Current Transmissions:

20140211

Your Time Is Gonna Come, Maggie

Drive me insane, trouble is gonna come to you,
One of these days and it won't be long,
You'll look for me but baby, I'll be gone.
This is all I gotta say to you woman
...


Maggie strolled through the mall, the headphones in and she had the volume cranked and she felt like dancing like no one one was watching. Tortelvis was wailing away on the Dread Zeppelin song. She blamed Max for this since he got her hooked on this fringe cover band.

She had asked Max where he had discovered them and he told her some old Native fellow whom he had sat down with at a bus shelter one evening and talked about iterations of worlds. The Native fellow told Max that all realities eventually bleed into each other. Like coffee rings on a coaster or table. Each ring blends together forming another whole.

She wondered if the ritual had worked.

It had been three hours since it was cast. It might take some time to weave. But, as soon as the ritual was completed she had the urge to listen to some Dread.

"Mags," the voice said from the blue-tooth device that was now in the breast pocket of her jacket.

"Mags?"

Still no answer.

"Crap on a stick," the voice said.

"Your time is gonna come," Mags sang.

"It's working," the voice said, sounding relieved.