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ouijasurfboard-blog · 8 years ago

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a very first-drafty sample chapter from the middle of EACAG

Chapter 39: A Blanket Fort of Nonsense

(because of tumblr formatting, things previously in italics may no longer appear as such. gee, that sucks. hopes it still reads okay thanks for reading

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Cody burst from the shadows and into the streetlight, clothes sodden and dripping, thinning hair pinned to his face. His left eye was squinted by a swelling purple bruise and his lip had been torn open. His hands were bloody, half of them clutching his ribs. Furthermore, and most importantly, he’d lost his glasses. “The hell happened to you?” He stumbled forward, gathered himself, and put a hand on the streetlight to keep steady. “Ellie—have you been following me?” There was stagger in his voice as well as his balance. “Dude, no, I—” “Stop following me! God! I’m never alone! Why is everyone obsessed with me? It’s like, ew, I can feel you staring. Sorry. We were having a good time, and then I threw up on you with words. I’m so sorry.” He hunched over and vomited off the curb. “Ew. Anyway. It’s cool that you were following me. I get it. Sorry for freaking out. You’re like… my cool, wacky mom who’s younger than me.” My idiot son wasn’t done vomiting. I moved closer. “Cody, buddy, baby, your glasses—” “Sooo, here’s what happened. Did I interrupt you? Sorry. Don’t care. I mean, I do care, but, like, oh right, so, my glasses. So here’s what happened to my glasses. I was out with the boys.” Cody definitely met all of these boys no more than eight hours ago. “And we were at this club, then the song comes on, you know the one, and then I sing along, and everyone’s like ‘woah Cody we didn’t know you were bleeblerhblerhwhatever’ because I don’t, anyway, so this girl is like, ‘blerhblerh hey youuuerrr good singer me and the ladies going to a karaoke bar’ and I was like, ‘hell YEAH’ so I get in this van, and they’ve got like beads and shit and erm-ermpheta-amphetamines and at first I’m like, ‘naaaw dude’ but then they’re like, ‘yaaaw, dude’ and so I’m gonna, but they, so like, my badge, my fake badge, ‘aaagh oh shit a cop’ so I get the SHIT kicked out of me by this old guy and these three girls and this HUGE guy, and I’m coughing up blood but THEN the BOYS show up, drag me back to the first club, and then I’m like, to uh, the bartender, ‘hey can I a doubleblerhblerhblerh’ and she’s like ‘duude yourr fuckin face go to a mirror’ so I go to the bathroom and my face is straight fucked to shit, Ellen, and, uh, like, my glasses, where are they, not on my face, that’s where, but it’s party time let’s go beast mode so I pound a few with the boys and then they’ve got this shit that’s on fire but the fire’s purple but so like what the fuck and I get something called a curb stomp and that might be where I went wrong but anyway so me and Ian are outside wrestling and I’m punching him and he’s punching me and I punch him in the face and I hear this crack and I’m like oh shit I just fucked up his face forever bye so I’m running and the boys are chasing me and I think I lost them a few blocks ago? Who knows anyway I missed you.” His whole body began titling forward, and I put a hand on him to keep the pavement from flying upwards into his already sufficiently fucked face. “So, how many boys are there, total?” He counted on his fingers, muttering names to himself, lost count, swore, started again, and answered, “uhh… six?” Whilst contemplating my ability to somehow arrange the inconspicuous deaths of six people, what I had previously disregarded as over-vigorous rainfall turned to be foot steps fast encroaching. A man came into view from behind Cody, looking only half as frazzled but thrice as bloodthirsty. “HEY YOU! DEPRESSING HAIR GUY!” Cody’s eyes went wide as insert tired simile. He grabbed me by the shoulders. “I AM GOING TO DIE.” I took his wrist and bolted. I made it about five steps dragging him as a sack of half-blind whining meat before realizing we wouldn’t get anywhere. That he had managed to evade anyone at all was a miracle. The man tore Cody away from me and forced him against a wall by his neck. It all happened at once: I went for his eyes with my fingernails, he booted me in the shin, I took his ear in my teeth, he dropped Cody and kicked me in the ribs, I fell away with a bloody ear in my mouth, air having departed my lungs entirely. I thought sadly to myself, whoops Cody was right on this one. I clutched my ribs and curled up on the pavement. This massive pug-looking guy raised his foot to stomp the life from me when Cody’s fist emerged from the shadows like a hairy angel and, at the very least, distracted him momentarily. He recoiled his fist in pain, probably having shattered something if his agh! was any indicator. “I’m sorry. I’m very drunk and nerdy and skinny,” he said, wincing with every breath. Cody got himself socked in the gut. “Why are you doing this? I thought you didn’t like Ian.” “Your face annoys me. It’s a real punchable face.” Cody sighed. “Okay. I get it. So—” He stopped mid-sentence to vomit. The man raised his fist. “Nononowait! Just… thirty seconds. Oh my god. So, yeah, sorry about your shoes, and sorry about my face. It just came this way. And… you can punch it until it isn’t annoying, but please don’t hurt my dumb friend Ellen.” “Dude! She bit my ear off!” “Yeah, she’s really, really dumb. She’s so dumb that I bet she learned her lesson just from those ribs you broke. You don’t even need to break her legs or kill her. Also, she, like, only has one hand and stuff, and she’s like, super super short, so it wouldn’t really be a fair fight.” “You think I care?” Cody glanced down at me. “Ellen. Bernie. You gotta—” He was interrupted by another blow, but I took his meaning well enough. There was a scared little kid in danger out there, and this jowly cunt wasn’t going to stop me from finding him and then subsequently hugging him and never letting go again. I forced myself off the ground, drawing attention away from Cody long enough for him to just kick this dude right in the balls. He recoiled only just very briefly, which was nearly enough time to evade him, but not quite. He kneed Cody in the groin. I was on my feet and this point, and with a stroke of luck, managed to once again kick this dude in the balls before he plunged his fist into my gut. Everyone involved, at this point, was very angry and in pain. Unfortunately, drunk Cody lacked the manic superhuman strength of heroin Cody and even the admittedly subpar coordination of sober Cody, so our combined force didn’t amount to much. Fortunately, pug-boy’s testicles seemed to be in a pretty hefty state of distress, and I saw his determination begin to falter. Unfortunately, the pain only made him angrier, and the anger only made him punchier. “I’LL KILL YOU!” he screamed. I tugged Cody away. “You gotta run, dude,” I told him, as though it would persuade his balance to be more compliant. He tried his best. He really did. The large and shouting man was ever on our heels. I dug my fingers into Cody’s ridiculous flannel shirt and held on for (his) dear life. He stumbled on every slight abnormality in the sidewalk. Every bump, every crack, every shred of litter was a hurdle. In the seven years that we’d known each other, Cody had lost his glasses twice. Once after passing out at an otherwise underwhelming party to find them two days later sunk in a half-eaten nutrient slab, and the second time after accidentally leaving them at his then-girlfriend’s cell to retrieve them the following week when she finally found them behind her desk (one of many small unfortunate happenings that ultimately culminated in their breakup). Both times, their absence had put his life on halt. I swerved around a corner, dragging Cody, who’d become a tearful limping disaster. This wasn’t really the place to admit that I’d forgotten where I was. The hotel was definitely on the same plane of time and space as us, and if we were lucky, within the same ten mile radius, too. Finding it again was a matter of endurance and favour with our respective personal deities. Cody and I scrambled wildly from street to street, looping around familiar sign posts sometimes deliberately but sometimes definitely not deliberately and ultimately just getting ourselves more lost in an effort to lose slobbery hulking pug-boy. Cody was panting and heaving like he was in labour. I expected him to collapse at any moment, and I wasn’t entirely confident in my ability to lug around one hundred and twenty-four pounds of bored astigmatic stoner over my shoulders whilst also running for my life. As was to be expected at this point, a dumb idea occurred to me. I swerved into an alley, optimistically refusing to check over my shoulder, and flipped up the unfortunately crusty lid of a dumpster. “Hop over,” I said to a barely lucid Cody. His immediate reaction was to take advantage of the sudden interlude in our running to throw up. He had the good sense to wipe his mouth afterwards, at least. “What?” I slapped my hand against the dumpster in frustration. “The dumpster! Get it the dumpster!” He nodded slowly. “Dumpster… yeah… good thinking, Helen.” His eyes fluttered closed. I shook him by the shoulder. “I’m gonna boost you up, okay?” He nodded vigorously. “Boost me up, Scotty,” he said, drooling and struggling to keep awake. I clumsily took his foot with the one hand and propelled him upwards with all the strength of five determined meerkats. He tumbled into the dumpster like a sad domino made out of jelly. I followed after him and let the lid clatter shut over our heads, pinching my fingertips as it closed. “It’s dark and smelly in here,” whispered Cody. It was reassuring to hear that he hadn’t passed out. “It sure is, buddy.” “We have to find Bernie.” I took this matter very seriously. “Or die trying.” He patted his hand around until it landed on my shoulder. “Don’t die for a goat, Ella.” I shrugged. “Gotta die somehow.” He withdrew his hand. Time crawled by at a drugging pace. There wasn’t a comfortable way to sit in a dumpster. I waited, distracting myself with memories and hypotheticals, occasionally nudging Cody to make sure he wasn’t dead. After my awkwardly-positioned legs and the odd metal shape jutting into them became completely unbearable, I decided it was as good a time as any to leave. “Time to sneak out, huh?” It was hard to draw a coherent image of what his non-verbal cues might’ve been in the dark, but I assumed he was shrugging. “I guess,” he said. I slowly raised the dumpster lid. Cody’s arms flailed over the side and he dragged himself out, limbs moving in a fashion more akin to an octopus than a think-piece writer. “Oof,” he muttered, tailbone hitting the pavement. I followed after him, stopping to help him to his feet. “We’re good, right? Yeah. We’re good.” I glanced around, scanning every detail of our surroundings that wasn’t obscured by darkness. Maybe we weren’t good. There wasn’t really an effective metric by which to tell. “We’re so good,” I reassured him, making the mistake of patting him on the back. He shrunk away. “Agh! My ribs,” he whelped. “I’m so sorry. Oh my god. Are you okay?” He seemed stunned that I cared. “Uh… I guess I’m good.” He evidently was not good. “Like I said! We’re good! Totally good!” Cody pouted, lip trembling. He folded his arms and stared down at his feet. “I wanna go to bed,” he said, voice straining as is its wont before one breaks down into sobs. “I really just wanna go to bed. Where are we?” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “Everything hurts.” He kicked his toes into the side of the dumpster, biting back a sharp gasp of pain as the joints in his foot staggered and crunched. The dumpster didn’t seem to mind, much, at least. “I got beat up by so many different people. Is my face really that punchable?” Cody fixed his eyes on mine, waiting for an answer. His features were crusted with blood and tightened in just, like, the saddest frown. His already prominent eyebrows were spiked in odd directions by the fray and beaded with raindrops and sweat and blood. His busted lip had stopped bleeding but promised a scar that wouldn’t be, I don’t know, pleasant. The rainfall and the brawling had done nothing for an already unfortunate hair situation. The spots above his temples and on the back of his head where his hair had begun to abandon him entirely weren’t quite as obscured by the eccentric volume of the rest of his hair, having been flattened and soaked. The real essence of his punchability, I decided, came from his facial hair, which crawled all the way up his cheeks and down his neck and always looked vaguely unkempt in a flippant I don’t even care, I’m just so cool and aloof and stuff kind of way that really miffed some people. He just looked smug. And as long as we’re bashing Cody’s appearance, his ears were a little on the big side. On top of it all, he was naked without his glasses. Truly, the man who always resembled a sad, hipstery less-hairy ewok had become the saddest, hipsteriest less-hairy ewok ever to ewok sadly. He didn’t really need to hear all that. “Not at all.” Not to me, at least. “You’ve got a super normal face.” You’ve got weird eyebrows. I mean, I like ‘em, but, buddy… And your eyes are kinda sunken. “Don’t worry. You’re cute.” “I’m cute?” “Yes. Absolutely.” He sniffled. “But, like, just nerdy cute, right?” “Yeah. It’s the glasses.” “But I lost my glasses…” “That’s okay. You’re still stoner cute.” “Stoner cute isn’t a thing.” “Uh, yeah it is.” “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Just, like, take a finger and fix your eyebrows.” He nodded and tried to smooth them into place. “Cool. Better.” I mean, his face was still bloody and swollen in places, but, eh. “Cool.” “Cool.” He sighed. “But, I’m not, like, hot, right?” “Eh.” He straightened his shirt. “Cool.” He swallowed another heavy breath to stop his quivering. “Cool cool.” Still unsure about his balance, I walked carefully and close so I needn’t reach far should he just, fuckin, like, fall right the fuck over. The buildings weren’t so unfamiliar now that they were more than just a blur in my periphery. We had made it more than a few blocks away from the hotel, but we hadn’t gotten ourselves as hopelessly lost as I had feared. We were just normal lost. “How bad’s your vision?” I asked. He looked down at me, face pale and still a little shell-shocked. “Like, bad.” “’Kay, but, like, bad bad or just straight fuckin blind.” “Uhh… I can’t read, can’t do details or things that are far away or things with small parts or operate machinery or coordinate well or grab things or write… uh… Actually, I probably could read if the letters were really big, but, uh, yeah. That’s it.” He would periodically reach to adjust glasses that weren’t there, dropping his hand sadly upon being reminded. Finding them became more immediately imperative than whatever other bullshit we were up to. Something to do with an organ harvester? Who knows. Bottom line was that Cody was, while not useless and still better company than no company (sixty percent of the time, at least), in very desperate need of his dumb thick-rimmed trendy-ten-years-ago glasses. “Can you still contact your optometrist guy?” “Optometrist? Dude, no, okay, shut up, it’s a good story, though, listen. So, I was walking… this was like, twelve years ago? Oh shit, I’m old… so, uh, I was walking… I already had glasses at this point, by the way. The school counsellor got me these shitty ones… anyway… So, I’m fourteen, walking on the docks, and there’s this bucket, and I’m like, oh a bucket, but then I got closer, and I was like, oh shit, this bucket is full of glasses. Mostly broken ones, right? So I’m trying them on, ‘cause, why not, and this guy starts yelling, ‘hey kid uuhhh so, like, that’s my bucket’ and he’s a scavenger, right? Because there’s like, also a bucket of shoes lying around and a bucket of tea strainers and whatever… So, I’m just grabbin a handful of not-broken glasses and running away because, like, I’ve just been coasting by at this point by cheating in school and I hold papers really close to my face… anyway… So, one of the pairs, like, work, I know, what the fuck, ayy, Mazel Tov, Cody can see. And, uh, yeah. I kept ‘em. Duh. The end. How have you not heard this story?” “I don’t ask you about—” “You don’t ask me about myself as much as you should,” he finished for me. He scoffed. “I dunno why, I’m preettyy interesting.” This wasn’t entirely true. The uh, me not asking him about himself part, not the him being interesting part. Actually, never mind, neither were entirely true. I felt like I knew more about Cody than anyone should know or care to know about Cody. There was a filing cabinet inside of my brain labeled ‘bullshit nonsense about Cody’s life’ take took up a vacancy once occupied by, who knows, how to negotiate a pay raise or how to budget properly instead of just hoarding money like a sad(der) Smaug. “You sure are, Cody.” “I bet that’s why I got beat up.” “Because you’re interesting?” “Because I’m interesting.” I nodded in agreement. That put a dumb short-lived smile on his face. He must’ve had some faith that I knew where I was going, since he didn’t seem to question it much. I was confident, perhaps (probably) over-confident in my sense of direction. It’s a finite space, I reasoned, and we can’t possible be getting further away. We could. In large, square-ish letters, the sign read INTERIM GARDEN HYPOTHESIS WAREHOUSE HOLE, flashing pink and accented with gold baubles. The door below was an archway woven with flowering vines and patterned ribbons, among them a smattering of just the most pretentious butterflies. The building itself was robed in an elaborate mural depicting a panel of dapperly-clothed animals seated at some sort of senate, all gathered below a three-eyed goat. The goat was crowned and sat upon a throne at the head of the senate floor. I felt viscerally unnerved. Cody squinted at the sign. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s some Noam Chomsky magic realism boho nonsense,” I assured him. We’d arrived in some sort of strange hellish Halsey-esque plaza where the stores were either barren and abandoned à la zombie apocalypse or teeming with aesthetically-bohemian taken-back-by-the-earth-and-also-Portland life. Roses crept down from windows and thistles jutted upwards from cracks in the pavilion. Entrances were attended by delphiniums and hibiscus sprouting beneath fern umbrellas. Ventilation shafts sighed baby’s breath into the corridors and blew nettles amongst the ghosts and husks of furniture. Christmas bells hung from streetlights and lilacs pooled amidst a collapsed fountain. Geraniums and lavender and ominous oleander waved us towards the Warehouse Hole. It was all very eco-chic. Cody ventured further into the flowery nonsense strip mall. “The colourful stuff is flowers, right,” he said, unimpressed. Pink light glittered against the blood and rain that painted him. “This is dumb. Like…” He gestured wildly at everything. “This is dumb. Are we lost?” Yes. “Pfft. No.” “We’re gonna find my glasses, right?” he said, talking to a mannequin. “It’s our number one priority.” He stumbled trying to follow my voice. “Okay. Cool. Good.” “Are you gonna be okay?” “Who knows? Maybe.” I brushed my hand along a white bouquet of Star-of-Bethlehem. “You know what? Not a fan.” The flowers looked to be watching me leave, which was the opposite of an appropriate flower activity. “It’s bright, it’s spooky… not a fan. Uh, not on board with this one.” Cody lost his balance on a root curving up from the pavement, catching himself on a wayward clothing rack. “Haha. Walking: hard mode.” He puked into a corner of unsuspecting irises and daisies. Regaining his footing was a matter of crunching a broken window beneath his sneakers and nearly becoming impaled upon an unfortunately-positioned upturned signpost. “Ellen, uh, seriously, where are we?” Interim Garden Hypothesis Warehouse Hole. “A blanket fort of nonsense.” He staggered away from the broken glass. “Oh. I hate blanket forts.” Drawn by the flashing lights, he veered towards the entrance to the Hole. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve been here. We’re lost, aren’t we? Uugggghhh, Elleeennn…” “We’re not lost! You can only get lost in the desert and in the ocean because everything looks the same. Everywhere else you can just backtrack.” “WE DON’T KNOW WHERE WE ARE!” “YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE!” “I’M LEGALLY BLIND!” I filled my lungs with pollen-dusted air, raising my hands in a calming arc, and sighed, ultimately doing nothing to lessen the tension. “Let’s just… go back the way we came, and figure it out from there.” “We’re going to the hotel, right?” “Hotel. Yes. Sleep. Then glasses.” I turned by back to the flowers, not without a pinch of regret that I wouldn’t sate my curiosity as to what the hell, I mean, just, like, what the hell, right? What’s going on here? The mural? What? Cody and I fumbled our way free of the Warehouse Hole pavilion. There seemed to be more flowers surrounding the exit than there’d been when it was our entrance. Watchful irises eyed our escape. The feeling of being spied upon lingered on the back of my neck. “Spooky, right?” “I don’t know, Ellen, my vision is shit right now, call back at a less shitty date, thanks.” The sign read ‘Zlotys St.’ but there was nothing zloty about it. A strange mingling of sprawling weeds and rain-freckled trash bags and masonry stained by a dazzling selection of mystery fluids coagulated, as it were, to form the district before us. Confused seagulls squawked overhead from the buzzing heads of streetlights. The first establishment past the plaza was a barber shop called Snippy’s which was attached to a laundromat called Swishy’s that itself was followed by a family-owned deli shop called Slicey’s. What humour! While the quirky fixtures of the city were as delightful as they were smelly, they remained unfamiliar and were of no help when it came to finding our way back. “You know, I should’ve bought a map,” I said, padding along, ducking beneath the odd awning to evade the rain. “You’re an idiot,” said Cody, who had had enough of life. “Nothing idiotic about being reflective of one’s past failings, amigo.” “You just never turn it off, do you?” “It’s called a coping mechanism, Cody. Look into one some time.” He sighed and picked up his pace, hand clutching his ribs as to, I assume, keep them from falling out of some open wound whose existence I wasn’t yet privy to. I caught up to him. “Are you good?” I asked. He remained visibly in pain. “I don’t know. No? Probably not. I just, ugh, I want to sleep it off, okay?” I frowned in pity at him. Whenever something adverse befell him on our dumb stupid completely necessary endeavour, I couldn’t escape my share of the blame. I was most worried in this moment that he’d finally gotten himself into a truly lethal pickle with those fisticuffs. Obviously, whatever happened, it was the boys’ fault, but obviously, it was really Cody’s own fault, but obviously, it was more than a little bit my fault for dragging him out here in the first place. “I know you’re gonna die no matter what and whatever, but I’d be pretty bummed if you died… soon…” “Thanks, I guess.” “So, please don’t die as a result of your injuries. The guilt would eat me alive, and it’s hard to effectively find a small, defenceless goat after you’ve been eaten alive.” “If you say don’t die or I’ll kill you, I will actually punch you.” Through the darkness and the downpour, it was hard to discern anything glaringly off about his appearance from the bored and tired norm. It was similarly hard to discern buildings we’d passed from ones we hadn’t. You could see the source of my predicament. I toyed with the prospect of returning to the Interim Garden Hypothesis Warehouse Hole for little reason beyond that it remained nearby and intriguing. “So, those flowers, huh?” I brought up out of nowhere. Cody scowled. “Hippies.” “But it was kinda neat, right? It was stupid—” “It was dumb as hell.” “…but kinda neat, though, right?” “I WANT TO GO TO BED.” I sighed and tugged my lips in a sympathetic smile. “Bed it is, Codes. Maybe tomorrow—” “Uugggghhhh, tomorrow suuucks.” “… after we find your glasses, we’ll, uh, we’ll pop by the warehouse.” The three-eyed-goat from the mural lingered on the back of my eyelids. Anything goat-related, at this point, seemed worth investigating. We turned a corner and Zlotys Street became a vaguely familiar cobbled road marked by a signpost that read Hellspring Rampart. To the right of us were brick-and-mortal buildings that stood as one long, undivided stretch of masonry, separated by interior walls rather than alleys. To the left was nothing but ocean. The sidewalk metamorphosed into the halfhearted suggestion of a pier underfoot. The black sky had waned into a dim grey and dawn loomed far off upon the waters. I knew Hellspring as the rickety cousin to the main docks where we’d arrived. I was confident that we were closer, now. “So, Codes…” “Ugh.” “What was the name of the club where you, uh… where you went?” “Uugghh… Uh… Okay. It’s called Boys Only Club, but it’s liiike, just the name. It’s not actually boys-only, right.” The whole situation was ruthlessly atypical of Cody. It was beyond strange for him to go out partying with strangers, let alone strangers of overbearing and loud masculinity. That was, until now, strictly my dominion. Of course, it was more than probable that the night’s unfortunate happenings had extinguished whatever curious appetite he might’ve had for the sort of debauchery he’d found. “How’d you end up there?” He scratched his head. “I probably walked.” “Yuh-huh. How’d you find, uh, the boys?” He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh, in a past life. “I have no idea!” His foot took a wrong turn and he nearly swerved into the ocean. I pulled him by his sleeve to my other side so I might act as a buffer between his shit balance and the sharks. “And what about, uh, those karaoke girls? What bar did you go to with them?” He gave me a long, condescending stare. “You think I know?” His glasses were lost as fuck. The brick buildings parted into the first alley we’d encountered for an irresponsibly long distance. It appeared as a long blue gash in the red walls. Banners and triangle flags and paper lanterns dangled on sagging strings overhead. A sign bolted in the bricks read LONG ALLEY. If you squinted, smaller letter inscribed below read *Beware rats; they’re not more afraid of you than you are of them. Quite the opposite, actually*. I shrugged at the warning. The end of the alley was bright and bustling, and the pier reached a dead end not far from where we stood. I decided on chancing the rats. Long Alley carried a thick, sickly, cinnamonny flavour in its breeze. Pipes coursed as veins along the walls, rusted and dripping. Cody trailed a hand on the bricks as he walked to keep from tripping again. The bricks soon gave way to doors and beaded archways into shops and things categorically near enough to shops to make no difference. Freckles of orange began to tinge the grey sky. “Hey Ellie,” said Cody with awkward, slow syllables. “What?” “You know what’s dumb?” “Probably.” “Well… I’ll tell you anyway…” He stopped, took hold of a low-hanging pipe, and threw it an accusing finger. “I can’t see or stand so good, but that is definitely a rat, and it is definitely following me.” The good and bad news was that he hadn’t been hallucinating from blood loss and exhaustion. The rat, a grotesque snow-white red-eyed creature of unusual size, glowered hungrily at Cody. It stood hunched on the rusted pipe, undaunted entirely by our presence per the foretelling of the sign. “Ohh, that’s a creepy baby right there,” I said, twiddling what few fingers I had in its direction. The rat stood still and stoic as a Buckingham Palace guard. “I don’t like you, pal. Don’t like those eyes,” Cody told the rat. “Go eat a cheese, ugly.” The rat wasn’t moved by his insults. “This is a nasty boy, Ellen. Let’s leave.” Cody shot the rat a venomous, knowing squint before shuffling along. The rat scurried across the pipes, following like a magnet. As we drew nearer to the end of the alley, more rats began to spring from the pipes and cracks in the mortar. Cody kept to the middlemost point between the walls, arms crossed crossly. Soon flowers began to wind down from the cracks as well, one for every new rat that bounded into view. My skin crawled. The alley spat us out into an overgrown pavilion bathed in the flashing pink light of INTERIM GARDEN HYPOTHESIS WAREHOUSE HOLE.

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