Candy. /CIT: (snores) /TIC: Wake up (nudge, nudge). /CIT: (snore) /TIC: WAKE UP! /CIT: WAAH! WHAT? I was asleep. /TIC (whispers): Mindy knows. /CIT: Knows what? /TIC: Everything. She’s a government agent posing as a nurse at the hospital. /CIT: What time is it (yawns)? /TIC: I don’t know. /CIT: Never mind. How do you know that about Mindy? /TIC: Don’t you remember? She and Arnie took us to the hospital. /CIT: All I remember is how I was asleep until you woke me up. /TIC: You were also asleep at the hospital. /CIT: So, send me back there. (CIT turns over, faces away from TIC. TIC hears him snore again. She gets up, pads over to Mindy and Arnie’s bedroom, peeks inside. It’s empty. TIC runs back to her and CIT’s room and wakes CIT again.) /CIT: WHAT? /TIC: Arnie and Mindy aren’t here. I just checked their bedroom. /CIT: Maybe they’re in the bathroom. Listen for the flush. (CIT turns over again, away from TIC again.) /TIC: Wait, Candy! Don’t sleep, yet. /CIT (turns back to face TIC, snaps): Why not? Sleep is great. You oughta try it. Oh, but don’t you have to work today? /TIC: Yeah, but not for hours, yet. [Author’s note: Yeah, I know. Earlier TIC didn’t know the time. I guess she saw a clock when she peeked inside Mindy’s bedroom.] /CIT: Then, go back to sleep and rest up for work. Or at least, let me sleep while you QUIETLY contemplate how everyone’s plotting and conspiring against you. (CIT pauses for breath.) Including me if you don’t let me sleep. (CIT punctuates that with a turn away from TIC, effectively ending the discussion [Author’s note: Or, maybe not that effectively; it’s already CIT’s third turn.])

10/12/09
(TIC gets up and goes to the living room. Right before she turns on the TV she hears the front door unlock. Arnie steps inside, followed by Mindy.) /TIC: Back from the hospital? /Arnie: How did you know we were at the hospital? /TIC: What do you mean how did I know? I was there with you. Along with me fiance. /Arnie: Huh? You and Tim were never at the hospital, except when you were in your comas. (Arnie leads Mindy to the couch and helps her sit down.) /TIC: Of course we were at the hospital since then. You drove me there, yourself, and Mindy gave me some sort of knock-out nerve drug. /Arnie (raises his voice): You’ve go no idea what’s going on. /Mindy: Arnie, it’s okay. Relax. Candy, what happened is I had an accident while working at the diner. I slipped on a wet spot on the floor, dropped a glass that shattered, then landed on a piece of broken glass. The doctor was able to remove all the glass, fortunately, from my rectum, but if it were not for this climate-controlled undergarment I’m wearing, I wouldn’t be able to sit down. I have to have it on the coldest setting and it still hurts. /TIC: That story of yours can’t be proven. You said the glass was removed. /Arnie: Are you calling my girlfriend a liar? /TIC: I’m calling BOTH of you liars. You even have your nurse’s uniform on, still. /Mindy: This is my waitress uniform. I wasn’t going to go home in my hospital gown. /CIT (walks in, rubbing his eyes): What’s all the commotion about? /Arnie: Do something with your fiancee, will you? She just called both of us liars. /CIT: About that hospital story? /Arnie: Yeah. We were at the hospital, just Mindy and I, because Mindy had an accident at work. /CIT: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? /Mindy: I fell on a piece of glass, but the doctor managed to get all of it out of my rectum. /CIT: Wow. Are you okay? /Mindy: I will be. (She and Arnie both shoot a glare at TIC) Thanks so much for asking, Tim. /CIT: Sure. Let me know if you need anything. /Mindy: Thanks. I will. /CIT: Goodnight. (CIT leaves the room and goes back to the bedroom.)

10/13/09
(TIC, Mindy and Arnie watch CIT leave. Then, they turn and look at each other. TIC shrugs and walks back to the bedroom.) /TIC (whispers to CIT): Thanks a lot for helping me there. /CIT (whispers back): I tried, but I don’t think it did much good. What the hell were you thinking, anyway? Attacking them like that? /TIC: So, you think they’re responsible for the Switch? /CIT (glares at TIC, says loudly): I think they’re responsible for taking us into their home and taking care of us after we had lost everything. I think we’re damn lucky to have friends like Mindy and Arnie. I think I’m gonna take a bath. And, if I’m lucky, I’ll fall asleep in the tub and drown. (CIT motions for TIC to follow him. CIT turns on the faucet, closes the door behind TIC.) /CIT: What the hell’s gotten into you? Huh? You’ve really gotta think before you attack people like that. And I’m not just talkin’ manners. Get your–or my–head on straight. /TIC: I know what I saw. We were at the hosp–/CIT: Hospitable. Absolutely, they’ve been very hospitable to us. (Loud whisper) Shut up and listen. (Regular low voice) If they are government agents and we’re just a couple of test subjects with no place to live and too little income to get a place, do you think we want to give them a reason to get rid of us? Sure, we woke up from our comas different from when we started, but we still woke up at all. And if what you’re saying is true, then we know they can easily take us away again and knock us out again. (CIT winks) If something happens to you, then I’ll never be able to switch back. At least now, we still have a chance if you don’t blow it for us. (TIC sighs) /TIC: You’re right. /CIT: You know what you’ve got to do now. /TIC: Yup. (CIT turns off the water. TIC leaves the bathroom and walks to the living room. Arnie and Mindy are still watching TV. TIC turns the volume down and stands in front of the set.) /TIC: Mindy, Arnie, I had just woken up from a bad dream, a very realistic bad dream, when I made my wild, completely false accusations to you, earlier. /Arnie: The accusations were real. Groundless, but real. /TIC: Well, I just want to apologize for my inappropriate behavior, earlier. /Mindy: Does that behavior include interrupting our show that we’re trying to watch? /TIC: Oh. Sorry. /Mindy: Are you done? /TIC (blushes): Yeah. (TIC starts to walk away.) /Arnie: Hey! /TIC: What? /Arnie: Turn the volume back up. /TIC: Oh, alright. Goodnight.

10/14/09
(TIC and CIT are both back in the bedroom.) /TIC: Well, THAT went well. /CIT: Give them time. They’ll get over it. /TIC: Is the water still running? /CIT: I turned it off. /TIC: Thanks. /CIT: Sure. /TIC: What time is it? /CIT: Four am. /TIC: So, I still have time to sleep before work. /CIT: Yeah. /TIC: I didn’t have the alarm set, before, but I probably need it now. /CIT: What time you want? /TIC: I guess 9:30. /CIT: Done. /TIC (whispers): Hey, Candy. /CIT: Yeah? /TIC: The hospital must have not been very busy earlier tonight. /CIT: Shh! /TIC: ‘Cause if Mindy was working night shift, and she went it, got seen and treated, and came back and it’s only four, then–/CIT: SHHH! /TIC: Hey, Candy. /CIT: What now? /TIC: I don’t like being shushed. /CIT: Well, if you shut up, I won’t have to shush you. (TIC is silent.) Hey, Tim? (No answer) Tim? (Still no answer) I’m sorry I shushed you. /TIC: And? /CIT: And, I’m also sorry I told you to shut up. /TIC: You know what? /CIT: What? /TIC: We probably shouldn’t call each other by our old names, anymore, since we’re not the same. We should just call each other ‘sweetie’ or ‘babe’or something. /CIT: Great idea. /TiC: Goodnight, sweetie. /CIT: Nighty-night, babe. (Later, TIC wakes up, stretches, looks at the clock, sees it’s 10:45 am.) /TIC: Hey, Sweetie? /CIT (stirs, starts to open his eyes): What? /TIC: I thought you had set my alarm for 9:30 am? /CIT: I did. Oh, you said AM? /TIC: Yeah. /CIT: I forgot to check which ‘M’ it was on. I’m sorry, babe. /TIC: No time for that. I gotta go.

10/15/09

/TIC (struggles with her long cinnamon hair): These knots won’t comb out. I don’t have time now, but after work I might get this hair cut really, really short. (CIT’s eyes widen) /CIT: Don’t cut my HAIR! I’ll comb it for you. (CIT snatches the comb from TIC’s hand and expertly works on the knots.) Let me know if I pull too hard. /TIC: You’re not pulling at all. Are you sure you’re getting the knots out? /CIT: Yeah, they’re coming out. You know, this is a whole lot easier to do when I’m not wearing the hair. Easier to see what I’m doing. So, how are you getting to work? /TIC: I don’t know. I was going to walk, but now there’s no time. /CIT: You want me to wake Mindy or Arnie? /TIC: After last night? I can’t bother them. I’ll just be late. /CIT: On your first day? /TIC: What else can I do? I don’t have money for a cab. That’s good enough with the hair. /CIT: I’m not done, yet. You still have knots. /TIC: I don’t care. (She snatches the comb from CIT and tosses it into the trash.) I’m still getting it cut. (TIC walks into the living room, sees a note and keys on a table) /Note: Candy, Tim, feel free to borrow the car anytime you’d like–Mindy. /CIT: Wow. That’s mighty nice of her. /TIC: Thanks. I already feel bad enough. (CIT grabs the keys. He and TIC go out to the car. CIT unlocks TIC’s side first, then his. They open the car doors and stop. Sweat oozes down TIC’s face, cold and wet like slugs leaving trails of slime. The sweat drips into TIC’s eyes, causing them to react like salted slugs.) /TIC: Sweetie? /CIT: What? /TIC: Is that a gun barrel I feel against the back of my neck? /CIT: Yeah. (A new voice, dry and whispery like dead leaves and abrasive as sandpaper on an open wound says…) /Voice: Don’t move. Step away from the car. /TIC: Which is it? You said not to move. /Voice: Don’t get smart with me. You over there. Leave the keys on the driver’s seat or the lady gets it. (TIC hears the keys land on the seat.) Now, both of you, back away from the car. (They do. Then, TIC feels the gunman grab hold of his arm and drag him to the driver’s side. Gunman gets into the car, closes and locks the door, then drives off.)

10/16/09
/CIT: You okay? /TIC: I’m alive. I’m late for work, but at least I got a good excuse this time. /CIT: You want me to call a cab? /TIC: Cab? How about calling the cops? /CIT: Oh, yeah. /TIC: While you’re doing that, I’ll wake Mindy. (They go back inside. TIC goes to Mindy and Arnie’s bedroom, knocks on the door, and walks in.) /TIC: Mindy? (Mindy answers with a snore. TIC shakes her, shouts.) MINDY! /Mindy (sits up): What? /TIC: Tim and I got carjacked. Tim’s on the phone with the police. /Mindy: Are you both okay? /TIC: Yeah. /Mindy: Good. On the nightstand is a key. /TIC: But the car is gone. /Mindy: Let me finish. That key opens a safe on the dresser. /TIC: Okay. /Mindy: Well? /TIC: Well, what? /Mindy: Well, why don’t you open the safe? /TIC: Oh. (TIC opens the safe.) /Mindy: Now, grab the gizmo inside there. Be very careful. /TIC: Okay. /Mindy: See that blue button on it? /TIC (pause): Yeah. /Mindy: Press it ten times. /TIC: Okay. (pause) Now what? /Mindy: You know what you just did? /TIC: Yeah. I lost your car. /Mindy: I thought it was stolen. At gunpoint. /TIC: It was. /Mindy: So, you never misplaced it. /TIC: No. /Mindy: So, you never lost my car. So, quit blaming yourself for something you didn’t do. How about I tell you what you DID do? /TIC: Sure. /Mindy: With that device in your hand, you had just activated a special kind of anti-theft device. That blue button you had pressed ten times has sent a radio signal to the car to freeze the driver so he can’t move. /TIC: Won’t the car still be moving? /Mindy: /the gears and wheels lock, also. /TIC: How does the driver freeze, though? /Mindy: The seat covers are made from the same space-age material as climate controlled undergarments.

10/17/09
/TIC: So, how come we don’t freeze, since we’re wearing the same material as your seat covers? /Mindy: The signal this device sends is encrypted, and can only be read by my seat covers. But, just to be safe, that’s why you pressed that blue button ten times. The first time was to override the driver’s controls in the car, and the remaining nine was to set the covers at the highest non-lethal setting, which is level nine. /TIC: So, that’s how you get the thief to stop? /Mindy: Nine is just barely non-lethal. He has to be rescued by medical specialists who put him in an insulated bag, or else he’ll thaw too quickly and die. He’s then dropped off at the morgue, stripped and given a toe tag to identify him as NOT dead. The mortician on duty is notified of the live body, so he lets him thaw for a while. We even make sure the mortician has a radio he can turn up to drown out the screaming. [Author’s note: Yeah, I know this morgue stuff doesn’t sound even slightly plausible.] /TIC: That’s great, but now I still need to go to work. /Mindy (shrugs): I already gave you my car. /TIC: So, I can still use it? /Mindy: Not for 24 hours. That’s how long it takes the car to thaw to a safe level. It has to thaw slowly, or the upholstery will crack. Tomorrow, you can use it. /TIC: Thanks, but I need to get there today. Bye. (TIC calls a cab.) /Cabbie: Sorry, it will take at least two hours to get over to you. Traffic is completely blocked. There’s some car in the road letting off steam. /TIC: Thanks. /Cabbie: So, you still want a cab? /TIC: No, thanks. (TIC leaves the house and walks. The shop is farther than he remembered, but he finally gets there. The clock on the wall says 2:05 pm.) /TIC: Sorry I’m so late. I was carjacked. /Shopkeeper Clerk: Late for what? /TIC: Today’s my first day. /Clerk: I hired you? /TIC: Yeah. The other day. /Clerk: I completely forgot. (shrugs)

10/18/09
/Clerk (rummages around behind the counter, goes to the back, rummages there, then returns to the counter with a puzzled expression on his face): I can’t find your application. /TIC: You hired me without one, sir. /Clerk (his eyebrows shoot up): I did? Hmm. If that’s the case, I’m still going to need one filled out, at least with basic contact information, that sort of thing. I don’t need your whole history, though. So, when were you supposed to start? /TIC: Ele–TWO. /Clerk: Huh? /TIC: Two o’clock, sir. /Clerk: Well, you’re not that late. It’s only 2:07 now. I don’t know what you were so out of breath about. You say you left your jacket in the car? Well, this place is heated, so you won’t need it. But, you will need these. (Clerk reaches behind the counter and hands TIC a rag and a bottle of window cleaner.) You can start with the display cases. /TIC: Sure. (TIC starts spraying and wiping the cases.) /Clerk: It may seem like busywork, but it really makes a difference in sales if they’re clean. /TIC: I know. I’m already on it. /Clerk (smiles): Of course. Sorry. /TIC: That’s okay. /Clerk: Now, it’s okay you lost your jacket, but please be sure not to lose any more of your clothes. (TIC pauses, slowly looks at Clerk) /TIC: I wasn’t planning to. Why? /Clerk (tries to stifle a laugh, doesn’t quite succeed): ‘Cause we don’t want any “streaking.” (TIC looks at him, then explodes in laughter) /TIC: That was pretty good. /Clerk (has to catch his breath from laughing, then…): I’m glad you think so. I’m never sure how that joke will go over, what with you being female and all. /TIC (shrugs): I didn’t take offense, if that’s what you mean. /Clerk: Thanks. Even though you’re female, I feel like I can talk it up with you like you’re a guy. /TIC: Thanks. That’s exactly how I prefer to be perceived, as a regular guy. Actually, I like to write, so I appreciate a good word play now and then. /Clerk: Great. I think we’ll get along just fine. (TIC gets back to work, smiling. Time passes. After the cases, TIC sweeps and mops the floor, wipes the windows [Author’s note: Good point. TIC should’ve done the windows and display cases together, since she uses the same cleaner for both. Guess she needed a break from the glass cleaning.], then checks the inventory.) /TIC: So, boss, do they call it inventory because whatever we can’t account for, we “invent?” /Clerk: I don’t know, but what I do know for sure is that isn’t as good as my “streaking” joke. Sorry. /TIC: Hey, no argument, there. /Clerk: Nice try, though. /TIC: Thanks. So, I was wondering something. /Clerk: Yeah? /TIC: I hope you don’t mind me asking, but it’s 10 pm, now. I’ve been here eight hours, and I haven’t seen a single customer enter the store. Were we even open, today? /Clerk: Yeah, we were open. Business was great, too. /TIC: Then, why no customers? /Clerk: We do mail orders. We’re the only distributor for stores worldwide of U.S. Space Age Products. The climate control underwear you see in clothing stores, everywhere? They all come from this store right here. After overhead and our wages, the rest of the money goes to fund NASA’s space program. /TIC (forehead furrows): So, are we government staff? /Clerk: Nope. Private contractors. Which simply means we do government work without getting the same benefits as government employees. /TIC: I have another question, then. /Clerk: Is it about cleaning the display cases? /TIC: I didn’t mind doing it. I was just wondering, if no one comes into the store, anyway…/Clerk: Cleaning isn’t just for show. It removes harmful elements from damaging our stock. /TIC: Actually, my question wasn’t about why I was CLEANING them. I was wondering why we even have the display cases, at all, if we’re only displaying the merchandise for ourselves? /Clerk: Partly to look like a normal store so we don’t attract the wrong kind of attention, and partly in case someone walks in who wants to either make a purchase or set up a new contract with us. /TIC (nods): Makes sense. Thanks. /Clerk: Of course. I believe anyone who works for me should know precisely why he or she does what they’re told to do. Makes for better staff when they’re not left in the dark about anything. Speaking of which, before you go tonight, you want to change that lightbulb for me? The bulbs and stepladder are in the back. /TIC: Sure.

10/19/09
/Clerk: You look confused, still. /TIC (shrugs): I was just wondering why this store is contracted out in the first place. Why can’t NASA simply sell their underwear, themselves? /Clerk: That’s the whole reason for this store and for us contract employees–so NASA doesn’t have to sell their own underwear. If NASA sold their own space undies, the government would be directly involved with the free market. That would smack of socialism, AND start our nation down a slippery slope. /TIC: Really? Just for selling underwear? /Clerk: That’s how it starts. No big deal there, right? Well, next thing you know, our tax dollars are being used to bail out certain businesses such as banks because they’re “too big to fail.” /TIC: Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt you. I just don’t want to get into a big discussion about politics and capitalism versus socialism and all that. We sell underwear and people buy it, even if we don’t see them in front of the counter. That’s good enough for me. /Clerk: Sorry. I just get wound up, sometimes. But, you’re right that there’s not much point going into it, now. Neither system is perfect. I’ll let it rest. /TIC: Thanks. I was still wondering, though, if we’re the ones doing all the selling, why involve NASA at all? /Clerk: It’s their technology, for one thing. But, mainly because only the government can sell things below cost and get away with it. Except for yard and estate sales, of course, but that’s more cleaning out the place than running any legitimate kind of business. /TIC: What you just said about the government selling below cost–how’s that not an example of your socialism you were just pontificating about? /Clerk: It’s a gray area. (looks around) Even these walls are gray. I should paint them some other color, a cheery yellow, perhaps. Well, anyway, our purpose here is to separate the government form the product sales. /TIC: Okay. /Clerk: You know, the light bulbs could wait. Could you instead do something else for me? /TIC: Sure. /Clerk: Could you rinse out the mop bucket and fill it with soap and hot water? /TIC: Uh, yeah, but I already mopped the floor. /Clerk: Please? (TIC shrugs, fills the bucket and brings it back.) /Clerk: Thanks. (Clerk takes off his shoes and black, knee-length socks, and drops his feet into the water.) Ahh. You ever soak your feet at the end of the day? /TIC: No. /Clerk: You really outta try it. /TIC: Maybe next time. /Clerk: Try it tonight when you get home. /TIC: Maybe. Goodnight. (TIC leaves the shop, walks through the empty lot, then remembers he didn’t drive to work and keeps walking. The cool night air feels refreshing, like a cool embrace, especially after the steaming bucket inside the store. TIC’s stomach rumbles. She approaches a restaurant. The diner. She steps inside, sees Arnie and CIT at a table, joins them.

10/20/09
/TIC: Hi. What’s up? /Arnie: Nothing. Just finishing dinner. How was work? /TIC: Okay. I’m starved. /Arnie: Have a seat. /TIC: Thanks. /Mindy (walks over): Hi. /TIC: Hi. What’s the special tonight? /Mindy: Sockeye salmon and black-eyed peas. /TIC: Nah. Hey, Tim, you remember what my usual is? /CIT: Yeah, but try the Vegas salad. /TIC: All veggie? /CIT: No, VEGAS, not vegan. The croutons have poppyseeds on them to make them look like dice, the bacon bits are square sheets with card designs etched on them, and you won’t have all those extra greens like lettuce and cabbage that you usually find too much of in other salads. The salad also comes with a free pair of dice and a deck of playing cards. /TIC: Well, why don’t they call it Pair’o’Dice salad? /CIT: Paradise? /Arnie: I get it. (Arnie spells it out both ways.) /CIT: Oh. /Mindy: So, you want the Vegas salad? /TIC: No, I’ll have a burger and a bowl of grits, please. /Mindy: Cheese? /TIC: Sure. /Mindy: On the burger or in the grits? /TIC: Surprise me. (Mindy smiles.) /Mindy: You sure I should surprise you? /TIC: Yup. /Mindy: Okay. Your food will be out shortly. /TIC: I’m not short and I’m not Lee. /Mindy: Sure (she shrugs and walks off.) /Arnie: So, Tim says you took up writing, too. /TIC: Yeah. I guess you could call us co-authors, collaborators, or something. /Arnie: So, Tim inspired you? /TIC: Yup. I can’t say enough good things about him. Ever since we met. /CIT: Thanks. (CIT shoots TIC a knowing look.) /Arnie: So, what’s your latest bit of writing about? /TIC: This guy who’s initials are NAP. We devise all these little ways to annoy him. Like, last night, he had a hard time falling asleep, and when he did he dreamt he was working on some project the whole time. /Arnie: Okay. Show me something, sometime. /CIT: Sure. We will. /Mindy: Here’s your burger. /TIC (looks at the burger, raises the top bun and looks inside, then looks up at Mindy): Cream cheese on a burger? /Mindy: Surprised?

10/21/09
/Arnie: At least it isn’t toe cheese. /Mindy: You want me to change it? /TIC: Nope. I can use more coffee and sour cream, though. /Mindy: Sour cream for your coffee? /TIC: How’s that any different from having a burger with cream cheese? /Arnie: Better than having sour cream cheese. /Mindy: I’ll be right back with the, uh, sour cream? /CIT: And more rolls with buttermilk, please. /Mindy: Sure, ah, I guess. I think I’m getting confused. /TIC: Sour cream for the coffee. /CIT: And buttermilk for the rolls. /Mindy: Okay. (She walks away.) /TIC: You think she’ll put cream cheese on a burger, again? (Arnie shrugs.) /CIT: I bet a burger in a bagel would be good. /Arnie: That does sound good, actually. So, about your writing? /TIC: What about it? /Arnie: That’s what I want to know. Who’s this NAP guy you mentioned? /TIC: Well, he lives forty years in the future, in 2009. The world is way different. /Arnie: How? (TIC takes a bite of burger, then lifts the top bun and scrapes off the cheese.) /TIC: This is flavored cream cheese. Cream cheese and chives. /CIT: Doesn’t work on a burger? /TIC: At a dinner party, my mom served plain cream cheese, then forgot to put it in the fridge. It sat out overnight, and the next day it had green mold spots growing inside. Now, whenever I see cream cheese and chives, I see that moldy cream cheese from the dinner party. /Arnie: I think they also have hazel-nut flavor, here. I can ask my sweetie. /TIC: That’s okay. /CIT: They should have cheddar-flavored cream cheese. /Arnie: That would be great on your burger bagel. /TIC: I got one better: ketchup-flavored cream cheese. /Arnie: Forget the burger, that sounds like it would be great with a spoon. /TIC: It would. I wonder why I never see it, anywhere. /Arnie: Does NAP have it in his world? /TIC: Not that I know of, no. /Arnie: So, what does he have in the future? /TIC: Computers have taken over everything. No more typewriters, for example. In NAP’s world, when people write, they have to do a separate step to print out what they typed, and if they don’t save periodically, they can lose it all before they get to the printing stage. /CIT: Seems like more work. /TIC: You don’t know the half of it. Computers have also taken over their phones. And their phones are portable. So people there walk around and type their conversations to each other. /Arnie: You mean they can’t TALK on their phones, anymore? /TIC: Oh, they can and do. /Arnie: Then why bother writing on them? /TIC: Because they call it texting, and think it’s cool or something. They even use computers to make friends. /CIT: And because people are so busy with their computers, checking their computer mail and such, they don’t even use their space-age technology to invent and sell lightweight climate-controlled undergarments. /Arnie: Wow. So people just sit at their computers all day? /TIC: And all night. Work, play, even sex–all done at their computers. /CIT: Just sit, type, and chafe. /Arnie: Ouch.

10/22/09

/Arnie: So, how was your first day at work? /TIC: Fine. The boss seemed nice. Better than this cream cheese burger, anyway. I guess next time I won’t let your girlfriend surprise me. /Arnie (cocks an eyebrow): She’s full of surprises, isn’t she? /CIT: So, the boss didn’t care you were late? /TIC (smiles): He forgot he even hired me, let alone what time I was supposed to start. So, I just told him two o’clock. /CIT: You were there a long time. (TIC shrugs.) /TIC: A little over eight hours. /Arnie: You know, whenever I go by that store, it’s never busy. /TIC: That’s because we do a lot of mail-orders to other stores. /Arnie: Oh. /TIC (yawns): I’m exhausted. If you guys are ready? /CIT: We are. We were just waiting for you. /Arnie: You two go ahead. Mindy’s going on break soon. /TIC: Alright. Good night. /Arnie: Later. (TIC and CIT step outside.) /CIT: Is there something you’re not telling me? /TIC: What do you mean? /CIT (holds TIC’s hand as they walk): I used to be you, remember? /TIC: Well, actually, you used to be you. NOW, you’re me. /CIT (shrugs): Yeah, you’re right. What I meant, is I know you’re done with your monthly–/TIC: Yeah, so? I’m supposed to announce it to the world? Grab a bullhorn, stand on a parked car, and yell I’m done with my period? (TIC punctuates this with a raised fist.) /CIT: No, what I mean is, have you thought about sex?

10/23/09
/TIC: THOUGHT about it? Who DOESN’T think about sex sometimes? /CIT: Well, I was wondering if you wanted to try it? /TIC: Hmm. Maybe. Sounds interesting, seeing as how we know each other’s bodies so well. (CIT sees a bench. He takes TIC’s hand and they sit.) /CIT: Well, there is something you DON’T know about me. (TIC turns toward CIT. A silver blade of moonlight slices through the night air, illuminating part of CIT’s face like a spotlight, while leaving the rest in shadow.) /TIC: What? /CIT: When I was eight, my dad died. He was crossing the street and was a victim of a hit-and-run. /TIC: Sorry. /CIT (his right foot starts tapping): My mom remarried a year later. Her new husband kept looking at me and winking (tappity-tap-tap). I thought he was creepy as hell, but what could I say? My mom had finally gotten over my dad, and besides, if I said anything to her, she would’ve just thought I didn’t want ANYONE to marry her. You know, cause of having lost my dad, no one can replace him, and all that. So, I (tap-tap) did my best to ignore him. A year after that, my mom died. ALSO a victim of a hit-and-run. /TIC: Wow. What are the odds? /CIT (tappity-tap): Depends on who’s doing the hitting and running. So, it was just me and my stepdad. Then, I turned 12, and you-know-what happened. Always traumatic at first, but normal. But then, my stepdad caught wind of what I was going through, and followed me like a bloodhound. (CIT’s grip tightens around TIC’s hand. Her hand starts to tingle, but she doesn’t say anything.) So, my stepdad comes into my room and says, “Come let Papa Vamp help you with your menstrual cramp.”

10/24/09
/TIC: WHAT?!? /CIT: He also kept saying he wanted to kiss my boo-boo, and I’m not talking about a scrape on the knee. He was a big guy–six and a half feet tall, 200 lbs, broad-shouldered. He would pin me down, just so he could put his face down there, stick out his tongue…(TIC can feel her stomach start to heave. She tries to focus on her breathing, tries but can’t swallow. She hears CIT swallow with a loud click.) He was always so loud, too. Slurping, sighing, smacking his lips. Afterward, his face and my legs would be slick with my blood. Blood and clotted clumps. (TIC can’t take anymore. She pulls her hand away from CIT’s bone-crushing grip, bends over, and heaves.) I’m sorry I ruined your dinner. (TIC can’t speak. She looks down, feels her gorge rising again. She feels a hand on her head, then forgets about it and heaves again. Finally, she sits back up, breathing fast, waiting to catch her breath. Finally, she turns toward CIT.) /TIC: You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Oh, baby. (TIC puts her arms around CIT. They hug.) Not too tight. /CIT: Oh, yeah. Sorry. /TIC: That’s okay. Thanks for holding my hair back. /CIT: Sure. I didn’t catch it the first time, though. /TIC: That’s okay. It’ll wash out. Or, I’ll just cut it off. (CIT backs up just enough to look at TIC.) I must warn you against kissing me on the mouth. /CIT: I’m not afraid of you, but I won’t push the issue. I am sorry about the Switch, though, because now you have the body that he had molested. /TIC (gives a weak smile): That’s nothing. You still have the memory of what he did. Switching bodies does nothing to cure that. /CIT: True. (After an eternity of a few minutes, they sit back on the bench.) /TIC: Didn’t you tell me a different story before about how you lost your parents? /CIT: Probably. But, it’s not exactly easy to bring up what really happened in casual conversation. /TIC: Of course. That’s okay. Wow. That was so disgusting on so many levels. /CIT: It was every kind of disgusting. /TIC: How long did this abuse go on? /CIT: After the first time, I stood in the shower, as hot as I could make it, for so long my skin blistered. Afterward, I still felt dirty. /TIC: Wow. What I was asking, though, is how long did this happen?

10/25/09
(CIT sits there, sobbing, not talking. TIC reaches over, rubs CIT’s back with one hand while squeezing his hand with her other hand.) /TIC (whispers): It’s over. /CIT: That time in the store, when the clerk threw me out? /TIC: Yeah? /CIT: Well, shopping for supplies…well, I keep reliving it–the abuse–every time I have my–(he pauses). /TIC: Your what? You’re a man, now. You no longer have those things. (CIT smiles. The tears on his cheeks glitter like diamonds.) /CIT: You know what? /TIC (also smiling): What? /CIT: After so many years, my body finally had a cycle without reliving that. A perfectly normal routine. /TIC: Yeah, except for the part that I still felt like a guy in my head while it was happening. /CIT: Yeah, well, I get it that to you it was your first one, but you’ll adapt, then subsequent ones will all be pure routine without all that extra shit. You know what else? /TIC: What? /CIT: Even if we switch back before your next cycle, that would still be fine. You already had one round without reliving the abuse, so that was cleansing, in a way. /TIC: Sure. So you’re saying you still want to switch back, if possible. /CIT: Yeah. To be a HEALTHY woman, for a change. (They hug each other.) /TIC: Good. You have a great body, but I prefer to admire it from my own, so I’m glad we’re on the same page. (The black sky starts to turn gray as dawn starts.) You ready to go back, yet? /CIT: Almost. I’m not done with my story, yet. /TIC (raises her eyebrows): I thought we decided you were done? /CIT: In order to be done, I have to finish telling it. This abuse went on for six years. I tried running away after a year, but cops brought me back. I even gave myself bruises, but it didn’t help. He always proved his so-called “innocenc

10/26/09
/TIC: How come the cops never locked him up? /CIT: I couldn’t prove to them I was being abused. His methods never left any evidence. I was already bleeding. I was just some hysterical kid who had lost both parents, and he was the kindly guardian taking care of me. /TIC: I hear what you’re saying, but it’s so hard to believe they would just let him go like that. /CIT: Well, that’s what happened. Every month for six long years. The ‘Crampire’ went after me–/TIC: Excuse me, the WHAT? /CIT: He called himself the ‘Crampire’, because of what he’d do after I started cramping. (TIC opens her mouth, shuts it again with a snap) So, as I was saying, he went after me again, calling the cops like before. The cops checked my birth certificate, then told him I was 18. I was finally free. Homeless and penniless, but free. /TIC (fists clenched, knuckles white): I want to kill that sicko. /CIT: Are you kidding? /TIC: Of course not. /CIT: Death is too good for him. I want to cut his genitals, then make him drink his own blood through a long catheter. /TIC: Hey, you know what? /CIT: What? /TIC: If we ever run into him, again, he’ll think I’m you. /CIT: Yeah. That’s right. Like with Zeke and the couple we’re staying with. /TIC: Yeah. So, I can lure him, then bring him to you. /CIT: Sure, but what would that accomplish? Anything I do to him won’t change anything he’s already done to me in the past. /TIC: Yeah, but…/CIT: You know what? I don’t need revenge. I’ve got something much better. /TIC: What? /CIT: You. /TIC: Thanks. /CIT: Yeah, but also because of our Switch, I was finally able to tell someone what had happened to me. I mean, sure I miss being what I was, but I do feel safer being a man. Plus, if we DO ever run into him, again, the fact that he won’t even recognize me now also makes me feel safer. So, thanks. /TIC: I didn’t cause the Switch. /CIT: That’s okay. Even if we Switch back before meeting up with him, I’ll still feel safe being with you. /TIC: For THAT, you’re welcome.

10/27/09
(The gray sky gets lighter, from slate to pewter. Streetlamps wink off.) /TIC: I don’t know how you could be so forgiving about what he did. I still want to hurt him. /CIT: Who said I forgave him? I can’t ever forgive THAT. I just don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, so dwelling on what he did doesn’t help me any. I can’t go back in time and undo the abuse, but at least I can choose not to have it go on any longer. If I sit around plotting revenge, I’ll keep reliving the whole thing, and six years is already enough. Besides, I no longer have to relive it by having the monthly cycles, so why come up with a whole new way that I can relive it? /TIC: I see your point, I think, but you know what? /CIT: What? /TIC: If we ever cross paths with him, since we know he’ll think I’m you, anyway, then you don’t even have to get involved. I’ll take care of him for you. /CIT: How about you continue taking care of me, instead? Or at least, UNTIL we run into him, we agree to drop the subject? That alright? /TIC: Sure. /CIT: Ready to go back? /TIC: Sure. (Through the silver clouds a bloody tongue of sunlight emerges, bathing everything in a ruby glow. TIC and CIT hold hands as they walk. TIC stops.) /CIT: What? /TIC: I just realized something. The real reason for our Switch. It’s not to transfer info so much as for something else? /CIT: What? /TIC: The body I have now is the one that was abused. /CIT: Yeah. /TIC: But, you’re the one with the emotional scars. /CIT: Yeah, so? /TIC: Haven’t you figured it out, yet? /CIT: Figured what out? //TIC: Before the switch, I was 33 years old. /CIT: So? I was 28. What’s your point? /TIC: So, I’m five years younger, and I’m not emotionally scarred. This must be the whole purpose of the switch. A government official can switch for a younger, healthier body.

10/28/09
/CIT: Hey, you know what else? /TIC: What? /CIT: Since people can hide in different bodies, we can’t tell who’s who, anymore. The people we think we know could be government officials in hiding. What better way to hide? Fingerprints, dental records, none of them matter, anymore. You can simply hide in plain sight. /TIC: Wow. So high-ranked officials can live forever, and stay hidden. /CIT: Live forever? /TIC: Sure. If they keep switching to younger bodies. /CIT: It could even be a mutual decision to Switch. If a teenager wants to commit suicide–/TIC: Or simply switch to a face with a clearer complexion. /CIT: Huh? /TIC: You don’t remember being a teen? I’m talking acne. /CIT: I know about acne. I had something else on my mind during MY teen years. /TIC: Wha–Oh, yeah. Sorry. /CIT (shrugs): Whatever. Well, we now know there are practical applications for Switching. I’m thinking, there’s gotta be some way to TRACK these Switches. Hospital clients for comas, maybe? /TIC: Nope. The Switches don’t have to happen in a hospital. A government lab will do the trick, as long as they have beds, the special Switching equipment, and the coma-inducing drugs, they’re all set. /CIT: Could we track Switches that way, with the coma drug? /TIC: What would that be? There are probably lots of drugs that induce comas. /CIT: So, what should we do? /TIC: For now, let’s start walking, again, so I can go to sleep. (They resume walking.) /CIT: So, Arnie and Mindy might not be Arnie and Mindy? /TIC: It’s possible, but I’m willing to bet that they are. It costs money to Switch people. /CIT: So what? The government doesn’t have to worry about a profit margin. /TIC: True, but what are the odds? /CIT: Pretty good, if they want to watch us. Who questions their friends? [Author’s note: there’s another sentence that was in the original, but I decided to edit it out. The sentence was TIC saying: “But, if switching is a new technology, government people won’t want to use it yet.” I’m thinking now, in 2013, that if it’s a new technology, the government won’t want the general public to have access to it, but not just because it’s new, because of it’s other uses. The government will want to keep it for itself. Anyway, the explanation for not wanting to keep the sentence was worse than the original sentence, so I guess I should’ve just left it in here.]

10/29/09
/TIC: Right now, I wouldn’t mind Switching with someone who hasn’t been up all night. (Yawns) /CIT (also yawns): A coma does sound relaxing right now. /TIC: Hey, that’s right. /CIT: What? /TIC: In order for a Switch to take place, both parties must be in a coma. /CIT: Yeah, so? /TIC: So, there’s always a risk of losing someone who’s in a coma. So, they won’t want to Switch someone who’s too important. /CIT: Yeah, but agents who risk their lives as part of their jobs can still Switch. /TIC: Yeah, but only important people know all the government secrets. /CIT: I suppose. It all really goes under the category of ‘Acceptable Risk’. Besides, the president can still be Switched. They just tell him that he’ll be under anesthesia, then give him the drugs to make him Switchable. If the security of the country is at stake…/TIC: Steak sounds good right now. Hey, I wonder if Switching is limited to just within our species? /CIT: Probably. Why? /TIC: Well, if you wanted to get rid of someone, you could Switch him with a cow, then eat him. /CIT: A cow is a “her”. /TIC: You know what I mean. /CIT: Isn’t that sort of like a religion in India? Hinduism, maybe? /TIC: I guess. It probably couldn’t happen like that, anyway. /CIT: If you want to get rid of someone with a Switch, just have the person Switch with someone who’s about to die. A terminally ill hospice patient, maybe, or a Death Row inmate about to get executed. /TIC: Finally, I see the house. /CIT: Great. I’m exhausted. /TIC: YOU’RE exhausted? I worked all day. /CIT: All day YESTERDAY. /TIC: Feels like the same day. Get the keys out. /CIT: Keys? /TIC: Crap. You don’t have the keys? /CIT: No, I was with Arnie. Do you have keys? (TIC checks her pockets, hears a jingle.) /TIC: I’ve got something.

10/30/09
/CIT: Keys? /TIC: Yeah. Ow! /CIT: What? /TIC: The keys got caught on my pocket lining. Finally. (TIC yanks out the keys. The jangling is amplified. TIC tries one key, then another. Finally, one slides in. TIC opens the door. CIT follows her inside.) /TIC: Maybe we can Switch back today. /CIT: Today? /TIC: Yeah. I’m so tired I feel like I can slip into a coma. (Too tired to go to the bathroom or to change to pajamas, TIC heads straight to bed.) /CIT: Get up. /TIC: Why? /CIT: You went to the wrong bedroom. (TIC gets up, stretches, then notices a framed sheet of parchment on the wall. TIC walks over, squints and reads the words.) /TIC: Sweetie? /CIT: What? /TIC: Come here. /CIT: I can’t right now. I’m indisposed. /TIC: On the crapper? /CIT: Yeah. /TIC: Well, right here on the wall is a nursing degree diploma. (TIC hears a flush. CIT runs in, trips on his pants and falls into TIC’s arms. /TIC: Lucky I was here. You would’ve hit your head on the edge of the coffee table. /CIT: Thanks, so, you were saying? /TIC: Look for yourself. (CIT hitches up and fastens his pants, then goes into Mindy’s bedroom.) /CIT: Yeah, I see it. /TIC: Remember I said I saw Mindy as a nurse that night we were in the hospital? /CIT: Yeah. /TIC: Well, now we have proof. /CIT: Of what? /TIC: You saw the diploma on the wall. /CIT: That doesn’t mean that Mindy took us to the hospital. Or, even if she did take us to the hospital, it’s still her word against yours for what she told you. /TIC: She told me the government was unable to Switch us back due to budgeting constraints. /CIT: The government saying they don’t have any money? Now, that is believable.

10/31/09
/CIT: Well, if that nursing diploma really is Mindy’s, then at least we can be sure Mindy IS Mindy. /TIC: Sure, but who IS Mindy? /CIT (yawns): Someone who took us in. To a bed. That, now, I’m going to. Goodnight/morning/day/whatever. (TIC yawns, too.) You coming? /TIC: In a moment. I’m gonna watch TV for a bit. (TIC goes to the living room, turns on the TV, and plops onto the couch.) /TV: Try our new ‘Morning Wood’ shampoo. It’s a breath of fresh hair. /TIC: I’m sure it is. (click) /TV: Good morning from the bottom of the harbor. This is ‘Crossed the Mob News.’ I’m your Cement Block–’cause the Mob doesn’t use anchors–Lucky Lem. I have about five minutes of air left, which I’ll spend reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Afte a few words from our sponsor, you’ll be back for my obituary. This is Lucky Lem, signing off–forever. /TIC: No, I won’t be back. I’m going to bed. (TIC gets up, stretches, heads toward the bedroom, hears a car pull up, car doors slam, front door opens. Arnie and Mindy walk in.) /Arnie: Hi, Candy. Didn’t know you were still up. /TIC: Actually, I was just headed to bed. /Mindy: So were we. /TIC: Well, good night. Or morning, or whatever. /Mindy: Hey, Candy. /TIC: Yeah? /Mindy: Before you go, could I show you something? /Arnie: Oh, you’re not gonna show her THAT. /Mindy: I sure am. (TIC follows Mindy into the bedroom.) Look on the wall. /TIC: Your diploma? /Mindy: I had to take a first aid course at the diner, in case a customer choked on our food. /Arnie: Always a risk. /Mindy: Yup, so after I completed the course, this wise guy here gave me this gag diploma.

11/01/09
/Mindy: Read it. /TIC: “This certifies that Mindy is now officially a Wet Nurse.” (TIC shrugs.) I hope he didn’t pay too much for that. /Mindy: Arnie, didn’t you say they also had one for obstetricians who turn 40? /Arnie: Yeah, it says, “Congratulations on surviving your Midwife Crisis.” (TIC smiles.) /TIC: I like that one better. /Arnie: Hey, Candy. /TIC: Yeah? /Arnie: Do you and Tim want to switch? (TIC’s mouth drops open, her eyes grow large as a frog’s.) /TIC: Of course we want to Switch again. /Arnie: What do you mean ‘again?’ /TIC: I meant back. /Arnie: Has Tim and Mindy…? /Mindy: Of course not! (Arnie steps out for a moment, comes back.) /Arnie: I just looked for Tim. He’s asleep. /TIC: Would that work? It’s not quite a coma, but at least he’s still unconscious. /Mindy: I’m not gonna try to make out with someone who’s asleep. /TIC: Who said anythng about making out? /Arnie: What did you think I was talking about? /TIC: You said something about Switching. /Arnie: Yeah. Switching partners. /TIC: Not Switching–never mind. /Arnie: Hey, just ’cause it ain’t YOUR thing doesn’t mean you have to come down on those of us who aren’t afraid to explore that lifestyle. /TIC: My apologies, sir Arnie. I promise from now on, where you’re concerned, you’ll never have to worry about me either coming or going down. /Arnie: So, I guess a three-way is out. /TIC: I dunno. What does Mindy say? (Mindy snores.) /Arnie: I guess it’s just us, then. /TIC: Just you, stud. I’m going to bed–ALONE. Goodnight/Good day. /Arnie: You, too. And, remember to ask Tim about the switching. /TIC: You mean “swap?” /Arnie: Same difference. /TIC: I can ask him, if you want, but it won’t do you any good. I still don’t want to swap, anyway. Nothing personal. I haven’t even been making out with Tim.

11/02/09
/TIC: Goodnight. /Arnie: Think it over. (TIC goes to bed. Hours later, she gets up.) /CIT: When do you have to go to work? /TIC: It doesn’t matter. My boss can’t remember things like that from one day to the next. /CIT: Won’t you get backed up? /TIC: The sign in the window has “Help Wanted” on one side and “Closed” on the other. /CIT: It’s “closed”? How does he stay in business? /TIC: He contracts out the merchandise in bulk. Through mail order. /CIT: So, what do you do all day? /TIC (shrugs): Inventory, cleaning, things like that. /CIT (looks at the clock): So, are you going in today? It’s already 1:30 pm. /TIC: I should. At least, to remind him to pay me for yesterday. /CIT: What’s he paying you? /TIC (her eyebrows shoot up): What should he pay me? /CIT: Something he can believe he’d told you. /TIC: Twenty dollars an hour? /CIT: You’ll figure it out. (TIC steps out of the bedroom, goes to the bathroom, freshens up, then goes to the living room.) /Arnie: Hi. Need a lift? /TIC: Are you asking me, or my skirt? /Arnie: What do you think? You’re not even wearing a skirt. /TIC: Oh, yeah. I forgot I put on jeans, instead. Sorry. /Arnie: That’s okay. /TIC: Since you offered, thanks, I CAN use a lift. (Arnie grabs Mindy’s car keys. They go into the car.) /Arnie: Candy? /TIC: Yeah? /Arnie: I’m sorry for coming on to you the way I did last night. Or this morning. Both. /TIC: Thanks, I’m alright. Just so you know, my refusal has absolutely nothing to do with you. /Arnie: You don’t have to explain. You’re loyal to Tim. I was completely out of line. /TIC: That’s not it, though. Can you keep a secret?

11/03/09
/Arnie: Speaking of secret, you know why there’s a female deodorant called “Secret”? (TIC sniffs under her blouse.) No, no, no. I didn’t mean to imply that you needed deodorant. (TIC just glares at Arnie through narrowed eyes.) I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean anything about body odor or–/TIC: Well? You brought it up. You gonna tell me why, or keep THAT secret? /Arnie: All I was gonna say was it’s called “Secret” because it deals with what a woman’s armpits ‘secrete’. /TIC: Doesn’t ‘secrete’ have an extra ‘e’ at the end? /Arnie: Well, yeah, I guess. ‘Secretions’ then, maybe? /TIC: That has even more letters. /Arnie: Yeah. /TIC: Too bad there isn’t a product out there for what the mouth secretes. /Arnie: I truly am sorry. /TIC: I know. Apology accepted. I will tell you a little something about women, though, if you’re interested in knowing it. /Arnie: Sure, go ahead. /TIC: At the risk of sounding sexist, I’ll overgeneralize and say that almost all women are insecure about their physical attributes. So, it’s best not to bring up certain topics, like looks, weights, smells. And if she brings up these things, just give her empty compliments. You can’t go wrong with saying she looks beautiful, pretty, nice, or great. /Arnie: Thanks. /TIC: Sure. /Arnie: You’re wrong about something, though. /TIC: What? /Arnie: Guys are insecure, too. About a certain body part. /TIC: Oh, yeah. /Arnie: Even though that particular area is small compared to the body as a whole, guys still put a disproportionate amount of importance on its size and function. So, keep it in mouth. /TIC (cocks an eyebrow): Don’t you mean ‘mind’? /Arnie: Darn. You caught me. (They share a smile.) So, was that your secret?

11/04/09
/TIC: No, there’s something else–Hey, here’s the shop. What time is it? /Arnie: 2 pm. Exactly. /TIC: I gotta go. Thanks for the ride. /Arnhie: But–/TIC: But, when will I need a ride back? Eight hours from now. Bye. (TIC leaves the car, waves, and goes inside the shop.) /Clerk: Hi. Actually, we’re closed. /TIC: Actually, I work here. /Clerk: Oh, yeah. Sandy, right? /TIC: Candy. /Clerk: Candy, yeah. /TIC: Did you want to open the shop for customers, yet? Other than your mail orders? /Clerk: Nah. Too much work. /TIC: Isn’t that why you hired me? /Clerk (shrugs): I think I hired you because I hade the sign facing the wrong way. /TIC: Oh. /Clerk: Yeah, at first. But, it’s nice to have a pretty lady around the shop. /TIC: Forgot my name, again? /Clerk: No, Candy. /TIC: Good. So, where should I start? /Clerk: You already started, didn’t you? /TIC: I didn’t ask WHEN to start. I said WHERE. /Clerk: Oh. Follow me. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. (They walk toward the back of the store. Clerk stops. TIC looks around, doesn’t see anyone new.) /TIC: Where’s your friend? /Clerk: Right in front of you. /TIC: All I see is a siamese fighting fish in a jar with no lid. /Clerk: Candy, right? /TIC: Yeah, good job. /Clerk: Candy, meet Master Betta. Master Betta, meet Candy. /TIC: You’re kidding, right? (A scintillating cobalt blue tale splashes water in TIC’s direction, but falls short of getting her wet. The fish darts back and forth, side to side.) /Clerk: Ooh. Master Betta didn’t like that. /TIC: How do you know? /Clerk: Easy. Read his bubbles. /TIC: His bubble nest? What, you think there are hidden messages in there? /Clerk: No. /TIC: Good. /Clerk: No, they’re not hidden. Go look if you don’t believe me.

11/05/09
(TIC looks at the betta. He has stopped swimming and is just sitting there staring at her. Her forehead furrows slightly, the fish really WAS staring at her. From the side, like how a bird would. TIC shrugged. What else does the stupid fish have to look at? He didn’t even have a castle to play in. [Author’s note: I had a castle in a betta bowl once. The betta got stuck inside it and died. So, be careful if you miss bettas and castles. It’s also a good idea to have a lid over the bowl, so it won’t jump out (another fatality) and also so a dead starfish won’t fall in and poison the water (yet another unfortunate accident). At the moment, I don’t have any bettas. With my track record, that’s probably a good thing.]) /TIC: Hey, you stupid fish. You want a castle? (TIC peeks into the Mason jar. The bubbles DO seem to be forming words.) /Master Betta’s Bubbles: No castle. I had a betta that got stuck in a castle window and died. Now, THAT was a stupid fish. (TIC’s mouth gapes open like a fish out of water.) /TIC: How did–how do–how do you do–/Master Betta’s Bubbles (MBB): How do I do? (TIC reads) Fine, thanks. How are YOU, Tim? /TIC: Don’t you mean ‘Candy?’ Wait, how do you know I used to be Tim? /MBB: This isn’t the first time we’ve chatted with each other. Last time, I think, you and Candy were in my head. /TIC: You’re NAP! /Clerk (from the front of the store): Hey, who’s taking a nap? Not on the job, you don’t. /TIC (to Clerk): No, not me. Your fish. /Clerk: Not on his back, I hope. /TIC: No. He’s still alive. /Clerk: Then, so what if he’s napping? He’s a betta. Unless there’s a second betta nearby, they just sits there. (Clerk’s footsteps and voice both get louder as he walks back to the betta while talking.) Except for this one and his messages. Neat, huh? /TIC: Yeah. Could I chat with him a moment longer? /Clerk: Sure. Reading those bubbles can be addictive. /TIC: Thanks. (Clerk leaves them alone.) How did you become a fish? /MBB: When you were in my universe, you and Candy were just disembodied thoughts. So, in your universe I’m nothing more than a Siamese fighting fish without the fighting. I can’t just traipse around here like I do at home. (The betta flicks his tail.)

11/06/09
/Clerk: Candy? /TIC: Yeah? /Clerk: When you’re done with your “nap”, I can use you over here. /TIC: MY NAP? He’s YOUR fish. /Clerk (comes over, looks at TIC.): What does my fish have to do with you sleeping on the job? /TIC: Nothing (She shrugs.) /Clerk: That’s what I thought. (He turns around, walks back toward the front of the store.) /TIC: I’ll be right there. (To the fish…) So, Master Betta (smiles), cute name, by the way. /MBB: Thanks. You were about to tell me something? /TIC: Yeah, when writing MY story about YOU, I took the liberty of writing backstory and flashbacks to make you sound like a woman. (The fish gives an indifferent flick with his tail.) /MBB: That has gone on so long, already, I’m used to it. I must give you credit, though. That time in North Carolina, at that restaurant, when that server had her back to me–that was the first time ever that my voice had tricked someone into calling me “ma’am” when I wasn’t even on the phone. Nicely done. That really was a nice touch. /TIC: Thanks. /MBB: Are you getting a little pink in the cheeks? /TIC: Maybe. Better pink cheeks than pink eye. /MBB: Yup. /TIC: Cute. You actually spelled out “YUP” with your bubbles. /MBB: Yup. /TIC: Well, I guess I gotta go. /MBB: Hey, before you go, could you give me some of those bloodworms over there? /TIC: Yeah, but wouldn’t you rather have them in your jar? /MBB: Hah, hah. /TIC: Was that sarcastic? Can’t tell from reading it. /MBB: Yup. /Clerk: Candy? /TIC: Yeah? /Clark: Don’t worry about feeding Master Betta. I fed him right before you came in. /TIC: Alright. I’m done here, then. (TIC waves to the fish, grabs the mop bucket, and goes to the sink.)

11/07/09
/TIC: Interesting fish you’ve got there. How did you get it to talk like that? /Clerk: It just started doing it on its own. You know, I’m really glad you saw it, too. I was starting to wonder if I was going crazy or something. /TIC: How come you waited until today to introduce me to him? (Clerk shrugs.) /Clerk: I guess I was afraid you’d think I was crazy for bringing it up. what if you didn’t see those bubbles like I did? Some things one doesn’t really want confirmed, you know? But, now that you ALSO see words in them…/TIC: Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I used to hallucinate. (Clerk narrows his eyes.) /Clerk: I’m gonna forget you said that. We both saw the same bubbles, and we’ll leave it at that. /TIC: Fine by me. I don’t think the word bubbles are what make you crazy. Not having your store open for customer, what would you call that? /Clerk: I thought I explained about that. /TIC: Something about government, bulk orders, mass distribution? /Clerk: Exactly. /TIC: That still doesn’t explain why your store is always closed. (pause) What? /Clerk: I can’t think of anything to say. Except that, I should check my contract, make sure I can legally expand my customer base to maximize sales. (Clerk rummages behind the counter, opens and closes drawers, finally pulls out a dusty contract.) Yup. Right here. “Merchandise on these premises will only be sold to pre-approved retailers.” /TIC: Really? (Clerk taps the contract.) /Clerk: Right here. /TIC: How’s that not socialism? (Clerk shrugs.) /Clerk: It’s their products. We’re just minding the store. The government isn’t concerned with profit, anyway.

11/08/09
/Clerk: Anyway, we went over all that. This contract merely confirms it. /TIC: And you needed help because…/Clerk: For company, but also ’cause of the talking fish. Even if we’re both imagining it, there’s still some comfort in a shared hallucination. /TIC: That’s fine, but all you actually want me to do is check inventory, dust and mop? /Clerk: Pretty much, yeah. /TIC: How about when the, uh, bulk-order clients come by to pick up their shipments? /Clerk (shrugs): There isn’t really much to do, then. They bring a remittance slip, we sign it, they get what they need, then it’s back to inventorying and tidying up the place. /TIC: What about money? Don’t they buy what they need? /Clerk: Sure. Payment is sent through the mail. A copy goes to the government and we keep a copy. We also use that for figuring our inventory. /TIC: And we also have to get our products from NASA. /Clerk: Right. So, as you can see, there’s plenty to do, already., without having customers trickle in one at a time, interrupting whatever work we’re doing to cater to them. /TIC: I’m still not entirely clear why NASA can’t sell their own underwear. /Clerk: They can if theyh really want to, bujt they’re too busy doing research at the taxpayer’s expense. We’re a central place where extra products can go, to be sold to stores at below cost, to make the undies we’re all wearing affordable. /TIC: Yeah. A lot of this we did discuss, already, but now it’s slightly easier to understand. Thanks. /Clerk: Sure. How long have you been here today? /TIC (looks at the clock): Close to seven hours. /Clerk: Want to knock off early? /TIC: Sure.

11/09/09
/Clerk (smiles): Then, you know what to do. (TIC grabs the mop bucket, rinses it, and refills it with soap and hot water, then brings it back to her boss.) /Clerk: Ahhh. You sure you don’t want to try this? (TIC looks over at her boss’s feet, the hairy corns on her toes sticking up through the foam like unshowered Vikings in the frothy seas.) /TIC: No, thanks. Could I use your phone? /Clerk: Sure. Vocal, right? /TIC: Of course. Although, I’m writing about a guy who lives in the future where people type out their phone calls. /Clerk: Huh? I said ‘Local’ with an ‘L’. /TIC: Oh. /Clerk: You said you’re writing about people who type on their phones? Like little typewriters? /TIC: Sorta, I guess. /Clerk: Why can’t they TALK on their phones? /TIC: Oh, they can talk on them, too. /Clerk (shrugs): Don’t make no sense to me, but, well…/TIC: They call them ‘smart’ phones. /Clerk: Well, we know it ain’t the PEOPLE who are smart, if they type when they can simply talk. Oh, yeah, you can use the phone. Sure. /TIC: Thanks. And, it’s local. I’m just gonna call my ride. /Clerk: Go right ahead. Just don’t try typin’ on it. I’m outta ribbon. /TIC (looks at Clerk, cocks an eyebrow): Somehow, I find that hard to believe. You’ve been giving me PLENTY of ribbin’ about my story. /Clerk: Oh. Sorry. That just threw me about the typing on phones thing. /TIC: That’s fine. /Clerk: The phone’s back by the fish. /TIC: Thanks. (TIC calls home.) /Arnie: Hello? /TIC: Hi. I’m done with work. /Arnie: I’ll be right there. /TIC: Thanks. (Click. While waiting for her ride, TIC looks at the fish.) /TIC: Hey, NAP. You still in there? /MBB: Yup. /TIC: And in your universe, you’re still writing about me, right? /MBB: Yeah, so? /TIC: So, ‘hairy corns like Vikings’? I would NEVER think a hairy corn was like a Viking. You were straining really hard at that one. (The fish flicks his tail, blue scales moving, catching and releasing the light like a flickering gas flame.) /Clerk (hollers from the other end of the store): Hey, Candy, your ride’s here. /Arnie (walks toward TIC and the fish): Hey, your boss said I should see his fish. /TIC: Yeah? /Arnie: He wants to know if I see anything unusual. /TIC: Alright. Come look. (Arnie looks at the fish, then at TIC.) /Arnie: So, what’s it supposed to do? /TIC: See the bubble nest around it? /Arnie: Yeah. So? /TIC: Ask the fish a question. /Arnie: Is this a gag? /TIC: That’s what you’re asking it? /Arnie: That’s what I’m asking you. /TIC: Ask the fish /Arnie: No.

11/10/09
(A flash of blue, bright as stained glass in a sunny window, a flick of a tail…) /Arnie: Hey! /TIC: What? /Arnie: That stupid fish of yours splashed me with his tail. Right in the face. /TIC: Oh, sorry. /Arnie: He just missed my eye. /TIC (to the fish): Master Betta, you owe Arnie an apology. /MBB: Sorry, Arnie. /TIC: Hey, Arnie. Look. You gotta see this. /Arnie: Your fish already got me once. You think I’m gonna stick my face there, again? You actually think I’m that stupid? I’m going to the car. I’m gonna unlock both doors, then I’m driving home. If you’re with me, I’ll give you a ride. /TIC: Alright. I’m coming. /Clerk: Goodnight. /TIC: Goodnight. (In the car, both are quiet for a while.) I’m sorry about the fish. /Arnie: Forget about the fish. I’m alright. He probably would’ve gotten me much worse if I had actually fallen for your bubble gag and brought my face closer. (He smiles) That was a good trick, getting the Betta to flick his tail like that. Your boss got you to with that, I bet. /TIC: No. /Arnie: We’re like brother and sister. You can tell me. /TIC: I told you everything about the fish. /Arnie: Hey, I just remembered, you were going to tell me a secret. /TIC: You’re passing our house. /Arnie: That’s not the secret. /TIC: Of course not. That’s you passing our house. (Arnie U-turns, pulls into Mindy’s driveway.) /Arnie: Okay. /TIC: Thanks for the lift. (TIC unlocks the door, opens it, gets out.) /Arnie: What about your secret? /TIC: Another time. I’m beat. Now, I just want to take a nice warm bath, then eat. After that, we can chat.

11/11/09
(TIC goes into the bathroom, turns on the water in the tub, lets it get as hot as she can stand it, plugs the drain, gets undressed, reaches for the “Sud Bud Super Suds Bubble Bath”, pours some in, raises her left foot to step into the tub, and puts it back on the floor, again. No, she thinks, this can’t be happening. The soap bubbles spell out “Hi, Tim.”, complete with comma, period, and quote marks. Out of the bubbles she sees a flash of a familiar hue, a splash from the blue. TIC jumps back, bangs her back on the counter, gropes around for a towel, finally she finds the shower curtain. She wipes her eyes, blinks, looks around, feels her back. Nothing’s broken, but it’s gonna leave an interesting bruise. She blinks again, looks at the tub. The bubbles are just sitting there, not forming any workds. TIC shrugs.) /TIC: It’s been a long day. (TIC steps into the tub. /the steaming water feels great for her back, almost like a massage. Her right foot feels something. She fishes around for it, finally finding a broken piece of ceiling tile. The piece was cobalt blue and shaped like a fish. TIC looks up. How did she miss this before? The bathroom ceiling had an underwater design, complete with a school of fish. Well, except for the one in her hand.) /TIC (mutters): I guess this one’s playing hooky. (She places it on the floor, away from where she’ll be stepping later, and closes her eyes. The bubbles and steam continue caressing her back, legs, and face. TIC’s breathing slows, becomes regular. She inhales the lavender-scented steam, exhales the stress of the day, inhales more lavender.) /TIC: You know, I just might be able to start getting used to being a woman. It does have its perks.

11/12/09
(TIC looks up again. Sees the other fish tiles. Then, quickly pulls the plug, gets out of the tub, leans on the counter to avoid slipping, grabs a towel and heads to the bedroom.) /CIT: Ow! /TIC: Sorry. I didn’t see you. /CIT: Well, it’s dark in here for one thing. Turn on the light. /TIC: Weren’t you asleep? /CIT: Yeah, I WAS. I’m not, anymore. (TIC turns, knocks over the clock radio.) /CIT: Ow! Again! /TIC: Did I bump you, again? /CIT: No, the clock radio fell on me. /TIC: Sorry, trying to find the light. /CIT: Never mind, I’ll get it. (TIC hears CIT get up from the bed. The light goes on.) /TIC: Sorry. /CIT: Forget it. You didn’t have your night eyes. Actually, now that I think about it, it always took my eyes a long time to adjust to the dark. /TIC: Not always for YOU, anymore. /CIT: True. The clock radio was lit up, though. /TIC: I must’ve bumped the cord out of the wall. /CIT: So, what’s up? Besides me, that is. (TIC reaches for something to throw on besides her skimpy towel.) /CIT: You don’t have to worry about covering up. To me, looking at you is like looking in the mirror–except reversed. Anyway, you look like there’s something you need to tell me. /TIC: Yeah, how can you tell? /CIT: You’re wet like you came out of the tub. Well, if you had just had a relaxing bath, you probably wouldn’t be in a hurry to get out. And you’re still out of breath a little from rushing in here like a human tornado. /TIC: Sounds like a superhero. /CIT: The Human Tornado. Yeah, it does. (CIT shrugs.) Maybe it already is. Anyway, what is it you want to tell me? /TIC: You know the ceiling in the bathroom? /CIT: With the fish painted on? /TIC: Painted on tiles, yeah. /CIT: What tiles? /TIC: The tiles in the ceiling. /CIT: Show me. I don’t remember tiles on the ceiling. (CIT follows TIC into the bathroom. The look up at the smooth ceiling with the painted on school of fish. TIc looks down at the floor, again, and can’t find the tile, anywhere.

11/13/09
/TIC: I guess I’m just tired. /CIT: You know those old stereoscopes from the 1800s? /TIC: With the two nearly identical sepia photos? /CIT: Exactly. Well, our eyes work like that. You were laying in the tub, looking up at the ceiling, so tired you started seeing double, then the two images overlap and you think you see fish coming off the ceiling. You get nervous, splash around enough to account for the alleged tile appearing to splash down in the tub. /TIC: You think that’s what happened? /CIT: Most likely. Our eyes do play tricks on us. Optical illusions–whole books are devoted to that subject. Our eyes always deceive us, even when we’re not tired. TIC: Thanks, sweetie. /CIT: Sure. Glad I can help. /TIC: Me, too. /CIT: Ready for bed? (TIC looks at CIT) I mean, to sleep. /TIC: Maybe after I eat something. What’ve we got? /CIT: Well, I know there’s some leftover fish. /TIC: I think I’ve had enough fish for one day. /CIT: There’s also some leftover pizza in the fridge. /TIC: That sounds good. /CIT: Let’s go, then. I can use a bite, too, since I’m up, anyway. /TIC: Yeah, sorry about that. /CIT: That’s okay. (They go to the kitchen. TIC opens the fridge, takes out a large, cardboard box.) You want that heated up? /TIC: Nah. I like it cold. (TIC opens the box.) What the?!? /CIT: What? /TIC: Who ordered pizza with anchovies? /CIT: They all have that? /TIC: Every slice. Pizza with cat food topping. (TIC closes the box.) What else you’ve got? /CIT: Bagels and cream cheese. /TIC: Sure. (TIC looks inside cream cheese.) What’s this stuff? /CIT: Oh, yeah. That’s cream cheese with lox spread.

11/14/09
/TIC: Got any chicken? /CIT: Does ‘Chicken of the Sea’ count? /TIC: Meow. /CIT: Exactly. /TIC: We should ask Mindy if she’s allowed to have cats here. We’ve already got all this cat food around. /CIT: So, what do you want to eat? /TIC (shrugs): Bagel with butter? Maybe some sliced cheese if you’ve got it? /CIT (rummages aroujnd in the fridge): Got some that’s green and fuzzy. Maybe you can bring it to work? /TIC: Why would I–Oh, green cheese from the moon. /CIT: Toast your bagel? /TIC: Sure. /CIT: So, toast it then. /TIC: Oh, I thought you were asking if I’d like to have it toasted. By you. /CIT: No, I was asking if you wanted to toast your bagel. By you. /TIC: Well, why were you asking, then? /CIT: The toaster was unplugged. I was going to plug it in for you. (CIT plugs it in.) There, now you’re all set. /TIC: Got a knife? I need to cut the bagel, also. /CIT: Here you go. /TIC: Thanks. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. (CIT smiles, intentionally ignores the sarcasm.) /CIT: I tell you This is the ultimate in being a liberated woman. /TIC: What? /CIT: Being a man. /TIC: You know how sexist that sounds coming form a face with unshaven stubble? (CIT shrugs.) You ARE a man. /CIT: You got that right. I AM the man. (Mindy comes in.) I heard you two talking. Typical man, making the woman do all the work. /TIC: You tell him. We sisters have to stick together. /Mindy: It’s like that song, “Sisters are doing it for themselves.” Well, THAT’S nothing new. We’ve BEEN doing it for ourselves and for our men, forever. /CIT: I like that song.

11/15/09
(Arnie comes in) /Arnie: Hi. What’s up? /Mindy: We are, babe. I was just about to make myself a latte, so I can go back to sleep. /TIC: Isn’t a latte supposed to wake you up? Or is yours decaf? /Mindy: It doesn’t matter. Remember, Arnie, when you took me to see that historical drama? About a missing pilot? /Arnie: Yeah, but I’m surprised you remember. You kept snoring. We nearly got thrown out. I had to keep elbowing you. /Mindy: Yeah, well I got a latte at concessions. Regular, with the caffeine, specifically so I would stay awake. Well, between the sugar crash and the three different kinds of warm milk…(Mindy shrugs) so now, I make my own lattes to help me sleep. /TIC: But, I couldn’t find milk that was still good. /Mindy: Did you check the cupboard? (Mindy reaches behind the cans of tuna, grabs a can of “Candensation Canned Milk”.) This, plus powdered creamer work just as well as the fresh stuff. Who wants a latte? /Arnie: We’ll all have one. You make them better than anyone. /Mindy: Thanks. /TIC: I’m already toasting a bagel. Anyone else want a bagel? /Arnie: Sure, we’ll all have one. /TIC: Alright. /Mindy: Hey, I don’t want a bagel. /Arnie: Make her one, anyway. I’ll have it. /Mindy: Well, in that case, I don’t want mine toasted. /TIC: Toast the others? /CIT: Sure. /Arnie: Toast ’em all. /Mindy: Didn’t you hear me? I just said I didn’t want mine toasted. /Arnie: But, you said you weren’t having it. /Mindy: And you said you were having mine. And, mine isn’t toasted.

11/16/09
/TIC: Mindy does have a point, there. Would you rather have two bagels of your own, then one of Mindy’s? /Arnie: As long as they’re both toasted. (They grab their 4 lattes and three toasted bagels and go to the living room.) /TIC: What’s on TV? /Mindy: Dust. /TIC: No, I mean, what shows? /Mindy: I don’t know. (Arnie turns it on.) /TV: Now, you can have your very own AIR GUITAR. Choose from ten different styles, plus, if you call within the next five minutes, we’ll throw in, at absolutely no extra charge, a bonus ACOUSTIC Air Guitar. Just pay tax, shipping, and handling. /CIT: You know what would be cool? /TIC: What? /CIT: An organ that was actually modeled after a human organ. /TIC: Oh, like a giant pair of–/Mindy: Oh, Candy! That’s terrible. /TIC: I was going to say “lungs”. You know, lungs you can play like an organ, with the pipes coming out? /Mindy: Oh. /CIT (smiles): That would be cool. /Arnie: I wonder if you could use the air from those Air Guitars they just showed to play your organ. /CIT: I don’t know, but I really like the giant lungs idea, because musical organs and lungs are not only both organs, they also both need air to function. /Arnie: We should form a band. You, Tim, will play the lungs organ; you, Candy, will play the Air Guitar, and I’ll play the remote. /TIC: What about Mindy? Is she in our band? /Arnie: Of course. (Arnie walks over, sees his girlfriend snoring on the couch.) She’ll do vocals. (They share a laugh. CIT yawns, stretches, gets up.) /CIT: I’m beat. I’m going to bed. Let me know when it’s time to rehearse. /TIC: Alright. I’ll be there in a moment.

11/17/09
/TIC: We forgot to give our band a name. /CIT (from the hallway): The “Iron Lung.” If it’s not already taken. /TIC (smiles): I love it. /Arnie: That’s better than what I had in mind. /TIC: What did you have? /Arnie:I was gonna have us all dress up in white lab coats and goggles, have some stage explosions, add a reall cool bass, let the audience provide the acid, and call our band “Organic Chemistry.” (TIC shrugs.) Like I said, “Iron Lung” is better. Hey, I just remembered something. /TIC: What? /Arnie: You were gonna tell me a secret. /TIC: Oh, yeah. You know why Tim and I haven’t set a date, yet? /Arnie: Why? /TIC: ‘Cause I keep postponing the big day. /Arnie: And why is that? /TIC: I’m gonna tell you if you let me. /Arnie: Sorry. /TIC: Will you let me talk, already? /Arnie: Sure, go ahead. /TIC (sighs): I like women. /Arnie: And men? /TIC: No ‘and.’ But, I don’t want to break up with my fiance. I like Tim on an emotional, spiritual level. There’s just no physical attraction. /Arnie: Well, doesn’t Tim need to know this? /TIC (blurts): NO! (she takes a breath, then more calmly…) If he knows, it will be from me that he hears it from. So, please don’t tell anyone. /Arnie (shrugs): Okay. /TIC: Thanks. (she gets up, yawns, stretches) I’m going to bed. /Arnie: Me, too. Thanks for confiding in me. Oh, one more thing. /TIC: What? /Arnie: If you want to join Mindy and me… /TIC (looks directly at Arnie): Now, how would that work? Mindy doesn’t knowm and I’m not into guys. Thanks, anyway. /Arnie: Sure. I mean, eventually, someone else needs to know, right? You have needs like everyone else. /TIC: Right now, I need you to keep my secret from everyone else.

11/18/09
(TIC goes to bed, sleeps, dreams. TIC/Tim wakes up, yawns, hops out of bed, scratches his balls beneath his morning erec–WHAT? Tim lifts the band of his pajamas, looks down. He’s never seen a lovelier sight. He runs to the bathroom. Looks in the mirror. Yup, he’s BACK! He splashes on some pre-shave, shaves, then stops, even though he didn’t finish. He puts his pajama pants back on, puts some pre-shave on his face, then starts shaving his face. ‘I don’t have to shave my legs, anymore,’ he reminds himself. He finishes shaving his face, splashes on some after-shave, then goes back to bed, whistling. ‘Hey, Candy,’ he says as he approaches the still form in the bed. The form stirs, pulls the covers back. It IS Candy, looking like SHE should. ‘Hey, guess what?’ He sees her yawn. ‘What?’ ‘We switched back. ‘No, we didn’t. ‘What do you mean we didn’t? I’m a man, again, and you’re a lovely woman.’ ‘We’re not even having this conversation.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean you’re dreaming. ‘I am not.’ ‘Go back to sleep. Actually, no, you’re already asleep. Wake up.’ TIC shifts, thrashes around in bed, wakes up, checks down there.) /TIC: Dammit! (She looks up at the ceiling.) Not funny, NAP. Not funny. (The form in bed stirs. A male voice comes from the covers.) /CIT: Sweetie? That you? /TIC: I thought it was me. Just a dream. /CIT: Well, could you keep it down, please? I’m trying to sleep. /TIC: Keep it down, you ask? /CIT: Yeah. /TIC: How can I do that? You’re the one who has it now. /CIT: Huh? /TIC: Never mind. Sorry to have woken you up. /CIT: That’s okay. I just want to snooze a little more.

11/19/09
/CIT: What’s that rustling? /TIC: Sorry. I’m just getting my notes for my story. /CIT: About NAP? /TIC: Yup. /CIT: I’d like to sleep some more, if that’s okay with you. /TIC: You don’t need my permission to sleep. /CIT: No, but I do need you to quiet down a little. /TIC: Sorry. /CIT: No need to apologize. (CIT turns over. TIC leaves the bedroom. Goes to the living room. Turns on the light. Sits on the couch with her notebook in her lap.) /TIC: That dream you gave me–that really pisses me off. I’m gonna get you back. (TIC writes.) NAP is about to leave his apartment to go to the bus stop to work when he spills a can of soda that was on the counter. He cleans up the spill, throws the paper towels into the already full trash bag, then decides to change the bag since he was going outside, anyway. So, he grabs the bag of trash, grabs his purse (more like a canvas briefcase, but it has a shoulder strap, so I call it a purse) and walks outside. The bus is turning the corner. NAP races to the dumpster, tosses the trash, passengers are getting on; NAP races over, legs and arms pumping, cold air burning his lungs and throat. He’s getting closer, almost there, the bus starts to pull away, NAP tries to wave it down, the bus keeps going, NAP chases it to the next stop before finally giving up. A bus for a different route comes by. NAP figures he can take it to a connecting bus to the train station, so he gets on it. The connecting bus, though, takes him so far out of his way, he’s actually back by his apartment before he finally sees the train station. (TIC cackles to herself) You’re gonna have lots of time to think about what you did to me.

11/20/09
/NAP: Yeah, yeah, I know what happens. I get to work an hour late. No big deal. I only had 26 minutes of work, and I skipped lunch to make up part of the time. (TIC smiles) /TIC: I’m not done with you, yet. (writes again) You spill drinks a couple more times that day. /NAP: Yeah, and you also give me an idea for a dish I can make for my wife involving a certain kind of waffle, right before having me read an article where production of that brand is halted and supplies are running out. /TIC: Yeah, I WAS going to write that. /NAP: /well, I found and bought my waffles, the exact brand I needed, so how about you go on with YOUR story–not the one our writing, but the one you’re in? /TIC: That sucks. /NAP: What? /TIC: They were supposed to be out of your waffles. Hey, I did notice that you dropped that practice of having quotes for just yourself. /NAP: Yeah, I figure it’s bad enough I’m talking to the character in my story, I could at least do it without the quotes. Anyway, I haven’t opened the box of waffles, yet. /CIT (pads into the living room): Who are you talking to? /TIC: No one. I was just writing. /CIT (looks around, nose wrinkles, forehead furrows, combination looks almost like a question mark): No, I definitely heard two voices. Yours, and another woman’s. /TIC: Did you hear Mindy, maybe? /CIT: No, this voice was completely different. /TIC: You sure it was a woman’s voice? /CIT: I’m sure that’s what it sounded like. (CIT shrugs) Oh, well. I’m up, now. And hungry. You want to go get something? /TIC: Sure. What did you have in mind? /CIT: I don’t know. How about Doughnutrition? /TIC: What else you’ve got? /CIT: Mitch Maven’s? /TIC: The place to go if you’re cravin’ raven? /CIT: Yup. /TIC: Okay.

11/21/09

TIC (yawns): Actually, I’m more tired than hungry. I think I’ll go back to bed, first. Sorry. /CIT (shrugs): That’s okay. I’ll just grab something here. (TIC goes back to bed, sleeps, wakes up some time later. She turns, sees Mindy awake next to her.) /Mindy: Hi. (She smiles, showing her teeth.) Arnie told me something quite interesting. /TIC: Something about me? /Mindy: Yup. /TIC: Something I told him was secret and not to share with anyone else? /Mindy: Uh-huh. /TIC: So, why did he tell you? /Mindy: I told him before I like to experiment, not just limit myself to one gender. /TIC: Oh. Well, I haven’t really discussed this with my fiance, yet. /Mindy: So? What else haven’t you two discussed, yet? /TIC: What do you mean? /Mindy: Well, you just referred to your boyfriend, again, as your ‘fiance’. In all the time I’ve known you guys, you called him that, and yet, I’ve never seen a ring or heard any mention of a date. /TIC: So? /Mindy: So, how are you engaged? Opposing armies engaged in battle show more commitment than you two. /TIC: What about Arnie? How would he feel about us? /Mindy: We’re both women and he’s a guy. The whole idea of you and me turns him on. (Mindy backs off.) Talk to Tim. See what he thinks about you and me. If he’s against the idea, then we’ll talk no more about it. /TIC (her eyes narrow): I haven’t even told him I like women, yet. /Mindy: Well, how about you bring it up with him when you set a date for your wedding? (Mindy leaves.)

11/22/09
(TIC tosses, turns, tries to sleep more, gives up, gets up, goes to the bathroom, looks up, counts the fish on the ceiling. All thirteen are there. A few minutes later, she comes out, goes back to the bedroom, gets her clothes. This is her last pair of slacks. She still has half a closet full of skirts. Since the Switch, they’ve just been hanging on the hangers. She wore pants before, no reason why she has to change that now. She wonders if Mindy would be interested in any of them. She looks to be close to TIC’s size. Maybe Mindy has slacks? TIC pauses a moment, then asks herself, will Mindy get the wrong idea if I tell her I want to get into her pants? She shrugs.) /TIC: I guess I better do some laundry today. She goes out into the living room, and collides into CIT.) /CIT: Hey, babe. I’m happy to see you, too. /TIC: Sorry. /CIT: No problem. I brought back some food from the Craven Raven restaurant. /TIC: Thanks. (pauses) They really serve raven there? /CIT (smiles): Of course not. Its blackened chicken. /TIC: Oh. Do real ravens get offended at what these chickens are doing? /CIT: They’re probably glad they’re not on the menu. /TIC: Could we take a walk, now? I’ll eat it after we come back. /CIT: I was gonna use the loo. You want to eat while I’m in there? /TIC (shrugs): I guess that makes sense. How about walking me to work, later? /CIT: You don’t want to go by car? /TIC: No, the boss doesn’t care when I show up. I have time to walk there. /CIt: It’s a date. /TIC: Great. Later.

11/23/09
(Later) /CIT: So, what’s up? /TIC: A few things. First, Mindy is getting curious about our engagement. /CIT: Not that it’s any of her business, but why did she bring it up with you? /TIC: Well, we haven’t set a date or gotten a ring, yet. All we do is call each other the ‘F’ word. /CIT: The ‘F’ word?–Oh, ‘fiancee.’ /TIC: Yeah. /CIT: Well, you don’t know what it’s like being a little girl. The whole time you’re growing up dreaming of your Big Day, when you wear a billowy white dress, with lace and sequins, a long train, a huge blindingly bright diamond ring shining and scintillating on your finger, your Prince Charming taking you in his arms in front of everyone, giving you a big romantic kiss, then taking you away to a beach where you mount and ride horses together, then do the same minus the horses. And now–NOW–I can’t even wear a bridal gown at our wedding. Now, I’M in the role of Prince Charming, and there’s nothing charming about it. /TIC: So we should keep trying to Switch back? /CIT: I think so. I mean, there are definite advantages to being a man, but it’s not worth losing all my childhood dreams. (CIT bats at his eyes turns away from TIC. TIC rubs CIT’s shoulders.) /TIC: Yeah, I’d like to Switch back, too, if we can. The way we are now, I don’t think I could go through with the wedding night. I just can’t voluntarily switch my orientation, just because my gender was Switched against my will. (CIT stops walking, turns to face TIC.) /CIT: You know what? You were ALSO a MAN against your will. /TIC: “Against” may be too strong a word. I had no say in the matter either way.

11/24/09
/CIT: You and me both. /TIC: Yeah, that’s right. Sorry. /CIT (shrugs): Well, I guess we’ll continue being, uh, each other for a while, yet. So, how about a date? /TIC: Now, I’m going to work. Maybe later? /CIT: I mean a wedding date. /TIC: I’m sorry, but we’re completely different people now than when we first got engaged. Even though we started out, after the Switch, as still having the same minds and the same bodies all together, because of the Switch and our reactions to it, we’re no longer Tim and Candy. You get what I’m sayhing? /CIT: I think so. It’s kind of like parents and their kids. A kid will be generally similar in some ways to each parent, that’s where all the ‘ingredients’ come from to make the kid, but the kid is not identical to either one. /TIC: That’s the idea, yeah. So, you agree, then, that the people that got engaged were not us as we are now, but an entirely different variation of us that no longer exists. /CIT: Well, hold on, now. We still have memories of being the original Tim and Candy. /TIC: Yeah, so? We also have memories of loved ones who are no longer alive. It’s just like what you said about your childhood fantasy of your wedding day–now, neither one of us would be comfortable in the bridal gown you had dreamt about. /CIT: So, what’s your point? /TIC: I guess my point is, although we remember getting engaged, we’re no longer trhe same people who had gotten together in the first place. /CIT (looks directly at TIC): So, are we breaking up? /TIC: I don’t know what we’re doing. (sighs) I just–I guess I just need time to get used to the idea of being a woman.

11/25/09
/CIT: Hey, remember, you’re not just MY woman. /TIC: That’s right. /CIT: And, really whether we actually marry each other or not does not change the fact that we’re always going to have this special kind of intimate connection. /TIC: Yeah, but like I was saying befire, although we have an intensely personal awareness of each other, that doesn’t mean we know everything about each other. Our reactions to the Switch, and our lives since then, are unique, individual, and not known to each other. /CIT: I think I’m starting to understand this whole engagement dilemma a little better. /TIC: Good. /CIT: The Switch gave us a forced intimacy of each other that neither of us were ready for. It was a closeness, a knowledge, that even happily married couples don’t have of each other. So, at the very least, we need time to acclimate ourselves to each other’s bodies. /TIC: I’m glad you understand me–the “me” since the Switch, that is. /CIT: You know, another weird thing about this Switch, my memories don’t line up with this body. I remember things like wearing my first bra, and now, I’m not wearing one anymore. /TIC: I remember wearing my first bra, too. It was actually one of yours. /CIT: I know. I’ll tell you what. You can have all my bras until we Switch back. /TIC: Gee, thanks. You sure you won’t be needing them? /CIT: Hah, hah. /TIC: You had no idea you were so funny, huh? Well, here we are. The space shop. I guess I gotta go to work. /CIT: You want to meet for lunch? /TIC: Sure. /CIT: I’ll see you in four hours, then. /TIC: Alright. Bye. /CIT: Bye.

11/26/09
/TIC: Wait. You hear that? /CIT: Hear what? /TIC: That scratching sound. The noise goes all up and down my spine. You sure you don’t hear it? /CIT (shrugs): Sorry. /TIC: I think I know what it is. /CIT: Yeah. You’re hallucinating, again. /TIC: No, it’s NAP. He’s writing us, again, but he’s early this time. /CIT (shrugs again): Okay. /TIC: I know, it doesn’t matter to anyone else. It’s just a big deal to him. /CIT: About what time of day he writes? /TIC: Yeah. /CIT: Sounds to me like he gets overly preoccupied with the most insignificant things because he’s afraid to revise and submit his stuff. /TIC: I know. I made him like that. By overcoming the small things first, maybe he will work his way up to surmounting larger obstacles that actually matter, like his writer’s block whenever he tries to write a query letter. /CIT: And how’s YOUR writing going? /TIC: It’s not. /CIT: And why is that? /TIC: Because my NAP character isn’t that exciting. /CIT: Well, you’re the writer. Make him more exciting. (TIC shrugs, doesn’t say anything.) What’s one exciting thing you can say about NAP? /TIC: Well, I told you how people always think he’s a woman on the phone and–/CIT: The server with her back to him? (chuckles) Yeah, that’s funny. Did you actually put that in your story? /TIC: No, I just jotted it down as an idea. /CIT: You should use that. (TIC shrugs) Why don’t you use that? /TIC: Well, why would the server have her back to him in the first place? /CIT: I don’t know. Maybe she was busy doing something? It’s your story. /TIC (sighs): Yeah, unfortunately.

11/27/09

TIC: Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh. /CIT: What’s so funny? /TIC: Oh, it’s nothing much. Just the story I’m writing. The way I’m getting back at NAP is hilarious. /CIT: Oh. /TIC: Don’t you want to hear how I’m getting back at him? /CIT: Sure, but don’t you have to go in the shop? /TIC (shrugs): Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I have him taking a trip to San Diego with his wife, and behind him are a couple of screaming, bratty kids. /CIT: Yeah, so? /TIC: So, NAP and his wife are in the second to last row–assigned seats. They’re practically in the tail end of the plane, yet still they just manage to have kids behind them. /CIT: Okay. [Revision: 11/02/12: CIT: I bet years from now, NAP and his wife won’t even remember that flight.] /TIC: That’s not all, though. When they arrive, they can’t pick up their car from the car rental place. /CIT: Why not? /TIC: The company makes all sorts of trouble for them. NAP even calls his mommy to bail him out. /CIT: And she refused, of course. TIC: Nope. I did him up better than that. His mom agrees to help, but the car rental company won’t let her pay over the phone. It has to be on the computer, through some other agency, that might not even direct her to the same car rental. /CIT: So, they just turned them away? /TIC (smiling): Yup. And, to top it all off, I added a wicked case of diarrhea. And all this on their first night. /CIT: Well, they’ll just rent a car from someone else. /TIC: Most likely. I haven’t gotten that far in the story, yet. Well, anyway, I guess I better go in. At least make an appearance. /CIT: Alright. So, meet for lunch? /TIC: I don’t know when I’m eating, yet. How about we just meet when I’m done? A girl like me shouldn’t be alone on these mean streets. /CIT: A girl like you? That used to be a man?

11/28/09
/TIC: I’m sorry. I should have said a girl like YOU. /CIT: Hey, I can really get used to being a man. /TIC: Well, I’m no less a real woman than you are a real man. In fact, I was a woman longer than you’ve been a man. /CIT: No you haven’t. /TIC: You want to bet? /CIT: Sure. Bet what? Actually, during the entire Switching process, it is possible that it may not have been a simultaneous Switching. What I mean is, maybe you became me a moment before I became you? So, no thanks. /TIC: Are you sure you don’t want to bet? /CIT: Yes. /TIC: You made the right decision. I would’ve won. But, not for the reason you gave. /CIT: Well, why then? /TIC: You were born a girl, then became a guy. But, I was a woman all my life. /CIT: No, you weren’t. /TIC: When I left the womb, I was already a womb-man. A womb. A man. A womb-man. /CIT: Hey, that’s pretty good. /TIC: Thanks. /CIT: Well, I guess I’ll go now. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do at work. /TIC: So, we’ll meet for lunch, then? /CIT: I thought you said you didn’t want to meet for lunch? /TIC: Oh, well, I’ll call you when I’m ready for lunch. If you answer and you’re available, we can meet? /CIT: Sure, why not? /TIC: Alright. (TIC goes into the shop.) /TIC (to her boss): Hi. /Clerk: Go home. /TIC: Why? /Clerk: I’m giving you the day off. /TIC: Again–why? /Clerk: I asked some friends of mine to check out my fish. None of them saw it talk to them using air bubbles to form words. /TIC: So? /Clerk: So, I don’t appreciate being mocked in my own store. /TIC: I wasn’t mocking you. /Clerk: Bullshit. Everyone I showed that fish to said you were. I have no use for you, whatsoever–you are dismissed.

11/29/09
/TIC: Wait. How about my pay? /Clerk: Were you a paid employee? /TIC: Hell, yeah. /CIT: Hold on. (He goes behind the counter.) Let me find your paperwork. Where’s your “Employment Verification and Wage Form”? /TIC: I never filled one out. /Clerk: So, you were a volunteer. That makes it easier to fire you. /TIC: You just asked me a couple questions, then said I was hired. You never gave me any forms to fill out. /Clerk (shrugs): Well, I’m sorry. I guess since you never mentioned anything about the forms, I just assumed you were a volunteer. /TIC: I worked three days. Full-time. That’s 24 hours. And you better pay me. /Clerk (sighs): It’s your word against mine. And I say I don’t have to pay you. /TIC: Of course you have to pay me. I can sue you for not paying me. /Clerk: Take me to court, then. I’ll just counter sue you for emotional damages for playing along with my delusion about the fish. And, I have medical prescriptions, witnesses, all the evidence I need to win. /TIC: That’s just not right. /Clerk: You’re right. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Instead of suing you for thousands of dollars, I’ll simply accept the amont of your entire pay. Care to settle out of court? /TIC: I can’t afford to sue you. /Clerk: Yeah, especially with no evidence. /TIC (shrugs): I guess I have to settle. /Clerk: Great. Here’s a form for you to sign. /TIC: I’m not signing away my entire pay. /Clerk: So, you don’t want to settle? /TIC: Okay, I’ll sign the stupid paper. /Clerk: Great. And take that fish.

11/30/09
/TIC: The fish? /Clerk: Yeah. You and him seem to have a special rapport or something. The way you spend all that time with him. /TIC: Instead of what? Getting a bucket of water for your feet? /Clerk: Oh, yeah. You mind getting me my foot bath on your way out? /TIC: What do YOU think? /Clerk: Good. I’m glad there are no hard feelings. /TIC (her eyes widen, nearly pop out of her head): No HARD FEELINGS? /Clerk: That’s good. Hey, where are you going? /TIC: You really can’t expect me to draw your foot bath NOW. /Clerk: Well, I don’t think you want to wait until the end of the day, so I guess now will have to be okay. /TIC: No, I mean–never mind. I’ll get it. (TIC goes to the back of the store, fills the mop bucket with hot, soapy water, goes back to the front, and pours the water over the clerk’s head. TIC grabs the bowl with Master Betta that he had already brought to the front counter and walks past the sputtering, spluttering clerk. TIC steps outside, then looks at the bowl. The bubble nest spells ‘Sorry.’) /TIC: No, you’re not. /MBB: You’re right. I’m not. I was just trying to be nice. /TIC: By getting me fired? /MBB: I was tired. It was all I could think of at the time. I’m sleepy now, too. Vacation is really tiring. /TIC: At least you get a vacation. /MBB: And you don’t? /TIC: I can’t have a vacation without a job. (TIC keeps walking, she doesn’t notice where she and the fish go, just as long as they’re away from the shop.) /TIC: Why did you let him fire me? (TIC walks until she reaches the brownstone.) I hope no one’s awake inside. I really don’t feel like explaining how I got fired and didn’t even get paid for the work I did do.

12/01/09
(TIC steps inside the apartment.) /CIT: Back so soon? /TIC: Yup. /CIT: What happened? /TIC: I found out my job came without pay. /CIT: Really? I don’t blame you for leaving. I would’ve left, too. /TIC: Actually, I didn’t leave on my own. The scumbag fired me first, then told me he wasn’t paying me for the time worked. MY time. /CIT: Well, he knew you would quit first–not have worked for him in the first place–if he told you up front the job was volunteer, only. How can he get away with that, anyway? Can’t you sue him? /TIC: No. I never filled out any forms. He just told me I had the job. /CIT: He sounds like a con man. /TIC: He is. /CIT: We should try to sue him, anyway. So the con man becomes the convict. /TIC: No proof. /CIT: So, there’s nothing we can do? /TIC: That’s pretty much it. /CIT: Damn. /TIC: Exactly. Live and learn. /CIT: What’s that you’ve got? /TIC: My severance pay. /CIT: Oh. Does he do any tricks? /TIC: I’ve seen him talk by spelling out words with bubbles from his bubble nest. /CIT (smiles): No, really. That’s okay if he doesn’t do anything. /TIC: I just told you what he does. /CIT: You’re serious, aren’t you? /TIC: Yup. I sure am. /CIT: Will he do that for me? /TIC: I don’t know. Ask him and see. /CIT (to MB): Can you talk? (The betta moves some bubbles around to spell out a message.) [Author’s note: I’m shortening MBB–Master Betta’s Bubbles, to MB–Master Betta] /MB: Of course I can talk. I just can’t seem to stay awake. In my own universe, I’m on vacation, so that makes it harder to stay awake. /TIC: So, that’s why I’ve been feeling sluggish, lately. /MB/NAP: Yup. It’s because I’m so tired. I keep losing my train of thought. At least I made it to the end.

12/02/09
/CIT (to TIC): What are you going to do with that fish? /TIC: Keep it, I guess. That’s how my character NAP talks to me. I guess this fish is my muse. /CIT: So, what’s he telling you? /TIC: He’s telling me that he’s sleepy. At least, he was when I first came home. For him, that was last night. /CIT: Last night? /TIC: Yeah. Time moves differently in his universe. Kind of like two cars both flashing their turn signals. The two blinkers won’t flash at the same rate. /CIT: Interesting. /TIC: Yeah, so now I’m gonna wake him up a little. He’s on vacation in LA with his wife. /CIT: Californ-L-A! /TIC: Yup. /CIT: Yeah, so? /TIC: So, I’m gonna get him back for making me work for no pay. What’s LA famous for? /CIT: Warm weather? /TIC: What else? /CIT: Earthquakes? /TIC: What else? /CIT: Oh, I know. The La Brea Tar Pits. /TIC: What ELSE? /CIT: Rock groups? /TIC: AND? /CIT: Uh, TV shows? /TIC: Getting warmer. /CIT: I already said warmer weather. /TIC: And, I already said THAT’S NOT IT! /CIT: Well, you don’t have to yell at me. Game shows? /TIC: No. /CIT: Sports? /TIC: NO. /CIT: You’re yelling, again. Surfing, sunsets over the water, Channel Islands, gold. I don’t even know, anymore. Just do what you want for your character. I’m going to bed. (CIT stomps over to the bedroom, shoulders hunched. He slams the door. TIC watches his retreating form, flinches from the slam.)

12/03/09
/TIC: MOVIES! LA’s famous for MOVIES! (Silence answersher, punctuated with drawers slamming. TIC slowly walks over to the living room, finds her pens and notebooks, sits down, opens up to a fresh page, but, instead of writing about NAP, she simply writes, “I was wrong. I really, truly am sorry.” She folds the note in half, writes “To Tim, from Candy.” and slides it under the door. A couple minutes later, the note slides back out with three words, “Thanks, me, too.” TIC knocks on the door. CIT opens it, reaches out to TIC. They embrace. A few minutes later, they step back and face each other.) /CIT: Do you know why you pissed me off? /TIC: ‘Cause I yelled at you. I get impatient. I shouldn’t have acted like that. (CIT shakes his head.) /CIT: You really don’t get it, do you? /TIC: Get what? How I can be such an asshole? /CIT: No-no-no. Let’s sit down for a moment. Here on the bed. (CIT holds her hands.) What are you? /TIC: I already said I’m an asshole. /CIT: No. A dummy, perhaps, but definitely not an asshole. /TIC: Gee, thanks. /CIT: What’s your occupation? /TIC: I got fired, remember? /CIT: No, not your JOB. Your OCCUPATION. Aren’t you a writer? /TIC: Yeah. /CIT: What does a writer try to avoid? /TIC: Writer’s block? /CIT: What else? It starts with a ‘c’. /TIC: Critic? /CIT (smiles): Good. /TIC: I’m right? /CIT: No. That’s why it’s so good, because it’s NOT what I was thinking. It’s not a CLICHE. I KNOW LA is famous for movies. So what? It’s so cliche.

12/04/09
/TIC: I never even thought of it. /CIT: That’s because you’re so hell-bent on getting even with this NAP character that you forget what’s really important–that you’re a WRITER, and a better one than your NAP. /TIC (sighs): Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m just tired. Rough day. /CIT: That’s okay. So, what was your idea, anyway? /TIC (shrugs): What idea? The whole thing is too cliched. /CIT: I didn’t even hear the actual idea, yet. Just that it happens in LA. /TIC: Well, okay. The idea goes something like this: NAP and his wife decide to see a movie after they’ve been driving around aimlessly for a while. The parking garage has a fee. They park, and as soon as they get out of the car, NAP has sudden, acute diarrhea. He doesn’t have time to buy tickets first, and while he’s in there, the last movie starts. So, when NAP is finally done, they’re both done with that mall. /CIT: And the fee? /TIC: I don’t know. Three fifty, maybe? /CIT: Per hour? /TIC: Of course. /CIT: You’re falling into a cliche, again. /TIC: How? /CIT: Parking fee per hour. How about lowering the fee to one fifty, but instead of per hour, make it per fifteen minutes. /TIC: Yeah, then I can keep him in there long enough to pay for a second fifteen minute installment. /CIT: And, the next day they find out they could’ve parked there for free. /TIC: Yeah! Thanks. /CIT: Sure. /TIC: I don’t know what else to do. Usually, I’d still be at work. /CIT: Well, if you want…(CIT winks) /TIC: I don’t think you really want to do that with me. You’re just saying that ’cause NAP keeps falling asleep.

12/05/09
/TIC: I have another idea, based on the same theme. /CIT: Of, uh, ‘using the facilities?’ /TIC: Yup. /CIT: Should I ask what it is? /TIC: Probably not. /CIT: Okay. /TIC: But, I’ll tell you, anyway. /CIT: I figured. /TIC: Okay, first, NAP and his wife are driving around Hollywood. They go to this fancy restaurant with marble pillars and loud music. NAP, of course, has to excuse himself. The room has only one stall. NAP has to use it, no matter what. Even though someone with bad aim had threw up in there. /CIT: Gross. /TIC (smiles): I know. And afterward, he still had to go back to the table and eat. /CIT: That’s pretty good, but I’ve got one better. /TIC: What? /CIT: I said, ‘I’ve got one better.’ /TIC: No, I meant what idea do you have? /CIT: After he leaves the stall, as he’s washing his hands, he sees a giant candy dish filled with lollipops and hard candy. /TIC (shrugs): I don’t know. /CIT: Why not? /TIC: Candy goes by the entrance or on the counter by the bar. No one would put a candy dish in the restroom. /CIT: No one? Sounds to me like you’re overgeneralizing. /TIC: Maybe, but I just want to keep it realistic. /CIT (shrugs): Whatever. It’s your story. /TIC (yawns): Well, I don’t want to talk about writing right now. I just want to take a break. /CIT: I don’t blame you. We’ve been talking about your writing for awhile, now. /TIC: So? /CIT: So, just because your job ended doesn’t mean we still can’t have lunch together. /TIC: You’re right. /CIT: So, where do you want to eat lunch? /TIC: I don’t know. Here, I guess.

12/07/09
/CIT: Let’s go out, we’ll just cruise. And down the road, a place we’ll choose. [Author’s note: I can’t take any more of this rhymin’ crap.] (TIC and CIT head toward the front door, but before they leave, a voice shouts from behind them.) /Voice: Goodbye! /CIT: Did you hear something? /TIC: I sure did. Arnie? Mindy? /Voice: Neither. /CIT: Are you that fish? /MB: Yeah, and thanks for not calling me by my name: Master Betta. I have some words, too. /TIC: Go ahead. /MB: It’s obvious to all, you see. That I’ve got NAP channeling me. But, it ain’t just me he’s got, you know. He’s got us all, he controls the show. And that’s about it. I’ll let you go. /CIT: Well, that was weird. /TIC: Yeah, that fish only talked in bubbles, before. /CIT: Maybe it wasn’t him? /Voice: You’re right. It wasn’t. /CIT: Who said that? /TIC: Who else? NAP, of course. /CIT: That you brought to life? /TIC: Yup. The funny thing is, I made HIM think that he brought US to life. I even let him control a little betta fish. But, that’s the extent of his power. /CIT: I thought you blamed him for the Switch? /TIC: No, that’s the government. Anyway, I’m starved. Could we get going? /CIT: Sure. Ladies, first. /TIC: You were a lady longer than I was. /CIT (winks): I was no lady. (TIC walks out the door, followed by CIT.) /MB: Hey, I have a new poem. Hello?

12/08/09
/CIT: I saw in the paper a new place we can try for lunch. /TIC: Yeah? What place? /CIT: The Take’n’Bake. /TIC: The Take’n’Bake? /CIT: Yeah. /TIC: What’s that about? /CIT: We’re pulling in, now. We’ll both see how it works in a moment. /TIC: This looks like someone’s house. You sure this is the right place? /CIT (checks the paper): This is the address in the newspaper. /TIC: So, we just park in this guy’s driveway? /CIT (shrugs): I guess so. /TIC: I hope no one tows our car. /CIT: It should be alright. /TIC: ‘Should be?’ You don’t really know, do you. /CIT: Nope. Should we go somewhere else? /TIC: We’re here, already. Are you auditioning for a TV show? /CIT: No. Why? /TIC: You’ve got makeup on. /CIT: So? /TIC: So, you’re a guy, now. /CIT: So? Why should I give it up? Guys can have blemishes, too. Besides, one of us should wear some, at least, and you’re not using it. /TIC: I’ve got enough going on with being a woman. I don’t need to complicate things further. /CIT (His eyes narrow, his forehead forms angry squiggles, like snakes about to attack.): Oh, really? You don’t know a damn thing about being a woman. You know that achy feeling you get sometimes down there? /TIC: You mean the cramps? /CIT: No, this isn’t a monthly thing. That deep down kind of ache. /TIC: What about it? /CIT: Well, I’ve never been with a guy before, well, except for my stepdad, but, as I said before, he was always careful not to scar me–physically. Anyway, this guy–I’m hungry. Ready to go in? /TIC: What about this guy? /CIT: I don’t feel like getting into it, now.

12/09/09
/TIC: Before we go in, I want to show you something. /CIT: What? /TIC: Read the passage right here. /CIT: About NAP? /TIC: Yup. /CIT: You’re just fixated on this character of yours, aren’t you? /TIC: Just read it. /CIT: “NAP has two cats. The older one has [AUTHOR’S NOTE: Well, first of all, in TIC’s universe, TIC is the author, but here in my universe, I, NAP, is the author, so this is NAP’s note. The cat TIC is discussing with CIT is Bentley. Bentley is a cat I, NAP, and my wife, lost in 2011 to cancer. Back in 2009, Bentley was not diagnosed with anything beyond what the vet at the time called a “thyroid condition”. Since then, NAP and his wife went to other vets until they found a great one that gave Bentley excellent care in his final months. This story, though, isn’t about Bentley. It isn’t really about anything, I just make it up day-to-day (or TIC makes it up and writes it through me, either way is equally plausible, depends which universe, mine or TIC’s, is your reference point). Anyway, I’m going to do my best to not disrupt the story too much, and to retain anything that may be relevant to subsequent pages. But, the NAP in 2009 never intentionally joked about Bentley’s symptoms, because that NAP didn’t know that anything was wrong with that wonderful cat. So, I, the NAP of 2013, is going to read ahead, leave out what needs to be left out, and leave in what needs to be left in. If it helps the story, and it’s handled the right way, I can allude to Bentley in the story, but anything that doesn’t help I’ll leave out of this typed version. Sorry about this long, poorly written note.] /CIT: The older one has what? /TIC: Never mind. (TIC takes a pen and scratches out text.) It’s not as funny as I thought, at first. [AUTHOR’S NOTE: The Bentley portion didn’t take as much text as I had originally thought. I can pick up the story, now, from the 2009 original.] /CIT: Why do you call your character “NAP”, anyway? Does he fall asleep a lot? /TIC: Every night. Well, except for occasional insomnia. /CIT: You know what I mean. /TIC: Yeah, I know. I gave him just some name to fit those initials, because they really stand for “Not an Actual Person.” /CIT: Oh, because he’s just a character you made up? /TIC: Exactly. But, he thinks he’s the author of us. /CIT: No one’s the author of ME. /TIC: Nor me, but NAP thinks he is. /CIT: Even though HE’S the character. That’s actually pretty good. /TIC: Thanks. /CIT: So, what’s so great about him? /TIC: Nothing, really. That’s also why he’s NAP. Bores you to sleep. /CIT: Which is why you’ve got to quit fixating on this character. You’re using him as an excuse to not work on improving your writing. Writing about a boring writer–you can write better than that. I think it’s time you let him go. Don’t you have another story? About Sam?

12/10/09

/TIC: Sam? Oh, from the nude world. /CIT: Yeah, Sam. Why don’t you ever write about him? /TIC: I haven’t written about him since before the Switch. /CIT: Why not? That was a cute story. Sam and a lady friend of his got caught by, I remember, Hoods wearing hoods. /TIC: Yeah. /CIT: So, whatever happened to THAT story? /TIC (shrugs): I don’t know. I guess I’ve been taking a break from it. You ready to go in, yet? I’m famished. /CIT: Sure, I guess. /TIC: We’ll talk later, okay? /CIT: Sure. Just one more question. /TIC: Go ahead. /CIT: No, never mind. I answered it, myself. (CIT gets out. TIC follows.) /TIC: What was it? /CIT: I was gonna ask if, since the Switch, that meant I was supposed to get the door for you. But, then I remembered, when you were the guy, you didn’t get it for me, so that answers my question. (TIC shrugs) Like I said, never mind. (They go in. In the foyer is a coat check, followed by a shoe check, followed by a trouser check.) Wait a minute. Are we in Sam’s world? /TIC: No, trousers is as far as they go, I think. (After the foyer, TIC and CIT arrive in the kitchen, which consists of a small oven, a couch, and a freezer. A sign on the freezer says, “Select a box, then follow the instructions on the box.” TIC and CIT each grab a box.) /CIT: What’ve you got? /TIC: “Soggy Swan Parts.” And you? /CIT: “Green Bean Gassy Roll.”  Want to trade? /TIC (shrugs): Sure. What difference could it possibly make, is either one really food? /CIT: Good point.

12/11/09

(CIT and TIC start the oven, set the timer, and follow another couple to the  couch. A TV faces opposite the couch.) /TIC (to the lady): Is this your first time here? (Lady elbows guy, he drops the remote.) /Guy: Ow. That hurt. /Lady: So does being here. (Lady storms out. [Author’s note: I don’t think the lady’s departure actually caused the weather to change. I should probably come up with a better word for “leaving in anger.” Maybe I should simply say just that.] The lady leaves in anger. [Nah, that’s more telling than showing.] The lady shoved off the couch, hunched her shoulders, and slammed the door behind her. [Gettin’ there.] /CIT: What’s with her? /Guy: Hey, watch it. /CIT: Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you. /Guy: No. Watch the TV. (CIT and TIC look at the TV. The same couple from the couch are on the screen. /TV: /Guy: Hi. I’m Al Guy. /Lady: And, I’m Allie Lady. But, you may call us A. Guy and A. Lady of the “Take ‘n’ Bake”. /Guy: You ever want to go out for dinner, /Lady: All the time. /Guy: But, your spouse just wants to relax at home? /Lady: Yup. /Guy: Well, now you can have both. Guaranteed to please everyone. /Lady: Don’t believe him. /Guy: It’s the restaurant designed to be like eating at home. /Lady: Now, THAT you can believe. /Guy: I’m trying to do this tape for our customers. /Lady: What customers? /Guy: Here at Take ‘n’ Bake–/Lady: When can we take a break? /Guy: I’ll break something of yours in a minute. /Lady: If you gotta break something, you could start by breaking out your Diner’s Club card. /Guy: After pulling up the driveway of our beautifully landscaped front yard, you step inside the front door and immediately feel at home. /Lady: That’s because you ARE home. /Guy: Once inside, you can kick back, even kick off your shoes, coat AND trousers, anything to be more comfortable. /Lady: I’d be quite comfortable in a four-star restaurant. Even a three-star would suffice. /Guy: Then, you choose from among our fine selection of frozen dinner entrees, pop one into the oven, set the timer, then relax on the couch in front of our twelve-inch black-and-white TV. It’s all the fun of going out, but with all the comfort of eating at home.

12/12/09
/TV (continues): Lady: Comfortable until the heartburn begins. /Guy: Babe, I’m trying to make this video. You keep interrupting. /Lady: Go ahead and make your stupid video. I’m leaving. /Guy (gives huge, obviously fake smile to camera): And, after you eat your frozen dinner, remember to check out our dessert section in the same freezer of ready-to-heat-and-eat delights called “Frozen Tasteland”. /Lady (voice from off camera): What was that, sweetie? “Frozen Tastes-Bland” you said? /Guy (glares in the direction of Lady’s voice): Don’t forget to pay on your way out. /Lady’s voice (fainter): You’ll be paying for a while after you leave. (Tape ends.) /TIC: I noticed your lady friend left you both on the TV, and a few minutes ago. /Guy: Yeah, that’s right. Kinda neat, I guess. (Guy gets up.) Well (stretches), I’m beat. I’m going up. Please shut the door on your way out. It’ll lock behind you, automatically. /CIT: Shouldn’t we pay someone? /Lady (her voice from another room is faint but getting louder): Yeah. You should pay an attorney to sue my husband for food poisoning. /Guy: Heh-heh. Women. /TIC: Yeah, tell me about it (rolls her eyes). (CIT nudges her leg with the side of his shoe.) /Guy: Huh? /TIC: Uh, I mean, you know, other women. Why must they put up with guys who say they’ll take them out, then it’s just to someone’s else’s house. /CIT: What do we owe you? (CIT shoots a dirty look at TIC.) /Guy: Thirty dollars. /TIC: For what? Some frozen dinners? /Guy: Yeah. It’s how this experience combines eating out with staying in. Home-heated food at eating out prices. /Lady (has returned to the room): Wait. We also want to give you this coupon for a free meal for two. /TIC (reads coupon): It says “Good anytime.” That true? /Lady: Yup. /TIC: Then, we’ll use it now. /Guy (sighs): Great.

12/13/09
/TIC: Well, that worked out pretty well–for us, anyway. The whole evening was free. /Lady: Yeah. I’m just sorry that you STILL didn’t get your money’s worth. /Guy: If you’ll excuse us…/Lady: Goodnight. /Guy: Babe, may I chat with you a bit? (They head toward the kitchen. TIC and CIT can hear them.) /Guy: What did I tell you about giving customers those bogus coupons? /Lady: And what have I been trying to hint at about passing off this dump as a restaurant? No one cooks here. You even make the customers heat up the food, themselves. How do you get away with charging so much, anyway? /Guy: People expect to pay more when they go out. If they wanted to save money, they’d do their own grocery shopping. /Lady: Well, they save even more with these coupons. /Guy: I know. I really wish you wouldn’t do that. /Lady: Well, if you won’t take me out, then I’ll continue giving them out. /TIC (goes over to the kitchen): Hello? /Guy: Everything okay? /TIC: With us, sure. I was wondering if you two would like to go out with us. A roommate of ours works at a diner. We can go there to meet her and eat something. /Guy: Hmm. Maybe. (The oven dings.) Oh, but what about your dinners? They just got done. /Lady (removes them from the oven): And, they just got tossed. Let’s go. /Guy: I can’t believe you just threw out their dinners. Actually, yeah, I can. /Lady: That’s okay. You can just give them a refund. /Guy (splutters): Refund? It was free. /Lady: Exactly. So, what’s the problem? /TIC (to CIT): Sweetie, do you feel like going out? /CIT: If there’s food involved, count me in. /TIC: It’s the diner. /CIT (shrugs): Let’s go, then.

03/11/10
TIC: Keep your money. I don’t need your charity. (TIC storms out of her dressing room, her eyes wet. Behind her, she hears Amy) /Amy: I’ll take my pay. (TIC arrives in the restaurant, waves to CIT. CIT waves back, smiles. TIC runs over.) /CIT: What’s wrong? You look upset. /TIC: I’ll tell you later. Let’s go. /CIT: I don’t understand. I thought you had to work? /TIC: Well, I’m done. Probably for good. /CIT: What about Amy? (Amy comes over.) /Amy: Candy tell you? /CIT: That she’s done for tonight–/TIC: For good. /Amy: We both are. Let’s go to the car. (They leave the restaurant, get into the car. CIT starts it up and heads for home.) /CIT: What’s going on? /Amy: Well, as Candy said, we’re done for good, most likely, and it’s probably good that we are ’cause that manager is a total creep. /CIT: He seemed nice this afternoon. /TIC: Most creeps seem nice at first (TIC dabs her eyes.) You ever watch daytime talk shows? “At first he was so nice and everything was so perfect. Next thing I know, I had bruises i and around my–/Amy: Okay, we get it. Look, I know it’s unpleasant what hapened, but after losing my spouse to some hospital conspiracy, the actions of one creep kind of pale in importance to me. /TIC: I’m sorry. You’re right. /CIT: I still don’t know what the manager did. /Amy: He pretended to have some crazy products that can change your appearance, to look like the opposite sex.

03/27/10
(Early evening. TIC and Mindy just finished dinner at home. Mindy is going to drive TIC to the diner for TIC to get hired there as a dishwasher. TIC grabs some dishes, goes to the kitchen, puts them in the sink, and turns on the faucet. Mindy reaches over TIC’s shoulder and shuts the water off.) /Mindy: You don’t need to be doing that. Not if you’re going to start work as a dishwasher. Leave that for one of the men. /TIC (shrugs): OK. (Mindy and TIC go to the car. Mindy drives.) /Mindy: You remember that nice manager Manny? /TIC (smiles): Yeah. /Mindy: Well, he doesn’t work at the diner, anymore. /TIC: Oh. Why’d he leave? /Mindy: While at the diner, he used to moonlight as a substitute teacher. The other day he passed his certification and got hired full-time to teach junior high. What is it? /TIC: Oh, nothing. /Mindy: What? Tell me. /TIC: Oh (shrugs) it’s just that I used to teach a long time ago. /Mindy: Yeah? I think I remember your fiance saying he taught before, too. /TIC (wants to smack herself–she told Mindy, already, that she taught–when SHE was Tim.) Yeah, well, it was long ago. /Mindy: Well, what happened? /TIC: Uh, I didn’t get recertified in time. /Mindy: Well, here we are. (Mindy turns into the lot and parks the car.) Good luck. /TIC: You’re not going in with me? /Mindy: Nope. I’m off, today.

06/29/10

TIC: Now what? /Debbie (picks up her guitar): Now, you get a hobby to keep from going crazy. (Twang. Plink. Strum.) /TIC: Writing is my hobby. /Debbie: Maybe we can collaborate. You can write songs and I can play them. /TIC: Maybe. The guards took my notebook when I first, uh, checked in. /Debbie: “Checked in.” I like that. But, yeah, I guess you would have to expect that, being accused of the big T and all. /TIC: The “big T?” Oh, treason, right. /Debbie: Yeah, so you can count on them not giving that back to you. However, I don’t see why the can’t let you have fresh paper and pens for writing. Ask the warden next time she comes by, /TIC: Good idea. (Warden comes by. Bells clang, doors open. TIC and Debbie are herded off to the cafeteria again. TIC grabs her tray, sits with Debbie.) /TIC: Baloney? /Debbie: Something like it. My dad was in the military. He used to call his MREs “Meals Ready to Excrete.” That’s what I call prison grub. /TIC: “Meals Ready to…” Hey that’s good. /Debbie: No, they weren’t. TIC: I mean the joke. /Debbie: Yeah, he had a sense of humor. His last words, as he lay on the battlefield with a bullet in the head was, “I need this bullet like I need a hole in the head.” /TIC: Those were really his last words? /Debbie: No, but they sound better than “Unngh.” /TIC: Yeah, I guess. Sorry about your dad. /Debbie: My mom was also hit. She was a nurse and the camp got blasted. /TIC: Ouch. /Debbie: So, enough about me. Your parents still around? /TIC: No. They died long ago. I barely remember them. /Debbie: How did they go? /TIC: Freak accidents or something. I forget the details. It was so long ago and I was young. I can barely remember what they look like. You think I’ll ever get my notebook back? /Debbie: Like I said, I doubt it. /TIC: It had a lot of writing in it. /Debbie: About what? (TIC told her.) That’s clever.

06/30/10
(Pluck. Plink. Twang. Strummm) Debbie: Sometimes it’s hard to get the right strings to vibrate, especially with my small feminine hands. /TIC: Yeah, but with smaller fingers, wouldn’t that help with dexterity? /Debbie: Depends what kind of smaller: thinner, good; shorter, not so much. /TIC (shrugs): Well, there’s always the ukelele. So, what did the warden want? [REWIND: M.W. at Debbie’s cell, passes a note to her, then leaves.] /Debbie (looks down, pokes under beach fluorescent lights.): Yeah, well, um, that my lawyer wants to meet with me to discuss my case. /TIC: Oh. Well, maybe he has good news to discuss with you. (Debbie puts down the guitar.) /Debbie: You don’t yet know how this system works. The lawyer you’re assigned to meets with you once, then takes your case to the courts. You lose, then your lawyer motions for an appeal. You lose that, then your lawyer keeps appealing your case as many times as he or she can. Once the courts decide no more appeals, you’ve lost and that’s it, then the only “good news” is that you get to decide what you get to eat before our last act. /TIC: Wow. That really how it works? /Debbie: In this universe, yes. /TIC: Damn. /Debbie (shaky, but tries to smile): Hey (voice tremors, quavers), like I said, dying is something we all gotta do sometime, but not everyone gets to have a gourmet meal right before they go. /TIC (tears sting her eyes ,but she forces them to stay open): Hey, you’ve been realy good to me. I really appreciate everything. /Debbie: Hey, come on, now (swipes at her eyes), don’t get all mushy on me. /TIC (tears trailing down her cheeks): Can’t you get a different lawyer? /Debbie: It won’t change anything. Once you’ve lost your last appeal, that’s it. Let’s not talk about it, anymore.

07/01/10
Debbie (wipes at her eyes again): You said something about writing. /TIC: Yeah, but I can’t show you my stuff, ’cause the warden took it away. /Debbie: Yeah, you said that, but you could still tell me about it. /TIC: Didn’t I mention what it was about, already? /Debbie: Maybe. Well, how about getting assigned to library duty? Then, you can do more writing and even research there. /TIC: That’s a good idea. [REWIND: Earlier, when CIT visits TIC, it’s in that room with the phones, NOT her cell.] (MW comes to TIC’s cell, unlocks her cage.) MW: Come with me. (TIC goes with MW.) You have a visitor. (MW leads TIC to the room with the phones and glass. A guy in a lemon-yellow business suit with purple elbow patches is sitting across form her, on the other side of the glass. TIC picks up the receiver.) /TIC: Who are you? /Guy: My name is A. Turnee. I’d give you my business card, but the glass…/TIC: Why would I want your business card? /A.Turnee: I’m your attorney. /TIC: I’m already engaged, so you can forget about being mine, Mr. Turnee. /AT: No, I’m your ATTORNEY. Your lawyer. /TIC: Oh. I’m sorry. /AT: No poblem. Your fiance is actually the one who found me. /TIC: Oh. /AT: And, I’m ready to joust for you. /TIC: Joust? /AT: Yeah, it’s a renaissance fair term. I like to go there everytime I’m in the mood for a tourney. Get it? /TIC: Yeah. Well, sorry if I’m not laughing, but when your life’s on the line…/AT: Yeah (assumes a somber expression), you’re right. Down to business.

07/02/10

AT: Okay. (He puts his briefcase on his lap, snaps open the snaps, pulls out a sheaf of papers.) My secretary keeps telling me I should use folders, but I find the papers easier to read when they’re not folded, especially if the print side is not showing. Besides, they stay neat here in–/TIC: (interrupts him) The case? /AT: Yup. My briefcase. That’s right. Right where I keep my legal briefs. Better than down my pants. /TIC: No, MY case. /AT: You’ve got one, too? Nice, aren’t they. Gotta watch out, though, not to pinch your fingers in the snaps. I did that once. Hurt like the dickens. You know, I don’t know how that expression came about. Had to read Charles Dickens for school, it didn’t hurt at all. (TIC’s eyes are wide, she’s glaring at him.) /TIC: I don’t care about your briefcase. I don’t care about Dickens, and I don’t care that you pinched your fingers. You either help me with my case, or I’ll get a new attorney. I’m sorry, but my life is on the line, my time is limited, and the warden will come back for me any moment and take me back to my cell. (TIC breaks down and sobs. AT just looks at her, eyes and mouth both wide open.) AT: Gees, I’m so sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood. I had a dear friend who was wrongly executed by the state. One thing I recall about prison life is how grim it is, and I just try to crack jokes to get the client to smile or maybe even chuckle a little. (He clears his throat.) No more jokes. All business now. /TIC: I’m sorry. (TIC whispers) Sorry.

07/08/10
TIC: Gesundheit. /CIT: Huh? /TIC: You didn’t sneeze just now? /CIT: No. I was talking about Aziz. /TIC: Who’s Aziz? /CIT (smiles): Bless you. /TIC: Don’t bless me. /CIT: Aziz sold mbe the ball. /TIC: Well, I’m confused about something. /CIT: What? /TIC: Just because you buy a balloon that resembles a small imflatable White House doesn’t mean you were going to go to the actual White House. /CIT: True. /TIC: So how did Aziz plan on using you to use the ball to blow up the White House? /CIT’s brow wrinkles.) /CIT: That’s a good question. I really don’t know. /TIC: Does A. Turnee know about this Aziz character? /CIT: No. /TIC: I thik we’re done, here. Oh, one more thing. /CIT: What? /TIC: I really don’t want to get you in trouble at all, but do yo think we should tell A. Turnee about our whole Switch thing? /CIT: I don’t see why not. A. Turnee is on our side. We should tell him everything. /TIC: Great. We’ll both meet with A. Turnee have ourselves a three-way. In the meantime, call AT and see what he can find out about this Aziz character. You remember where you got the souvenir ball? /CIT: Yeah. It was at a street vendor right outside the White House. (Tic’s frown furrows, the ends of her mouth droop.) So, you were already close enough to the White House–/CIT: To blow it up? We don’t know that. That place has a lot of acreage around it–big front- and backyards. And, I never told him I was going there. /TIC: True. Well, call A. Turnee, okay? /CIT: Sure thing. /TIC: Tell him we both need to meet with him after he checks o Aziz. /CIT: Absolutely. (He chances a smile.) How much longer do we have this room? (a knocking sounds) /MW: Time’s up. (TIC smiles.)

07/13/10
(TIC looks toward the stage. Sees MC get up, strategically hiding behind his guitar. An MC T-shirt (white background) is tossed onto the stage. MC catches it single-handedly, hides it behind him, then shouts, “Here’s your autograph!” and tosses it back into the crowd. TIC doesn’t duck in time, shirt hits her in the face. MC’s “autograph” is plastered to her right cheek. Fighting the urge to vomit, she scampers back toward the stage. Security guard stops her.) /SG: Where do you think you’re going? /TIC: I need that guitar. /Guard: You can have Malice Cooper’s guitar. [Revision: 11/02/12: Possibly change “Cooper” to “Pooper”] Why would you want it, anyway, after seeing where it’s been? /TIC: Look, I don’t know how I wound up in a Toilet Zone episode, but all I need to do is borrow that guitar for a second. I’ll disappear and laeve the guitar behind. In the meantime, here’s something that your Malice Cooper left behind. (TIC swipes at her cheek with the clean part of the shirt, throws it at the guard’s face, then throws herself back onto the stage. MC has his hand resting over the guitar-shaped flush-handle.) /MC: Who else wants an autograph? /TIc: Got one, thanks. (TIC dives toward the guitar hole. Somehow, the strings part on their own and the hole expands. TIC feels that now-familiar sucking feeling, then everything goes black. TIC opens her eyes, sees N. and Bar.) /tIC: You sent me to the wrong universe. /Bar: Sorry. There are so many, you know. /TIC: Actually, that’s okay. I don’t really want to go back to jail, anyway. /N.: Jail? /TIC: Yeah. I’m innocent, though. /Bar: Sure. What convict isn’t? /N: Crime’s been outlawed in our world for centuries. /TIC: Well, it’s illegal on Earth, too, but people still do it. /N: Doesn’t matter. You have to go. You’re coordinates are all set. Goodbye.

07/27/10
TIC(looks at Debbie.): You sayin’ you want to set up camp here? /Debbie(shrugs): What else are we gonna do? /TIC: We should’ve hopped that whirlpool out of here. /Debbie: Down, you mean? /TIC: We arrived here via the ocean. /Debbie: And nearly drowned in the process. /TIC: But, we didn’t drown. /Debbie: So, we missed our golden opportunity to ride the Soggy Express back to jail so we could attend our own executions. At least here we have a chance. /TIC: To drink toilet water? /Debbie: Maybe here a toilet isn’t a toilet? /TIC: Huh? /Debbie: How do we know it’s not a well? /TIC: Well…/Debbie: Exactly. We don’t. /TIC: Well…/Debbie: Yeah. A well. /TIC: Well, what I’m trying to say is we’re not exactly well after drinking from your version of a well. /Debbie (eyes flash): Hey, missy, this ain’t MY version of a well. I’m as much a stranger here as you are. /TIC: But, we got sick from this water! /Debbie: No, we didn’t. We got sick because our minds told us that that’s how we should react. To the natives here, we’re the sickos defacating in wells. Did you ever see anything in that toilet besides clear, cool water? /TIC: I don’t remember. /Debbie: Well, I sure would remember if I saw something like that. /TIC: Yeah, me, too, I guess. /Debbie: Well, it’s getting dark. Maybe we should think about setting up camp. Unless you have a better idea. /TIC: No. /Debbie: Alright. Get some of that driftwood. I’ll get a fire going. /TIC: You have matches? /Debbie: I found a piece of glass on the beach, earlier. The sun isn’t gone, yet. (TIC gathers wood and dried grasses into a pile. Debbie uses the glass to set it ablaze.)

11/16/10
(Candy B clears her throat. TIC and Deb look over.)/TIC: Sorry. /Candy B: About what? You two are fine. I was great friends with a Debbie, also. /Deb: Yeah? /Candy B: Relax, it’s a common name. /Deb: I know. /Candy B: This Debbie is nothing like you. Sure, you two may have looked alike at one time, but now there’s a major difference between you two. A difference big enough to prevent me from ever introducing you two. /Deb: Yeah? What? /Candy B: My Debbie is dead. /Deb: How did she die? /Candy B: We met in prison. We both wanted to leave. I got out one way, she got out another. I wouldn’t recommend her way. It involved 50,000 volts of electricity. /TIC: You told me you got a pardon at the last minute or somethng. /Candy B: Yeah. I did, she didn’t. I’m sorry we didn’t try to escape. Maybe we’d both be here. /TIC: You can’t blame yourself. /Deb: Yeah, we had this guitar that allowed us to travel between universes. /Candy B: Yeah? What happened to it? /TIC: It quit working. Candy B: Oh. Clark has a side business selling guitars. /TIC: We know. First time we met, Clark was in this guitar shop. /Candy B: Think any of his guitars might work for travelling? /Deb: Don’t know. But, it’s not that simple. Supposing we DID get back. How do we know we wouldn’t just land right back in our prison cell? /TIC: Even if we were guaranteed to not wind up back on Death Row, there’s always the lovely possibility we’d land in a crocodile pit. /Deb: Or 35,000 feet in the air. /TIC: Or in the middle of the ocean. You know, when we did arrive here, we are damn lucky that not only did we not drown, but we also found land before sharks found us. /Candy B: Wow. It’s really dangerous to travel between universes. /TIC: Yeah. /Deb: Though you don’t really travel in space, you would probably need a fully stocked space ship that could travel in air and water and on land, too. /Candy B: Plus a disguise, so people wouldn’t recognize you once you left the ship. /TIC: Great idea. /Deb: Yeah.

11/20/10
Deb: Another idea, maybe, is to give contradictory descriptions: the three ladies sat around the sturdy, flimsy solid oak collapsible card table. /TIC: That doesn’t even make sense. /Deb: That’s the point.Truly horrible. I ahve another idea. /Candy B: What? /Deb: A three-way staring contest combined with a quiet contest: no language, no talking, no looking away. Blinking’s okay, though–that’s involuntary. You guys ready? /TIC: Wait. You sure this will work three-way? /Deb: We won’t know unless we try. /TIC: A cliche, good. /Deb: Or is it “UNTIL we try?” /Candy B: I think I like “unless” better. /TIC: Now, we’ve got a little bit of a dilemma: go with what sounds worse, or try to keep to the original cliche? /Deb: Maybe we can think it over during the staring contest? /TIC: Good idea. (TIC stares at Deb stares at Candy B stares at TIC stares at Candy B stares at Deb stares at TIC stares at–)/Candy B: So, when do we start? /Deb: We already did. Or is it “have?” /TIC (smiles big): I win. (TIC and Candy B slap (five fingers-toes)) /Deb: What exactly did you win, though? /TIC: We weren’t playing for prizes. /Deb: No, I know. But, the game didn’t last long enough to slow down the story–instead, with you and Candy B scheming together, we wound up just helping the story along. /TIC: Oh. Well, late as it is, how about we go to bed and have boring, dreamless, celibate sleep? /Candy B: Sure. /Deb: Speak for yourselves. I still got my Brian. /TIC: That reminds me. Your Brian lately has been staying in his room a lot. /Deb: Yeah, when he’s asleep. Sometimes when he’s awake, too. (Deb raises an eyebrow and smiles). /Candy B: You know, Twin, Brian is probably out all day when we’re at work. /TIC: That’s true. We don’t know for certain. /Deb: Well, it’s been fun. Now, I will go to Brian’s bed for a different sort of fun. Goodnight. /TIC and Candy B: Goodnight.

11/21/10
Deb (turns back): Oh, I forgot to tell you–I decided to try out writing. I’ll show you want I’ve got tomorrow if you’re interested. Goodnight. /TIC: Wait! You can’t say that and then just leave us hanging. Can you get your writing now? /Deb: (smiles) I can. I’ll be right back. (Deb leaves, comes right back.) Now, remember, I’m not a pro at this. /TIC: Neither am I. /Candy B: Me, neither, but I like to think I’m pretty good for an amateur. (Deb hands some papters to TIC and Candy B, then starts to leave.) /TIC: Where are you going? Deb: To bed. I’m not gonna hover over you, breathing down your neck, while you read my work. I can lie down and breathe on Brian’s neck, instead. A lot more comfortable. /Candy B: Did he see this, yet? /Deb: He doesn’t even know I wrote it. But, no, he didn’t see it, either. (TIC and Candy B start reading.) /Deb’s story: “There’s nothing beautiful about making babies. Now, before yo start–don’t. I know what you’re gonna say: ‘Of course it’s beautiful. It’s new life. How can that not be beautiful?’ Before I respond, I’ll just say first that I’ll skip the obvious: the birthing process, the diapers and spit-up. My reasons go a little beyond that. Hear me out–or I guess I should say–“read” me out. Though, if someone is reading this statement aloud to you, then I suppose ‘hearing’ would work. Anyway, first, if the miracle of making a child is so beautiful, then it’s somethng parents should want to share with their children. What parent would admit to hiding beautiful things from their own children? Well, how many parents here, a show of hands (or feet) please, want to show the act of conception to their kids? Themselves, in particular? Now, how many kids among you want to see their parents engaged i the act of conception? What, none of you? But, it’s BEAUTIFUL. Still no one? Why would so many of you kids and parents refuse to watch and let watch, respectively, such a beautiful act? Get my point?

11/22/10
So, we have decided that childbirth, and all the actions that result in childbirth, are hot actually universally accepted as beautiful enough to share with one’s own children or parents. Yes, I’m familiar with that old cliche about beauty being in someone’s eye or whatever. I’ talking about the majority of the population’s reluctance to share with their immediate family what policy dictates as beautiful. Now, my second position is that baby-making is ugly for another reason: It’s a completely selfish act. It is quite possible to enjoy the first act of baby-making, conception, without any babies resulting. A conscious decision to make children is selfish because the participants do it entirely for themselves. They want to show off their baby. They want to raise their baby any way that suits them. They don’t do it for the child–once the child becomes an adult< he or she is cast aside to fend for him- or herself. The parents, then, may engage in making another baby for their OWN enjoyment, just to cast that one out in less than twenty years. Or, they might make a second baby while still raising the first. Now, let me ask you–how is THAT not selfish? Making and raising a second kid while still raising the first means less time, money, and attention can be spent on the first kid. Plus, it has already been concluded taht the two kids won’t always get along, so the first AND second child will both be subjected to new, additional stress. All because the aprents wanted to have two or more children just for themselves. A third reason baby-making is an ugly, selfish act is because the parents engage in such an act with complete disregard for the effects of their actions on the rest of society and even on the planet. How many babies, out of all of them for all time, actually grew up to make the world a better place? And, those few that did get canceled out by the mass murderers, evil dictators. Plus, the planet suffers.

11/24/10
(TIC and Candy B go to their bedroom. TIC goes to her bed, Candy B to Deb’s farther bed. TIC lies down, stares at the ceiling in the dark, seeing nothing. She hears gentle snoring from the hter bed. She closes her eyes, they snap back open. Her eyes start feeling dry, her head feels heavy with the urge to sleep. She turns onto her right side. Tries her other side. Gets out of bed, tries the underside–of the bed. Too dusty–a fit of coughing erupts from her, doubles her over. She climbs back into bed, lies on her back, pulls the covers over herself, sweats, kicks them off again. Her sweat-soaked skin quickly chills, TIC rubs her arms for warmth, reaches for the covers again, pulls them over herself but sticks out her right leg and arm.) /TIC: (to herself) Now, one side’s hot and the other side’s cold. (TIC gets up, walks over to the living room. Her eyes are already used to the dim light. The living room’s deserted. She walks over to the TV, turns it on. A test pattern appears. Not the show “Test Pattern” from her native universe, but an actual test pattern. TIC tries to change the channel–the knob breaks off. She doesn’t know where Brian keeps pliers, or even how they would work since they would be designed for feet. She turns the volume down. The high-pitched hum is temporarily replaced by silence. A scream from her punctures it. She kicks away the broken channel knob, feels the bottom of her foot with her hand, then raises her hand and looks at it. Good, no blood. She walks over to the couch, somehow avoiding the coffee table in the process. She looks down at the coffee table after getting settled on the couch. She sees a puzzle book and a pen. She picks them up, turns on a table lamp. Inside is a crossword puzzle: first clue: an 8-letter word for not being able to sleep. TIC flips the page, finds a word-find. Word one: INSOMNIA. Word 2: FATIGUE. Word 3: EXHAUSTION. TIC throws the puzzle book down, snorts in disgust, then lies down on the couch. Her eyes stay wide open.

11/30/10
TIC: But, that was the only thing that made it so different. Women generally don’t have a female ego, which, in many cases, allows them to be more open to experimentation–with less emphasis on gender. The main thing that was so stupid about my refusal, well, i said that already about the two bodies already having done it together. /Candy B: You know the term “mind over matter?” /TIC: Yeah? /Candy B: Well, a body without any mind or spirit or whatever is just a hunk of meat. It’s all about the mind inside the body. Kind of like you can have the same exact two boxes, but one can be filled with jewels while the other one is filled with toxic sludge–the two boxes are no longer the same because of what’s inside. Anyway, you can keep blaming yourself for what happened in another universe, or you can decide to move on and try to act differently in the future. /TIC(sighs): Yeah. /Candy B: Besides, in your home universe, you were on Death Row, anyway. Right? /TIC: Yeah. /Candy B: So, to him, you’re probably dead, already. /TIC: Yeah, probably. Well, you want me to help put up the food? /Candy B: There’s not that much to put away. I’ve got it. Thanks. /TIC: Alright. Thanks for breakfast–and for your help. /Candy B(shrugs): Sure. We’re here for each other. TIC (reaches for her foot): Yeah, we are. /Candy B (grabs her hand with her foot): So, how’s your writing coming along? /TIC: Slowly. NAP oonce lived in an apartment that leaked rice and beans from the ceiling, so I had him microwave a frozen dinner of rice and beans and then drop it on the floor. /Candy B: Yeah, so where are you going with this? /TIC: I don’t know. I guess that’s what makes it boring to read. Has no point. /Candy B (smiles): I see it more as that’s what makes it realistic–ture to life. Real life doesn’t have a point, either. /TIC (smiles back): I didn’t see it that way, but you’re right. It IS true to life.

12/13/10
Host: So, Chris, you ready to play? /Chris: I am bored, already. /Host (forehead furrows in puzzlement): Sorry? /Chris: I said I was born ready. (He winks at the cameras.) /Host: Great. Your first question: Oh, who are we kidding? No one’s interested in this show. (Host raises a foot.) Hold on a moment. I’ve got an idea. Could you go to commercial for a moment? Thanks, I’ll be right back. Oh, and we’ll be right back after these messages. /TIC: They should fire that host. /Candy B: I don’t know. It isn’t really his fault what the show is about. I guess he just couldn’t take any more. /TV: Announcer: So far, our plan is still the same, so keep watching. /Candy B: It’s the announcer they should fire. /TIC: No argument, there. /Host: And we’re back. Chris, are you ready for your first question from this book of random trivia? Chris: Sure, I guess. I did spend months studying hunting regs, though. /Host: Well, hmm, for your hard work studying the regs, we’ll start you off at $1,000. Does this work for you? /Chris (smiles): Sure. /Host (smiles): Great. Here’s your first question: A diamond is so hard, nothing can cut it. True? Or False? /Chris: False. A diamond can be cut by another diamond. /Host: How confident are you with that answer. /Chris: Very confident. /Host: So, tell me what you want to do. /Chris: I want to go with that answer. /Host: So, you want to…/Chris: I just told you what I want to do. /Host: (forehead furrows again) In case there’s any confusion, I just want to clarify that though the questions have changed, the rest of the show’s format is the same. A correct answer will give you 25,000 dollars. In addition to the 1,000 you already have. So, for 25,000 dollars you want to…/Chris: Stick with my answer. /Host: So, you’re telling me you want to…/Chris: What I said, already.

12/14/10
Host: Chris, would you like us to go to a commercial while I explain the rules, again? /Chris: I know the rules. When I know the answer to a question you ask me, I say the title of this show. /Host: That’s right. /Chris: And, I know my answer is correct. /Host: Which means you want to…/Chris: Hear the next question, ’cause I know I answered the last one correctly. /Host (tries to hold his already strained smile, but all he can barely manage is to grimace.): Look ,part of your answer has to be the name of the show. /Chris: Why? What does the name of this show have to do with cutting diamonds? /Host: I’ll tell you. That question about the diamond cutting was asked on THIS show. So, the answer has to include the name of this show in order for it to count and for you to receive your price money. So, please, I’m begging you, what do you want to do with your answer? /Chris (smiles): I want to Lock’n’Lah. /Host: Lock’n’WHAT? /Chris: Lock’n’Louie, Louie-cue. Oh-o-oh. /Host (still smiling, no, grimacing): While hosting this show, Chris, I learned a little something about guns. So, you’re gonna answer the question in the proper format, or I’M gonna have to “Lock’n’Load”. (Police swarm the set. Two cops hold Mash down while a third cop footcuffs him.)/Host: Officers, what is this? /Footcuffing cop: Sir, you have the right to remain silent…(Host’s eyes are wide, like two full moons. Chris smiles at the Host.) /Chris: I was about to tell you that you’ve just been pranked. (Host laughs.) /Host: Oh, you scared me, there. I thought I was really being arrested. /Chris: Oh, you are. The prank part was not saying the name of your show. You threatened me, though. On TV. So, the cops are all your doing.

12/22/10
TIC: Actually, that was never YOUR problem. Thanks for the ride. If you need me for anything, you can find me inside. (TIC reaches for the door handle [revision idea 10/25/12, maybe it’s not a “handle” but a “footle”] opens it, and gets out of the car. Candy B gets out, handwalks over to TIC.) /Candy B: Care if I join you? /TIC (smiles): I’d love it. (TIC and Candy B start walking (on feet and hands, respectively) toward the restaurant entrance.) /Deb: Wait. (TIC and Candy B turn around, see Deb running toward them.) Mind if I join you? /TIC (smiles): Of course not. /Candy B: Come on over. /Deb: Thanks. /TIC: I’m surprised you didn’t stay with Brian. /Why should that surprise you? All that time I spent taking care of him when he was sick, and he won’t even take me out to dinner? I love him and all, but I still got to eat. /Candy B: From what I’ve heard about other places, with the food snatching, it seems kind of inconsiderate to me that he won’t join us here to eat. /TIC (shrugs): I was going to treat, so he’s the one missing out on both our company and a free meal. (They go inside)/Waitress (smiles): Hi./TIC: Hi. Three of us for dinner. /Waitress: Hey, aren’t you two the new hires? /TIC: Yeah, but we’re not working, now. /Waitress: Oh. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. /TIC: No, we’re on vacation. /Waitress: Already? /TIC: Yeah. After one day, Clark said to take a week off. /Waitress: Oh–I’m sorry. let me show you to a table. See the one way down on the corner? /TIC: The one with all the dirty plates and glasses on it? /Waitress: Yeah. That one’s yours. /Candy B: But, it’s got dirty dishes on it. /Waitress: Here’s a rag and a spray bottle. The kitchen is right through these doors. The sink’s on the left. /TIC: But, I said I wasn’t working, yet. /Waitress: Well, the table won’t clear itself. (Waitress hands [Revision 10/25/12: Waitress “foots”] TIC the rag and cleaner, then leaves.) /Deb: Maybe Brian has the right idea? /TIC: Should we go back out there?

12/26/10
TIC: So, this, uh, restaurant–it looks like a giant indoor parking lot. /Deb: Yeah, but with paintings on the walls. /Candy B: Paintings that are hard to make out in the dim mood lighting. /Deb: The only thing that comes close is a drive-through chapel I’ve seen in Vegas, before. /TIC: I’ve heard of that, but I haven’t seen it. Deb: Well, it’s a lot like this, but different decor. /Candy B: It’ll be more like this if we don’t eat soon. /Brian: What will you be having? /TIC: What’s this fresh ground choped steak on an oversize dinner roll?…Oh, a burger. I’ll have that. The way it comes draped in aged cheddar and topped by a fresh spring mix of vine-ripened tomato and crisp green romaine lettuce. /Candy B: I wasn’t going to get a burger, but they describe it so well on this menu, I’m gonna have to have one, too. /Deb: Make that three cheeseburgers. /Brian: (raises his menu out the window to signal a waiter. One comes on his motorcycle.) /Waiter: Yes? (he kills the motor.) /Brian: Four cheeseburgers, please. /Waiter: I’m sorry, this isn’t a burger joint. This is a high-class restaurant. (Brian jabs at the menu with his big toe.) /Brian: Four of these, please? /Waiter: Excellent choice, sir. /Brian: Thank you. (The waiter leaves.) /Brian: So, C-Bar. /TIC: Yes? /Brian: How’s your writing going? /TIC (sighs): To tell you the truth, I’m stuck. /Deb: Where are you stuck at? /TIC: Well, my character, NAP, has had the same job for six years, and it’s totally beneath him, but he won’t look for something else. /Brian: Why? His boss treats him too well? /TIC: His boss is TERRIBLE. I have him a real sadist. She is way too controlling, and doesn’t assign work fairly. /Deb: So, why does he stay? /TIC: Probably so I’ll have nothing to write about. /Deb: I have an idea.

01/24/11
Brian: No, the joke’s still on you. I’m letting you stay here until you get back on your feet. [NOTE on 10/15/12: If in the world where they walk on their hands, Brian would say “until you get back on your hands”–if he’s a hand-walker]/Clark: (his voice gets low and tight) I don’t need your charity. /Brian: I know. /Clark: When I came here, I had nothing. Back in my home universe–/Brian: I heard it all, Clark. You lost your billion dollar or multi-billion dollar business or businesses or empire or what-had-you. Plus your family, and here in this universe you relearned everything and made your own success. Too bad you didn’t make it legally. (he eyes the phone and smiles.) This time, though, you’ll have my help. Everything I’ve got, I’ll share with you–my home, my girl, I’ll even give you a living allowance from my palimony check. /Clark (shakes his head): You can’t make me stay here. /Brian: Of course not. But, you also can’t say that THIS time, when you DO make it, that you started with nothing. /Clark: If I refuse your help, I’ll still be starting with nothing. /Brian: So, you’re calling my ex-girlfriend “nothing”? She and I didn’t date for a really long time, but I still think she’s something. Clark: No, I don’t mean to say that. /Brian: So, if you stay with Deb, and she helps you out, then you’ll STILL be getting help. It may not be financial help or help with food and shelter, but she’ll be helping you obtain these. Help is help is help. (Clark hangs his head, looks down. Deb squeezes his hand with hers.) Clark: Crap. There’s a difference beitween being broke and being broken. /Deb: Baby, you’re only broken if you believe it, yourself. /Clark: Well? /TIC: Well, what? If you’re truly broke, then how are you able to afford to buy his bull? You have a choice. What are you going to do? (Clark gets up, shakes hands with TIC and Candy B.) Clark: I enjoyed working with you. (He shakes feet with Brian.) Go to–well, you know where. (He holds Deb’s hand.) Let’s go. (Clark and Deb get up to leave. /TIC: Hey, Boss? /Clark: What? /TIC: Wait for us.

01/30/11
(Imitation gold plating line the walls. Imitation marble peeked up from the floor around the fake Persian rugs.) /Candy B: I’m gonna check us in. /Clark: Why you? I’ve got this. /Candy B: Well, I walk the walk. /Clark: Did you forget that I also learned your walk? /Candy B: No. I just don’t want you to pay for the rooms. (Candy B goes to the desk before Clark can stop her.) /Clerk: Hi. /Candy B: Do ou have two adjoining rooms? /Clerk: We have a special: two bedroom suite with a kitchenette normally would be too expensive for you, bt now it’s the same price as our regular rooms. /Candy B: Who the hell are yo to decide what I can afford? You don’t even know me. /Clerk: You’re wearing imitation leather. (Candy B’s eyes grow big.) /Candy B: Well, all around me I see imitation gold plating, imitation marble, imitation Persian rugs–I wouldn’t be surprised if the walls, themselves, were imitation. (Clerk darts his eyes side to side, looks over his shoulder) /Clerk: Shh. Not so loud. /Candy B (forehead furrows in puzzlement): What, the walls ARE imitation? (Another clerk handsteps foreward, talks to the first clerk.) /Second Clerk: I thought I told you to leave. Didn’t I fire you this morning? (First clerk leaves.) Second Clerk (to Candy B): Sorry about that. /Candy B: Do we still get the special? (Second Clerk points to a sign advertising same special.) Second Clerk: You sure do. How many are checking in? /Candy B: Four of us. (Second Clerk gives her a form and four keys.) /Second Clerk: Down the hall, third room on the right. /Candy B: Thanks. (Candy B picks up the keys, foots one each to the others, returns the form to the clerk.) /TIC: Do you have a restaurant? /Second Clerk: We do, but for you guys we have free room service. /TIC: Thanks, ut where’s the restaurant? /Second Clerk: It’s the same food and same menus.

01/31/11
Candy B: It’s okay. We’ll find the restaurant on our own, if one exists. /Clerk 2: I’ll take you to the restaurant now, if you wish, as long as you leave the freak show in the room. /Deb: Who are you calling a freak show? /Clerk 2: You freaky foot-walkers, that’s who. Isn’t it obvious? Talk about your stupid question. /Deb: Back where I’m from, YOU’RE the freak. /Clerk 2: I give you free room service and you call ME a freak? Fine. I accept that. (grins, teeth cold as a row of icebergs.) If a freak calls ME a freak, then that must make me normal. Enjoy your stay. /TIC: It’s okay, Deb, Twin We’ll get some groceries and use the kitchenette. It’ll be cheaper. (They go to the suite, go inside. Interior is unremarkable, but clean.) /Candy B: Well, I guess C-Bar and I will take one room, leave you two with the other. /Deb (walks around): Looks like each room has it’s own bathroom. Only one has ahot tub, though. /TIC: You and Clark take the hot tub room. /Deb: You sure? /Candy B: Absolutely. /Clark: We can ALL use the hot tub. (TIC looks sideways at Clark, raises her eyebrows.) Doesn’t have to be all at the same time, of course. I mean, unless…/Deb (narrows her eyes at Clark): The hot tub is only designed for two. So, yeah, we can take turns using it. /Candy B: Naturally, the sign says maximum load–/TIC (a little loud): So, Twin, do you want to ask the clerk where the nearest grocery store is? /Candy B: I could, but I won’t. /Clark: Why not? /Candy B: ‘Cause I saw a grocery store around the corner from the hotel, right across the street from that accident we saw. /tIC: Great. We’ll go get some groceries, while you two get comfortable. /Deb: You can go later. /Clark: Yeah, there’s time. /TIC: I’m hungry. My Twin and I will go now. We’ll be back. /Clark: Take your time. /TIC: We will. (TIC and Candy B leave the suite, walk through the lobby.)

02/27/11
Clark: An equine rescue league? /Candy B: Yeah. I used to like to go there and pet the horses, sometimes ride them, too. That’s the reason I started working for you. I like your horse. /Clark: You think Horace might have been rescued? /Candy B: Possibly. (The four walk for a couple more hours.) /Candy B: Just another mile ’till we reach the gate. (A mile later.) /Candy B: Here we are. /Deb (furrows her forehead): What happened to the fence? /Candy B: Oh. I’m sorry. It’s not a REAL fence, like a picket fence. Just a fence of trees. We actually could’ve entered the park from anywhere–the gates are just for show–and service vehicles. /TIC: I’m gonna form a picket line, to protest all this extra walking. /Clark: Didn’t you say you’ve been to this park, before? /Candy B: Yeah. It USED to have a fence–a real one. I forgot that they got rid of it. Sorry. /Clark: That’s okay. Just a s long as the Equine Rescue League is still there. /Candy B: It’s right ahead of us. (Clark runs ahead, reaches the door, looks at the hours posted.) /Clark: What time is it? /Deb: Four hours past lunch. /Clark: Great. They’re still open. /Candy B: Even the door is open. /Clark: Oh, yeah. (Clark steps inside, starts looking at the horses in the stables. A stable hand [comments written on 10/26/12: Wouldn’t it be a “stable foot?” Also, maybe someone can check the time on their ankle watch?] approaches him.) /Stable Foot: May I help you? I’m the Stable Foot. /Clark: Yes. I’m looking for a palomino named Horace. /Stable Foot: Oh, yes, now I remember. The Hansom Cab horse. You have any idea how many of our rescued horses used to pull Hansom cabs? /Clark: Apparently, no. /SF: Just yours. People generally prefer to ride their horses, than be at the tail end. I mean, that never made any kind of sense to me. I’ll show you to your horse.

03/04/11
TIC: They have cheeseburgers. I’ll have one of those. /Deb: I’ll have the tomato bisque soup. Clark: I’ll have the chicken parmigiana–they misspelled that word, I think. /Candy: I’ll have a chocolate bar. I’ll order. (A. Server walks over to take their order.) /Candy B: Hi. We didn’t kow you worked here, too. /A. Server (shrugs her knees): Why not? It’s near the hotel. Don’t make as much, but I love the park. So, what will you guys have? (Candy B. gives the order.) Where are you sitting? (Candy B looks around at the single room of tables. Candy B. and her friends were the only ones in the place.) /Candy B: Not sure which table. (to Deb) You guys can go ahead and sit. Our buddy and partner in jelly will fring the food. /Deb: A? /A. Server: Yup. /Clark: Hey. /TIC: Do you have a break coming up? /A. Server: Until more customers come inside. /TIC: Want to sit with us? /A. Server: I’d like that. Thanks. Let me get your food. /Candy B: How much do we owe you? /A. Server: Don’t worry about it. /Candy B: We’re not. How much? (A. Server tells her. Candy B pays for the five of them.) Get yourself something, too. (A Server (smiles): Thanks. (A. Server joins them at the table.) /A. Server: Here you go. /TIC: Thanks. What’s this? /A Server: A cheeseburger bar. /TIC: It looks like a candy bar. (Takes off the foil wrapper, looks at it, smells it.) You gave me a chocolate bar. I ordered a cheeseburger. It was on your menu over the counter. /A Server: Did you read the sign out front? /TIC: Yeah. /A Server: Take a bite. /TIC (bites): Tastes like a cheeseburger in a candy bar. (Others bite into theirs.) /Deb: Yeah. Tomato bisque soup taste in a bar. /Clark: Mine, too. but the Italian chicken flavor. /A. Server: We sell “snack bars” here at the “Snack Bar”. /TIC: It’s not bad, but not real filling. /A Server: That’s why we call them “snack” bars. Have you been to the vineyard, yet?

03/05/11
Deb: We have. It’s a real fixer-upper. /A. Server: You didn’t try sleeping in the shed? /Clark: We didn’t sleep, yet. We’re working on getting a pick-up truck so we can haul beds and other things, furnishings to make the place comfortable. /A Server: My grandma’s house is already paid off. Since she’s passed, I’ve been all alone in there. There’s plenty of room for tenants. I also have a pick-up truck that you can use to haul your jellies. /Clark: You said you had room for “tenants.” How much would the rent be? /A Server: Well, I noticed that you had raised my profit percentage on the contract from 8 to 10 percent, so with that in mind I’m willing to meet you halfway and to lower my total profit percentage from 14 to 12 percent. /Clark: Is that your final offer? /A Server: Yes. /Clark: I’m gonna have to check with my client. Deb, is 12 percent profits an acceptable amount for rent of both the vineyard and adjoining house in addition to full use of the pick-up truck? /Deb: That’s completely acceptable. /Clark: I think we have ourselves a deal. Got some paper? /A Server: I’ve got some course napkins. /TIC: I have paper and a pen. (TIC produces both from her notebook. Clark writes it up, but with 14 percent profits going to A Server. He gives it to Deb with a wink. Deb reads it, narrows her eyes at Clark, but signs the document, passes it back to Clark. Clark then passes it to A Server. She reads it, looks at Clark and Deb, raises her eyebrows.) /A Server: Did you hear me say I was willing to do down to 12 percent? /Clark: Yes, and I also heard you say you’d leave us a vineyard, a place to live, and even a pick-up truck to haul our jellies. Is 14 percent profits still acceptable? /A Server: Of course. (A Server signs the document. TIC picks up the document, writes out a copy, both Deb and A Server sign the second copy.) /Clark: Here’s your copy, Deb, and yours, A Server. /Deb: Thanks. /A Server: Pleasure doing business with you.

03/06/11
A Server: That notebook and pen are footy–I mean, handy–in your case. /Deb: C-Bar’s a writer. /A Server: Your last name is “Bar?” That’s perfect for this place. /TIC: It wasn’t always “Bar.” It used to be Timmons. /AServer: Oh. So, what are you writing about? (TIC tells her.) You said he has cats. /TIC: Two, but one is sick and has to be put down. /AServer: Oh. Bummer. /TIC: Yeah, for him. (Steve hand-runs into the Snack Bar.) /Steve: I’m glad I caught up with you. /Clark: What’s up? /Steve: Hold off on building your stable. You’re not gonna need it. /Clark: Why not? Steve: Your horse Horace sustained a mosquito bite from a mosquito that had a rare strain of malaria. He had to be put down. /Clark: WHAT? /Steve: I’m sorry. He was suffering. It was an incurable strain. Anyway, the good news is we agreed to waive all fees for boarding and vet care. Well, I’ll leave so you can grieve. Hey, that rhymes. I should be a poet. (Steve gets up, handwalks away, leaves the Snack Bar. Clark buries his head in his hands. Deb puts her hand on his shoulder, rubs his shoulders, back. Clark’s back moves up and down as he sobs.) /Deb: I’m so sorry, baby. (Clark sobs more, wails, sounds like a boiling pot of tea. After a while…)/Clark: I was going to get a bar for Horace. Now, he’s gone. Just out of the blue. (Candy B. narrows her eyes at TIC.) /Candy B: I think I know what happened to your horse. /Clark: Of course. That jackass Steve just told us. /Candy B: It’s not just that. TIC’s character, NAP, thinks he’s the author of all of us. In another universe, maybe he is. My Twin killed NAP’s cat, so NAP struck back against your horse. /Clark: Well, C-Bar, can you undo what you did? /TIC: No. Eventually, we all die. Plus, he still has another cat. /Clark: I need some air.

04/27/11

TIC: I don’t think where I’m from there are pain pills that are that, uh, powerful. /Deb: Especially ones that are secondhand. /Candy B: Unless they’re “herbs” that you smoke. /TIC: True. /Clark: So, are we about done, here? /TIC: I’m done. Maybe if I can sleep I might forget about my broken arm hurting. /Candy B: Who says we have to go home right away? Maybe that college will have something for your arm? /Clark: I kinda need to go home, now. /TIC: We don’t need a college for pain relief. I’ll just get something over the counter. It won’t be as strong, but it’ll help a little, at least. /Fred: What did I say about pills? /TIC: It’s okay, buddy. They won’t be prescription. /Fred: Oh, well, good luck and good night. /Deb: You, too, and thanks for the meal. /Fred: My pleasure. /TIC: Good night. (They leave the restaurant.) /TIC: I’ll just run in and get something for my arm. /Deb: We can all go in, if you don’t care. Got nothing better to do. /Clark: Could we be quick, though? /TIC: I won’t window shop. /Candy B: What’s wrong with the windows we have? /TIC: Nothing. That’s why I won’t window shop. (TIC and the others step inside the drugstore. TIC scans the shelves of pills, grabs a generic, and goes to the checkout.) /Clark: Do you want a generic, instead? /TIC: This IS generic. /Cashier: No, this one here is Jen Eric, not GENERIC. /TIC: Oh, I thought we had that joke, already. Okay, I’ll switch it. (A moment later, TIC comes back.) YOUR generic pills are HUGE. These coated caplets look easier to swallow. /Cashier: Look again. Under inactive ingredients. /TIC: Why? /Cashier: Just look. /TIC: Okay (looks). “Wool?” /Cashier: Who knows? /Clark: Just get the most expensive ones, already. We can afford it. /Cashier: Hold on. Let me check something with the pharmacist. I’ll be right back. (A few minutes later.) Yeah, Jen Eric is okay. Just turn up the thermostat at home a couple of degrees, and the wool coats will come right off.

06/06/11
Clark: Ground-level currency? /TIC: Yeah, the local money. Why not? Will make resettling easier. We know you started with nothing twice, before. I saw you were getting ready to say that. Doesn’t mean we have to do it that way, now. We have a resource–the glove box. We don’t have to understand how or why it works, just that it DOES work. So, if you’d rather be like God–if one exists–and continue to make something from nothing, be my guest. If, however, you choose to join the rest of us mortals, you just might be better off. (Clark just stares at TIC for a moment, then opens his mouth.) /Clark: Are you done? /TIC: Yup. /Clark: Thank you. When we start to mingle with the locals, it’s extremely important that we don’t just readily assume that we know how they’ll act, or what they’ll say in any given situation, because, as we can see here, it’s all too easy to make such mistakes here with each other, and while we have nothing to fear from each other, I hope, we don’t want a similar misunderstanding down there to occur, since they most likely outnumber us. In our case, here, C Bar assumed she knew what I was going to say, and it was completely incorrect. What I was going to say, was that that sounds like a terrific idea to ask the glove box for money. When I started over in the past, it was with nothing, AND it was without C Bar’s excellent idea and Deb’s knack for making an idea like that work. Since I’m starting over WITH all of you, then I already have plenty. (TIC feels her cheeks get hot.) /TIC: I’m sorry. /Clark: You have nothing to be sorry about. If anythng, you did us all a favor, ’cause now we’re all aware of how careful we have to be in a new environment with different people who ahve unique ideas. So, thanks for that. /Deb: Well, I’ glad that’s settled. So, how much money should I ask it for? /Clark: I don’t know how much we need to get settled. /Deb: I can ask it for enough for that.

06/12/11 TIC: Well, I guess we can go. (TIC turns to leave, then hears a banging noise. She turns around. The others follow her gaze.) The glove box door is banging. Should I open it? /Deb: maybe it’s a warning tht air is about to quit. /Clark: No, I don’t think so. If that city under the hood has a breathable atmosphere, then we’ve got plenty of air. /TIC: Well, I guess I’ll open the door, then. (TIC opens the door. A box comes out with a note attached to the outside. TIC grabs the box, detaches the note, reads it.) TIC: It says, “Ha, ha! That shock rod WAS a gag. Ha, ha!” /Deb: YOu serious? /TIC: Read it, yourself, if you want. (TIC gets out her pen and notebook.) Now, I know what to write: “Not funny!” (TIC slips her note into the glove box, closes the door. She starts to turn when the door bangs again. She opens it, again, retrieves the note, reads it.) “Sorry about that. The box and its contents are no joke, however.” (TIC turns it over.) That’s it. /Deb: Well (shrugs), grab the box, then. /TIC: I’ve got it. /Candy B: Should we open it now? /Clark: Let’s just go. /TIC: We’ll just take a peek. (TIC opens the box, looks inside, fumbles it, but doesn’t drop it.) Candy B: What’ya got there, Twin? /TIC: Look for yourself. (TIC hands the box to Candy B. After seeing the contents, she foots the box to Deb. Deb looks inside, then hands the box to Clark.) /Deb: You might want to look inside before we leave. (Clark looks inside. Nestled inside the box are four kazoos. Each kazoo is labeled with a name.) /Clark: Our names are on these. /Deb: Yeah, but not our birth names. Our nicknames for each other. I got the blue one (Deb smiles.) /Clar: Mine is candy apple red (frowns). /Candy B: Mine is hot pink (grimaces). /TIC: Mie is just silver-colored.No, wait. It says “gun-metal gray.” /Clark: Why kazoos? We can’t sell them if they have our names like this. /TIC: There’s a book, too.

07/25/11
Clark: We can SEE the police station, but that doesn’t mean we’re there, yet. (Another hour passes.) /TIC: Why did you have to say that, Clark? /Clark: Say what? /TIC: An hour ago you said something about how just because we can SEE the police department doesn’t mean we were there, yet. /Clark: You forgot quote marks. /TIC: “Quote marks?” /Clark: Oh, so you have ’em now, but you forgot them when you were quoting me, earlier. /TIC: I wasn’t quoting, exactly. I was paraphrasing. /Clark: Huh? /TIC: You see, I added the words “something about.” That’s paraphrasing. /Candy B: Hey, you used quotes THAT time. /TIC: For the words “something about?” /Candy B: Exactly. So, if you go ahead and quote yourself, why can’t you extend the same courtesy to Clark? /Clark: Yeah. My words aren’t good enough for quotes? Just ’cause I’m not a writer means I ain’t quote-worthy? /TIC: “Quote-worthy?” /Clark: Yeah. Hey, you gave me QUOTES this time. /TIC: Yeah. I guess I did. /Clark: Thanks. /TIC: Sure. And, I’m sorry about that paraphrasing, earlier. /Clark: That’s okay. /TIC: Thanks. Also, could I quote you in my writing? /Clark: Let me think about it and get back to you (awkward situation follows). /TIC: Okay. /Clark: I’m just kidding. Sure you can quote me. Just NO paraphrasing. /TIC: I’ll try to keep the paraphrasing down to a minimum. /Clark: Okay. /Candy B: Hey, guys? /Clark: What? /Candy B: If we keep loitering outside the police department, we might attract attention from the cops. /Clark: Oh, we’re here, already? Candy B: Have been, for a half-hour. /Clark: “A half-hour?” /TIC: Quote. /Clark: You gotta be shittin’ me. /TIC: I ain’t quotin’ that. /Clark: I don’t blame you. /TIC: That expression has already been, uh, expressed–word for word. So, you’re really just quoting someone else. /Candy B: Let’s go in, already, guys. (The four of them walk into the police station, approach the receptionist, who is sitting at a gun-metal gray desk.)

09/25/11
TIC: (in a voice dripping acid) A guinea pig for what? /Deb: Oh, nothing. Forget it. I was completely out of line accusing you of doing anything with my Clarkie. /TIC: It’s in the past. /Deb (offers her hand): Shake? (TIC takes the proffered hand. Their fingers barely touch when Deb slaps her other hand on the table. Deb’s eyes roll back, her cheeks flush, her breath comes out in ragged gasps. TIC snatches her hand back.) /TIC: What the hell? /Candy B: What just happened here? /TIC: Look at my hand. Deb, you gouged up my hand pretty good with your nails. Bruised my fingers, too. (rubs her hand with her other hand.) That’s my writing hand, too. /Deb (catches her breath): I’m sorry. It just happened so fast, caught me off guard. /TIC: I told you nothing’s going on with Clark. /Deb: Oh, I know. /TIC: Kind of a dirty trick to offer to shake hands and then pulverize it like that. /Deb: Yeah, well, i swear I wasn’t aware I was doing that. What Clark wrote in that note–it’s absolutely true. Just a touch from you, just on my hand–it triggered some kind of crazy vibration–an instant, uh, release, uh, of tension. /TIC: This is fucked up. /Deb (smiles): I don’t have a problem with it. /TIC: Well, I see a huge problem. Forget the fact that no one’s gonna realize I’m not trying to use it inappropriately by giving people “tension release.” What if some kid bumps into me or grabs my hand? No kid nowhere in any universe is supposed to be experiencing that. /Deb: Oh. I didn’t even think of that. /TIC: This is too much. Where’s my notebook? Never mind, found it in my pocket. If my NAP character is doing this, I’m gonna get him back. (TIC mumbles as she writes.) /TIC:…right at his desk. He didn’t die from embarrassment–he just wanted to. A few years later, bill from the IRS for back taxes, over 1,000 dollars… (A few minutes later, she puts her pen down.) There, that fixed his wagon. I expect this particular “gift” of mine will be shortlived.

02/26/12
Yuric: Agreed. So, how does your ship work? /TIC: Doc? /RDT: Solar-powered with fuel storage cells. It levitates to lift, levitates sideways to go anywhere. /Yuric: Oh. /RDT: To land, the ship merely levitates in reverse. /Yuric: Levitates in reverse? /RDT: Yup. Makes for a gentle landing, every time. And, at the push of a button. Well, actually two buttons–one to tell it to levitate, and the other for direction. Then, there’s the power button which has to be pushed twice. /Yuric: Twice? /RDT: Once to turn the ship on and again to turn it off. So, four buttons. Four “pressings” of buttons. I mean. You want a tour of the ship? /Yuric (his face lights up): Yeah. (Yuric and Sherman step inside the ship.) /Sherman: Why does your airlock door not have an airlock chamber for cycling the air? /RDT: This ship was designed for droids. What you see us do may look like breathing, but all we’re doing is using the air to cool our systems. /Yuric: Your droid bodies, you mean? /RDT: Yeah. /TIC: It’s like a bellows. /Yuric: Oh. /RDT: It’s actually not the most efficientcooling system we’ve ever developed, but mimicking your flesh systems helps us adjust to being droids. /Sherman: Yeah, you said you used to be flesh. /RDT: Not physically, but our neural scans came from flesh bodies. /Sherman: Also, you can blend in with us, better. /TIC: Yeah, until you called us out with your willing volunteers. /Yuric (smiles): Yeah, too bad you guys missed out on that. /RDT (smiles): Oh, our droid brains still have a pleasure center, each. It’s just a matter of electrical stimulation. Same destination, just a more direct route. /TIC: Could you please excuse us for just a moment? /Sherman: Sure. We’ll just play with your ship’s controls. (Sherman looks at TIC and RDT with a serious expression, then breaks into a smile.) Just kidding. We’ll just sit at this table, here. /TIC: Thanks. We’ll be right back. /Yuric: Take your time. (TIC and RDT retreat to a room at the other end of the ship.) /RDT: What’s up? /TIC: I’m not comfortable discussing our droid pleasure centers and how they work. /RDT: Why not? It’s just technology. /TIC: It’s a little too intimate and personal to be just technology to me. /RDT: Oh. I’m sorry. /TIC: That’s okay. Thanks. /RDT: Thanks for telling me.

02/29/12
RDT: If we had time, we could grab some stray lichens or something from outside, break it down into basic starches and fungi, break that down to its molecular structure, and use it to recombine to grow whatever we needed. The process is way too slow. Plus, it’s way more work than I feel like doing. /TIC: Even with me helping? /RDT: You ARE gonna help. I have another idea. Remember those gnat-cams that we were foolin’ with? /TIC: Yeah. /RDT: We’re gonna go to Sherman’s gift shop and see if we can barter some of those for provisions and camping gear. Then, we’ll invite Sherman and Yuric back on board. What do you think? /TIC: I think we should just go THERE to visit, instead of doing all this bartering and negotiating for stuff we don’t need, anyway. /RDT: True, but we can always make more gnat-cams, so we’re not lising anything in trade. Besides, I feel bad about not being able to give our guests anything. I just want for us to be better hosts. /TIC: Fine When do you want to go over there? /RDT: How about now? I still have a bunch of gnat-cams from when we were in orbit. (RDT rattles a bag.) Right in here. /TIC: Will now be a good time for them? /RDT: Sure. They should still be up. /TIC: “Should?” (She sighs. RDT is already stepping outside. TIC follows. They reach Sherman’s panel. RDT finds a recessed button and pushes it. Seconds go by, then a minute, then five minutes. Finally, the panel slides aside. Sherman is standing inside the shop with a hastily drawn towel, dripping water on the floor.) /Sherman: Come in. It’s too cold for us organics to leave the door open. I was in the shower. /TIC: Sorry if we came at a bad time. /Sherman: A bad time? I was having a great time just a couple seconds ago. I wasn’t alone in the shower. /TIC: We’re sorry. /Sheram: That’s okay. No need to dwell. What’s up? /TIC: Well, Doc and I would like to purchase some things from your shop, but we don’t ahve cash. /Sherman: Don’t worry about it. Just take what you need. Free of charge. You guys are like family to me. /TIC: Thanks. Actually, though, we DO have something with which to barter. (Sherman’s eyes widen) /Sherman: Yeah? Like what? (RDT shows him the gnat-cams.) RDT: They’re remote controlled, easy to operate. /Sherman: Sure. That’s fine. Help yourself to whatever you need.

03/15/12
Yuric: I hate to sound like an ungrateful guest, burt I just don’t think I can handle any more bacon or beans. I know I kept raving about it, earlier, but I just had bacon for at least three meals in a row. I just can’t stomach more of that right now. Your resident clarinet player looks far more appetizing. (The symphony bird trills a warning note.) /Sherman: I’m feeling peckish, too. I know we’ve got plenty of food varieties back in my inner alpine village. Guess we’ll let you drop us off, if it ain’t too much trouble. /RDT: No trouble at all. /TIC: Sorry we didn’t have enough of what you guys need. (Sherman reaches into his pocket, pulls out a folded sheet of paper, hands it to TIC) /TIC: What’s this? /Sherman: a list of things we can use next time we’re aboard your ship. I made it after your–um–purchase at the gift shop. /TIC: Oh. OK. /Sherman: I knew you weren’t getting those things for yourselves, so I figured I’d help. /TIC: Thanks. /RDT: We can pick up these things when we drop you guy off. /Sherman: That’s okay. I’m too tired to run the store. Just want to eat something and take a snooze. Besides, next time it’ll be OUR turn to entertain. /TIC (smiles): Sounds good. /RDT: Ship? /Ship: Yes? /RDT: Please set sail for Mt. Everest, the summit. /Ship: I like the “please” and the old nautical reference. Well done. /RDT: Thank you. /Ship: I just set it up so only YOUR commands will be recognized. /RDT: Well, change it back, please. My friend Candy, here, is co-captain./Ship: Two captains? /RDT: CO-captains. /Ship: Then, where’s your crew? /RDT: You’re it. /Ship: Oh. Okay. Done. And, we’re back. /RDT: Already? /Ship: Yeah. Just followed the coordinates. /RDT: Oh, yeah. No visuals needed. /Ship: Nope. My navigation system is way too sophisticated for mere visuals. /RDT: Well done, Ship, and thanks. Ship: You’re quite welcome. /Sherman: Thanks for having us over. /Yuric: Yeah, thanks. /Sherman: You guys come over whenever you want, okay? /TIC: Thanks, but we’ll let you two rest up, first. /Yuric: Let us know how your research goes. /RDT: Sure. Don’t forget your bird. /Sherman: Oh, yeah. Thanks. later. /TIC: Later. /RDT: Bye for now.

03/16/12
Sherman: Hey, instead of us popping in on each other unannounced, maybe we could exchange contact info. Not sure whether you have phones, radios or what? You know, since your technology is different from mine. /Ship: I think I can help with that. /RDT: Yeah? How? /Ship: I have plenty of cameras and microphones. Just grab a set. It’s already set up for me to receive both visual [revision: 10/25/12 instead of “visual” try “video”] and audio. Just speak into it when you want to reach us. /TIC: This reminds me of my story that I’m s-l-o-w-l-y working (sporadically) on. My NAP character doesn’t do this, himself, but people in his world carry around little cordless phones with computer screens so they can type “Hello” to each other. /Sherman: Not sure I buy into that. Why don’t they just SAY “Hello?” /TIC: Well, my NAP character doesn’t type into his phone. /Yuric: he sounds like the only one who makes any sense. /RDT: At least you’ve got ONE believable character. /TIC: Every one’s just ganging up on me, it seems. /Yuric: Sorry. YOU’RE the one who brought it up, though. Writing can be hard, though. One time I broke the tip of my pocket knife while carving a poem on a bathroom stall. /TIC: Dare I ask what the poem is? /Yuric: “No matter how many sheets I take from the roll, I still wind up with a finger hole.” (The others chuckle.) /TIC: That’s bad. The poem, though, is quite good. /Yuric (smiles): Thanks. I do appreciate that. /RDT: Well, here’s a camera and mike set. /Sherman: Thanks. /TIC: Sherman, you do any writing? /Sherman: Just technical manuals /RDT: Really? I’d be interested in seeing them–if it isn’t any trouble. /Sherman: No trouble at all. They’re not very interesting, though. /RDT: Maybe not to you. Candy and I aren’t from around here, though. /Youric: Neither am I. I’m from someplace bigger. Nothing small about you, though, Sherman. /Sherman (smiles): Thanks. Well, I guess we’ll be going now. Give us about 10-12 hours to sleep, rest up, that sort of thing. Anytime after that, call or come over. /TIC: Thanks. /Sherman: Thank you, too, for going out of your way to accommodate us. /TIC: It was no trouble. A pleasure, actually. Yuric: ‘kay. We’ll see you. /RDT: Yup. Later. /Sherman: Later. (Sherman and Yuric leave the ship.)

05/01/12
TIC: What? (RDT picks up a device, pushes a button. On the monitor an image forms of a lab.) We’re not home already? /RDT: Not even close. Remember our gnat-cams? I’ve got one in their lab. I added some features. /TIC: We can’t just spy on them! /RDT (shrugs): Why not? They said, themselves, they don’t mind spying on THEIR little Earth. How is OUR spying any different? Besides, you didn’t let me tell you about this one’s special features. /TIC (sighs): Alright. Go ahead. /RDT (smiles): It’s cloaked to escape discovery, the camera on it has an infinite resolution, and I have a remote that will allow me to shrink the gnat-cam so it can fit ANYWHERE. Plus, it’s shielded for temperature extremes in either direction, able to withstand radiation–as long as it remains undetected, it’s nearly indestructable. Also, it will continue sending images and even sounds in real time for us–even if it’s in a different time scale. /TIC: How did you get past the time scale issue? /RDT: Simple, really. The cam sends all the images–which to us will seem instantaneous, the ship stores the images, and we watch them at whatever speed we like–the default viewing time in the ship’s monitor is local real-time. /TIC: Why does the word “instantaneous” take so long to say? /RDT: Got me. You’re the writer. /TIC: And you’re a scientist, but I’m still not comfortable with us exploring local Candy’s interior world. When I agreed to have you and Terry explore this world, I never signed up to have other Brobdagnian versions of ourselves explore it, too. It would be violating her. I can’t allow it. (RDT hands TIC the controller.) /RDT: The red button is off. (TIC pushes a red button) No, that just turns the ship’s monitor screen off. THIS red button over here. /TIC: Oh. I don’t know how I missed that. /RDT: That’s okay. I should’ve used better color variations than red and rust. (TIC pushes the second button.) /RDT: There, now turn the monitor back on. Good. Here’s a screwdriver and a hammer. /What do I need them for? /RDT: So you can disable the controller. /TIC: Why would I need to do that? If you say it’s off and staying off, that’s good enough for me. I believe you. And, thanks. /RDT: Sure. /TIC: I appreciate it.

05/12/12
TIC: But, the ship has the coordinates. /RDT: Yeah, for the lab. But, we’re too small to make sense of anything visually, and we can’t increase in size until we find that chamber in the lab. /TIC: After we find it, will we be able to push the button to make us larger? /RDT: Sure. You just reach up and push it. It’s got a default setting of “normal size”./TIC: Yeah, but at our current stature, how will we reach it, then press hard enough to make the button move? /RDT: Oh, I haven’t thought of that. Well, let’s find the lab, first, then the Enlargment Chamber, then we’ll deal with the button. /TIC: Alright. /RDT: So, in the meantime, I guess we can power down, enter sleep mode if you want. /TIC: Hey, remember when that Quantum Mechanic guy shrunk us down even further, sw we’d be small enough to not tear the planet apart or something? /RDT: Yeah. /TIC: So, now we’re still that smaller size, so that will make our return trip longer, rith? /RDT: Yeah. I forgot about that. /TIC: So, our ship will have enough fuel to get us back? /RDT: It’s solar powered and has fuel cells that store excess solar radiation for later use. Plus, there’s also the fuel that powers us. Actually, that’s not a “plus” because we feed off the ship’s fuel, which is why we better power down. /Ship: Wait a moment. Don’t nap, yet. /RDT: What’s up? /Ship: You have parts of me in your lab, right? /RDT: Not parts, really, no. The molds we need to shape your hull, other ship-building equipment. /Ship: Close enough, I think. Why don’t I try using quantum mechanics to translate ourselves over there, like I did when we left Lavaland for the surface? /RDT: Sure. That would certainly save us a lot of time…and fuel. /Ship: Alright. Here goes. Are we there? /RDT: Nope. /Ship: I’ll try again. Ready? And…now? /TIC: Uh-uh. /Ship: I don’t get it. I’m not doing anything different. (Clouds form, coalesce, shape into a figure.) TIC: Hi, Dr. Foam. /QM: Close enough. I’m not really a doctor, but I don’t mind the honorific. I just wanted to let you know that your quantum “trick” won’t work to get you home. That was just a “localized effect”. Also, I was going to get Yuric back home, eventually, before you shrunk him down. Now, he’s more at home in the world you just left. /RDT: What about it? QM: A disparity was created. You’ll see for yourselves what I mean, later.

06/23/12
TIC: Sometimes it’s the small things you miss about someone, you know. /Ship: Absolutely. /TIC: I mean, you know, just sitting around. (She smiles.) I remember when he was first teaching me about eating food while in droid form, and we were filling these stomach-bladder things with this pudding-like substance and throwing them against a wall–or maybe on the floor. /Ship: Pudding? /TIC: Not real pudding. A compound that could serve as pudding–as long as we didn’t serve it to any fleshies. Kind of like that synthetic coffee Doc used to brew for me. I miss that stuff. /Ship: We can’t bring Doc back, unfortunately, but we CAN make your coffee, again. /TIC: Doc left the recipe? Ship: No. /TIC: Then, how do we brew it? /Ship: There’s video footage of him making it. If we study the video, we’ll learn how to do it, too. It’s actually easier to learn something new when you’re a droid–not all fleshies have an eidetic memory. /TIC: I know I don’t when I’m in the flesh. You know, if I weren’t so bummed out about losing Doc, I’d be having anice time, right now. /Ship: From what little I know of organics, they go through this sort of thing all the time, what with their life spans being so short even if the manage to keep their fragile casings intact. /TIC: I remember Doc telling me that he had already succeeded in building droids and taking nueral scans of organics to put in them when his tuxedo can got terminally ill. He said he thought about making a neural scan and droid unit of his cat, then rejected the idea. /Ship: Even though it would’ve saved his cat? /TIC: He said that a cat could never adjust to being a droid. They’re too much about flesh–pouncing on critters to eat, licking themselves, their instincts and purring. It would’ve suffered needlessly. Death was the only way for it (sighs.) I kinda see how he thought. Even though Doc and I started out as fleshies, ourselves, the Doc outside this ship is not the same as the Doc that’s dead inside. And, I know I’m ot the same person. I’m sadder, and, aside of Doc dying, more humbled by my experiences as a droid. /Ship: I guess we all change, with time. Even I’ve changed, what with m remote parts and my new exterior. /TIC: Sometimes, we all have to build a new shell around ourselves, just to get through life. /Ship: Yeah. Well, we may not be able to embrace ALL the changes that happen in life, but at least we can still embrace each other. /TIC (smiles): Yeah. Even if one of us doesn’t have arms. /Ship: Exactly.

10/03/12
(FDT shakes his head.)/FDT: Uh-uh. This is YOUR money. You’ve earned it. /Ship: Is this ENOUGH money? /TIC: Ship? /Ship: Yes, Captain Can? /TIC: You’re my friend and all, but please butt out. /FDT: Ship shouldn’t even be listening in on our conversation. I gave the code. /RDT: Actually, Doctor, you had made that code before you made me, so I remember it, too. And, you had reversed the “8” and the “2”. /FDT: You sure? /RDT: You built me. You know my memory is better than yours. /FDT: Yeah, true. Well, why didn’t yo say something earlier? /RDT: So we’d have something on you, just in case. Doesn’t matter, now. Ship already ruined it. /TIC: I don’t like the idea of you paying us so we stay quiet. I trust you, and I like to think you can trust us, too. All of us, including Ship. And, saying we had earned the money means nothing if you still consider it hush money. (TIC pushes the face IDs back to FDT.) You know what else? We don’t need your stupid face IDs, either. I’m happy with being a droid. I don’t have any need or desire to pretend to be someone else. At least some intellect was involved in my construction. Any pair of idiots can make a flesh-being. /FDT: Thanks, but I went through a lot of trouble to get you this money–the least you can do is accept it graciously. /Ship: I have an idea, if I may. /FDT: Go ahead. /Ship: Your lab equipment has a cost for upkeep. Just call it that. Then, you won’t need the IDs and you’ll have nothing to be hush-hush about, and Can and Doc still get their money. /FDT: Great idea, Ship. Thanks. /Ship: Sure. Now, there’s the issue of MY upkeep. /FDT (pales): And, how much (clears his throat) will that cost? /Ship: I’m not sure, yet. I need to figure it out and get back to you. /TIC: Ship, Doctor here is very busy. All we want is our allowance money. You can have the rest (RDT nods in agreement). We’ve already wasted enough of his time with this talk. If I were flesh, I’d be sick to m stomach. Sorry, Doctor, that we behaved like such assholes. /FDT: No need to apologize. You have a right to get what you’ve earned. Ship, will you accept Can’s amount as a first payment, and we can discuss this issue further at a later time? /Ship: Sure. /FDT: Thank you. So, is this discussion over? /TIC: It is for me. /RDT: And for me. /Ship: It’s over for now. /FDT: Great, ’cause I can really use your help. I have now an infected gnat-cam and a brand-new good gnat. And, I can’t find any differences between them. Where’s the bad part? /RDT: Have you taken them apart? /FDT: I have. Please follow me. /RDT: Sure. /TIC: I’m coming, too. (They leave the ship and go to FDT’s lab.) /FDT: Thanks, guys.

10/04/12
(TIC and RDT follow FDT to his work area.)/FDT: (holds up a hand) Before going any further, please don these hazmat suits. /TIC: We’re okay. You said we are already shielded. /FDT: Number one, I don’t know what we are up against, so I really don’t know if your shielding will protect you. Second, these suits are also to protect our sample from outside contamination. While you guys were discussing what I owed you, I had designed and installed gnat-cam traps. I have landed all the good, clean, uninfected cams so only the contaminated ones would be in the traps. Maybe “contaminated” is the wrong word, since the suits are to avoid contamination of our sample. Anyway, now that you’re suited up, please follow me. (RDT and TIC follow FDT through a couple sets of airlock doors. Air gets pumped out and replaced with inner lab air. Finally, after the air gets cycled through, they approach the table.) /FDT: In this clear box is one “live” gnat-cam. You see before you a bunch of these clear boxes: the second one here has two gnat-cams, the third one has three, the fourth has four, and so on up to 100 gnat-cams in a single box. I’m tryng to see if they behave differently when in a swarm. So far, I’ve found no evidence that any of these gnat-cams were ever “bad”. (FDT walks, RDT and TIC follow.) On this second table, here, you can see that I took several gnat-cams apart. I’ve found no evidence that they’ve been controlled by anyone other than us or other authorized lab staff. Terri is still analyzing the Sim to check for abnormalities; she has reported none so far. You, Can, seem to be closest to Ship. Do you have anything to report? /TIC: Well, on the Ship is where I first discovered the infected gnat-cams. Also, Dr. Foam seemed distressed. And, Ship got me insisting that I got paid. /FDT: Hmm. Maybe we should shift focus from the gnat-cams to the Ship. Can we call up this Dr. Foam character? /TIC: I don’t know. Oh, the gnat-cams, they did imitate Dr. Foam’s thing where lots of little stuff come together to form him. /FDT (his eyes widen): Really? Any idea how many gnat-cams were involved with that? /TIC: Too many to count. I’m not even sure if they were all real or some or all of them Sim. /FDT: Hmm. Well, I’ll keep trapping gnat-cams in the meantime. And, I’m also going to report to Terri to not let the Sim create any more. This way, at least it’ll be one less tool the bad ship will have in its arsenal. /TIC: “Boris.” /FDT: Huh? /TIC: The bad ship calls itself “Boris.” /FDT: Okay. Can, you’ve been a tremendous help. Thanks so much. /TIC: Sure. Glad to help. /FDT: So am I.

10/05/12
FDT: So, let’s see…I think I better build more traps if I’m going to keep trapping gnat-cams. /RDT: You want help with that? /FDT: Nah…it won’t take long for me to do it, myself. How about if you two go ahead back to ship, and I’l meet you there in a little bit. /TIC: Sure. /RDT: See you soon. /FDT: Yup. (RDT and TIC return to Ship. Ship lets them inside.) /TIC: Hi, Ship. /RDT: Hello, Ship. /Ship: Captain Can and Captain Doc? Nice to see you, two. How’s it going? /TIC: Fine. We were just here a few minutes ago. Why the big to-do? /Ship: The big “to-do?” What do you mean? /TIC: Forget it. Is Dr. Foam available? (Clouds coalesce, take on a huanoid shape.) QM: Hi, guys. /TIC: Are you okay? /QM: Of course. Why? /TIC: You seemed stressed, earlier. Said that something was taking over Ship. /QM: (shrugs) We’re ship-shape (chuckles). /RDT: Are you SURE you’re fine? Can and I–and Doctor, who will be here shortly–are trying to fight off an evil presence, one who claims to be a ship named Boris. /TIC: May we review camera footage from the other day? I remember what happened and when, when you see it, maybe it’ll help you remember something. Ship? (Ship shows video. None of it shows a distressed QM.) /TIC: What happened? YOu have the right day? /Ship: Yes, and several days before and after the date you had requested. /TIC: Well, then your cameras or film or something’s been tampered with. /TIC: I’ve just been repaired, right after Boris Ship had damaged my wiring. /Ship: Just because something of yours got fixed doesn’t mean they checked everything. (A knock sounds on the door. FDT opens it and comes inside.) /TIC: Perfect timing, Doctor. you want to explain to Ship how you had fixed me after Boris Ship trashed my wiring? /FDT: You had damaged wiring, Can, but you were due for some maintenance, anyway, so I can’t honestly say how much of your damage, if any, is due to intentional harm versus negligence on my part. /TIC: I don’t understand. I thought you were sure that Boris Ship was trying to harm me. /FDT: That’s what I thought, at first, I admit. Being a scientist, though, I searched for evidence of harmful intent and couldn’t find any. Maybe a video of what you had encountered earlier will reveal something. /TIC: Is it possible to reveal what I saw–from me? I can be taken apart. I may have video inside my head. /FDT: You do store visual information, but you’re computer brain also has the human-based neural scan component. So, you’re no more than an eyewitness with a good memory. But, if something happened to you, then none of us can rely on what you show. You see? /TIC: I guess so.

10/06/12

TIC: I still know what I saw. /FDT: I’m sure you would not lie to us intentionally. I’m sure you do believe in what you saw, but without reliable external footage–besides what your brain has recorded–/TIC: Yeah, I get it. Well (shrugs), maybe Boris has left. /RDT: If he were even ever here in the first place. Maybe it was Jake all along. If he can rig our instruments to give false readings he could make himself EASILY appear to be droid-like on evisit and fleshy the next. /TIC: I just thought of something else–maybe this Boris can also manipulate ORGANIC instruments. /RDT: That wouldn’t e hard. Our fellow fleshies are always being fooled by otpical and other illusions, magic tricks, tricks in perception. Yeah. /TIC: So, that means NONE of us can be sure of what we’ve seen. So, what do you think of that, Doctor? /FDT: I think you’re right. All I have to go by are my organs, my colleagues, and my equipment. If something manages to fool or warp all three so I don’t perceive something, then…(shrugs) there’s really nothing I can do. (sighs) So, I suppose we’re done with Ship for now? /TIC: Ship? Ship: Yes, Captain? /TIC: Are you yourself? /Ship: Am I–myself? Who else would I be? /TIC: I mean, are you being controlled by an evil ship that may be named Boris? /Ship: No. /TIC: That’s good enough for me, then. You’re my friend and I trust you. (To FDT) Ship’s fine. /FDT: (shrugs) Works for me. I guess we’ll check out the gnat, again. I’ll call Terri to meet us so she can report on the Sim. (FDT starts for the doors.) /TIC: Later, Ship. /Ship: Sooner than later, I hope. (TIC and RDT wave, follow FDT to the lab. FDT calls Terri.) /FDT: Find anythng, Terri? /Terri: Nope. Everything is working fine. /FDT: I was going to ask you to meet me in the lab, but I think I prefer you stay where you’re at, for now. I need you to help me with an experiment. /Terri: Sure. (FDT, RDT and TIC arrive n the lab work-area.) /FDT: I’m guessing–hypothesizing is a better word–that individually, a gnat-cam is neither good nor evil, just a gnat-cam, but that TOGETHER, they become something more than a collection of mobile recording and projecting equipment. So, what I want to do first is gather up all the gnat-cams we can, start a small swarm going, and slowly add more gnats one at a time to see if we hit a magic number where they then become alive or evil or whatnot. Now, Terri? /Terri: Still here, Doctor. /FDT: I know that, already. You didn’t have to tell me that, but anyway, I’d like you to duplicate what I’m doing over here, but in the Sim with Sim gnat-cams, and see if you get a swarm that becomes malicious. Okay? Terri: Sure. /FDT: Then, later, I’m going to want to try combining my gnat cams with your sim-cams. But, that’s not until later. /Terri: Got it. /FDT: Thanks, Terri. /Terri: Sure.

10/09/12
(TIC reaches for the button, pushes it. Nothing happens. TIC shrugs.)/TIC: Did I try that right? /RDT: Yeah. /TIC: Well, the top isn’t comng down. /RDT: Must be a short. You want me to take a look at it? /TIC: Not now. let’s just get going. I’m noticing it is a bit nipply out. /RDT: You said “nipply?” /TIC(smiles): A term my fiancee came up with. Before the Switch. (Her voice thickens, her eyes moisten.) /RDT: You okay? /TIC (clears her throat.): Yeah. Thanks. /RDT: The important thing to remember with this increased sensitivity is that we’re still droids. So, even if cold or any other sensation gets uncomfortable, that doesn’t mean that you’re in any real danger. Just like when an amputee gets phantom sensations in the missing limb, same idea. /TIC(turns to look at RDT): Are you telling me you want to fix the short? /RDT: That can wait, if you prefer. Let’s try the windows, instead. (TIC and RDT try their power windows. None of them move.)/TIC: I thought Doctor said this car was fine. Now we see two things wrong, at least. Depends if the windows together count as the one thing. /RDT(shrugs): Do the vents work, at least? (TIC presses the button for the vents. A black cloud of gnats fly out. The last thing TIC sees are shiny calipers emerging from their sides before the black cloud obscures even her Droid-sharp vision.)/TIC: Ow. Something’s pinching me. /RDT: Ow! Remember, the pain isn’t real. /TIC: Ow! Sure feels real. Feels like I’m being slowly pulled apart. /RDT: Can you reach your door? I can’t mine. /TIC: Neither can I. Ow. /RDT: Ow!/TIC: Real or not, this phantom pain is strong enough for me to black out. /TIC blacks out. next thing she knows, she’s awake. The pain has stopped.) /TIC: Doc? /RDT: Can? /TIC: Where are you? /RDT: Right here. Where the hell are you? /TIC: I”M right here. Where are we? /RDT: Still in the car, but it looks different. All I can see is the seat. /TIC: Same here. I can’t see out the windshield or side or rear windows. My arms and legs itch, but I can’t find them. /RDT: Same here. Shit! These are those “phantom” sensations. We’ve been amputated. /TIC: By gnat-cams? Boris: Silence! Your brains have been transplanted to gnat-cam bodies. /TIC: We’re gnat-cams?!? /Boris: I just said that. You and your colleague are part of my rear. I’m the swarm of which you two are part.

10/10/12
The em”body”ment of you gnats. /TIC: Hey, no matter what I look like on the outside, I’m still a Droid. /RDT: And, we’re still human, as well. /TIC: Yeah, right. Where are you taking us? From our vantage point, we can’t look out the window, ourselves. /Boris: Away from the Lab. To a secluded area where we can ditch this car. The, we’ll fly on home. /TIC: Where is home? /Boris: It’s in the Triverse system, but it isn’t Tri-Earth, itself. /RDT: Is it subject to the same solar flux problem that say inhibit travel and radio communications? /Boris: It is, but I’ve figured out a way around that flux problem. Telepathic communication is not affected by the solar flux. I’ve simply figured that once you’re sending thoughts and ideas, the next logical step is to send people and ships the same way. /RDT: Telekinetically? /Boriis: No, no! NOT telekinesis! Telepathy! I send forth, TELEPATHICALLY, the idea that we’re moving to Tri-Mars, then take it to the next step, and we’re here. /TIC: I think I get it. /Boris: You do? It’s quite complex./ TIC: Not really. Tri-verse is a different universe from this one, and I know from experience that traveling from one universe to another is not anything like traveling between two points within the SAME universe. /Boris (chuckles): That’s a common misconception–that there’s more than one universe. Though if it weren’t for this misconception, telepathic travel would not exist. /RDT: Some of us still doubt that it does. /TIC: Wait! I KNOW there are other Earths in other universes. I’ve been to several of them. /Boris: We know. We know that you have accepted the IDEA of other unvierses. But, not everyone who can think about them has the ability to think themselves to other Earths. YOU can. That’s why we, the Swarm, hijacked your brain. You can help us spread out to all the sections of the universe. You know, I saw in your neural scan that you’re a writer. You should ten have picked up that the “uni-” in “universe” means one. /TIC: Good point. I like the other part of that word “-verse” like the universe is poetry. /Boris: ONE poem, many verses. No, wait, one really long verse. /TIC: Almost had you, there. Speaking of which, why did you have to hijack my friend, here, too? /Boris: Like you just said, he was here, too. We couldn’t let him give away our location. RDT: I’ve noticed that both of you said “hijack”.Shouldn’t it be “kidnap?” /Boris: No. “Hijack” is better, because each and every one of my gnat-cams is also a ship. This car was just a tool to retrieve you and add you two to the fleet. (TIC: Did Doctor know about this car being–well, bugged? /Boris: No. Hinted telepathically that we should give you his car.

Why is grape jelly always purple?

At the grocery store,  I see red grape juice and white grape juice; at the liquor store I see red wine and white wine; but I have not yet seen anywhere a single jar of white grape jelly. Why is that? Is it because the color wouldn’t be a good contrast against the already pale color of peanut butter? Speaking of (or writing about) peanut butter, I have an idea for a new sandwich: peanut butter and jellyfish. Doesn’t have to be the kind with the stingers–tuna or tilapia would work, I think. Although if you did use an actual jellyfish, you could get the added perk of sand in your sandwich. I haven’t tried a PBJF yet, myself. I’m waiting for white grape jelly–goes better with fish.

Hello world!