The Smell of Lemons

Angst slid across the tile floor on her belly, keeping the uzis trained at the turnstile. She expected to see the beasts the moment she revealed herself, but there was no sign of activity anywhere. She rolled over to the bench when her momentum slowed down.

"Well," Dexter said. He was at the men's washroom door peering out. "Did they go?"

"I think so," Angst replied. She scanned the platform once more, sniffing the air as well. Their was no smell of lemons. "Maybe they can't stay in this realm for long."

Dexter stepped from the washroom, bat in hand peering around the platform as well.  "Mofo's don't know who they are dealing with.

The Wish List

"Got a cigarette?" Goner asked. 

"There's a bunch of them on the floor over there," Max pointed out to him. 

"Too lazy to move," Goner answered with a smile. 

Max sat down beside Goner, reached inside his shirt pocket and took out his pack. Goner opened it up and saw just one lone, bent cigarette in the case and took it. 

"Gotta a light?" Goner asked of Max. 

Max reached inside his pants pocket and took out a beat up zippo; it was old and worn and the images that were once engraved upon it were faded and scratched beyond recognition. 

Goner looked at the sacred relic in his hands before striking the flint. "I think I know what I am going to get you for Xmas." 

"Don't," Max said. "That's my mojo, you couldn't replace that with anything in the plex."

Future Present

"Mr. Cube?" the desk clerk said as he saw the thin, lanky man sign the guest registration card. 

"Yes?" 

"There's a package waiting for you here," the desk clerk said with surprise. 

"You sure it's for me?" Max asked as he signed for the package. He just got here and had decided to get a room at the first available place. 

"Yes, sir," the desk clerk replied. "A young girl came in three days ago and said that you would be signing in."

Max had told nobody of his plans and where he was going. He accepted the parcel and took it to his room.

Ode To A Special Blend...

The waitress refilled his cup and walked away to the next table, like an automaton doing a job. Not really caring, being robotic.

Max lit another cigarette and took a long pull from it. He was glad that this reality hadn't even heard of the anti-smoking movement yet. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Maggie asked as she slid into the booth beside him. "You look like you could use some company at the moment." 

"Just thinking," he replied; his eyes seemed far and distant.  

"About something in particular or in general?" she asked, snuggling closer to him. 

"About the perfect cup of coffee," he said with a fond remembrance smile.

 

MORGANFOKKER SAYS THAT YOU ARE TRYING TOO HARD

Moments In Time, Seem Like Wine...

After working several hours in the biting cold it was time to see if this baby would kick. Max was cold and wanted desperatley to find a nice place to curl up and sleep, but he knew that was the wrong thing to do at this time. 

"You can do it baby, I have faith in you," he whispered to no one in particular. 

He pulled the rip chord and the engine coughed and sputtered like it was clearing a throat, and then it stopped. 

"Don't do this to me," he said a little louder. "Don't tease me. Work your magic, baby." 

He yanked the rip chord. Again a sputtering; the sound seemed like an eternity to Max. But he began to smile like a kid coming downstairs and discovering Santa had arrived when the motor turned into a sputtering cough and a very, very rough idle. There was hope.

* who is max cube?

version therapy