Monday, August 30

Mr. Happy Puppet Head takes me to a very tall building in the middle of the city. He says there's a great view at the top that he wants to show me.

We enter the builiding, a fancy hotel, and I head for the stairs. He says, "Hey, were're you going? elevator's over here." And I say, "I'm going to take the stairs."

"What? It's like forty stories or something."

"I always take the stairs," I say.

"When do you ever have to go up stairs?" He bobbles over to the elevator and pushes the UP button with his face. "You never have to go more than one flight ever."

"I like being the master of my own elevation."

"You're just scared. You scaredy."

"No. I like going down them. I jump and I feel like I'm floating." Which is true, as long as there isn't someone else in the elvator who might look at me strangely.

"Master of your elevation. No way." The elevator dings and he bobbles on. "Get on the elevator, dude." But I look over at the stairs, then back at him. The metal doors slide shut, breaking our eye contact.

By the twentieth floor I have taken off my cape and rubber boots. So hot. I'm breathing hard. by twenty-five I can barely move. I collapse on the twenty-ninth. The thud of my body hitting the metal floor echoes up and down the cavernous stairwell. I'm alone, scared, and can't move. No one else takes the stairs in this building. I am the only one who cares how my various states of elevation are attained.

It's a sad state this world is in.

I guess I fall asleep or something like it.

I dream about this.



I wake up with the chill feeling of animate dismembered hands crawling on my face. I sit upright and find Mr. Happy Puppet Head bobbling down the stairs towards me.

"You alright?" he asks as he approaches. "I've been waiting for like fifteen minutes."

"Sorry," I say. "I fainted." I check for my wallet, and remember that I don't carry one.

"Well, come on, dude." We take the elvator up the rest of the way. And at the top is a really great view, and a bar. It slwoly rotates around. It's one of those rotating bars. Mr. Happy Puppet Head buys himself a big glass of alchohol, and gets me some pineapple juice. We sit in some chairs by a very big window and sip from our glasses, admiring the skyline as the sun slowly sets over the rest of the tall buildings of the city. Beautiful.

Then I remember the hands, and I can't drink my juice anymore. It tastes like animate dismemberd hand.


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