Sweets for Breakfast
Chicka tick tick ticka. The 2nd floor of Washington Heights echoed with a continuous flow of noise from underneath a doorway. It was 4 o'clock in the morning.
Hm...Again? Already? It is a normal human function I suppose, but I waste time and capability every time I wish to indulge in these urges. It's not like there was anything in particular that activated this bodily response, I suppose staring at a glowing monitor in a completely dark room long enough it can happen to anyone. Fine, I have no strict schedule to adhere to, I suppose I can take time to make my body happy.
Blink.
Ah, much better. Blinking seems to be such a trivial activity to partake of really, if one doesn't keep their eyes open as much as possible, what point is there in eyesight at all? Information gathering is the only real use for eyes, how else would I monitor and intake data from 5 different screens at once? But it does begin to strain ones concentration eventually and the mind finds less time to focus. Wait, what did I just type? My concentration has totally been lost due to my little personal indulgence. Great, you type three pages of information and you forget every word because you happen to blink during that period. Let me see...Ah of course. I suppose this information is credible. No understanding should be lost through the transmission of information to a person of average intelligence.
Now what? My legs? Hm. Thinking back, this position does seem to be used for balance and training of leg muscles. A yoga position, or was it just called crouching? I suppose it isn't the way most people sit in their computer chairs. But it is imperitive, my analyzation ability would drop at least 40% if i didn't sit this way. Perhaps I shall stretch for a moment. Oh wait, there is no room to walk around in here...I should have used my resources more wisely, there is no room to store important documents in such a small complex. The alcoholic whom shall remain anonymous for now should have let me arrange for more comfortable quarters. I suppose his persona is one of extreme yearning for simplicity. Speaking of which, he should awaken in a few hours. Much earlier than he expects i'm sure, he really shouldn't have a clock which can be tampered with so easily. If that doesn't wake him, giving clients that mans number should at least annoy him enough to arouse his thirst for a drink. His instructions have been prepared, I think I placed it next to the typewriter. I'll just wait for him to wake up, i'd rather not have other tenants finding payment in the hallway.
What could it be now? Ah. My stomache. I forget to give myself the proper amount of calories now and then. The coffee with 10 sugars had gone cold before I finished it. Usually I have more time to eat, I used to have assitants for typing. Perhaps...no, he wouldn't know how to type. Unless I want a bootprint lodged into a computer, Mr. Barnheart wouldn't be of help...Where is the miniature fridge? These stacks of paper are quite inconvenient. Ah, i'm in the bathroom. Hm...My eyes seem to be lacking rest perhaps, these large black bags under my eyes do not seem to be normal. Are these considered scary? Or perhaps what I heard that one time...What was it...The eyes of a pervert? I suppose they are appropriate for someone with my birthday? Eventually my hair will need to be cut, I cannot observe and analyze with my eyes covered. My physique seems to be lacking something as well...for someone of mid-twenties I am perhaps severely underweight? What nationality am I again? I think a quarter Japanese, a quarter English, a quarter Russian and...maybe a quarter French or Italian? Something like that.
I need to consume nutrition, where in the world is that miniature refridgerator...Ah, that hurt. Not wearing shoes or socks has some disadvantages, but my long blue jeans seem to have padded the stubbing of my foot. Ah, I have located the fridge, excellent. Let me see...Hershey's chocolate, black tea, canned coffee, pudding, jam. What should I eat? Jam seems appropriate for breakfast. Mnm...My wrist strength also seems to be lacking, perhaps the result of typing so frequently. This jar is being very difficult. Alright, Brone gets an extra 3 hour wake-up call---Oh, I have it. The jam is a wonderfully cool temperature for this early in the morning, this apartment complex is quite hot. I should perhaps buy a shorter sleeved shirt. My fingers fit into the jar to the very bottom, good, I can eat as much sugar as I need. Mmmm...Raspberry is a very good flavor, my brain is charging with energy already. According to medical journals and scientific studies, this does not seem to be the best diet for a person. But it is fine, the brain is an organ which consumes more calories than any other, as long as I continue to think in the procedure which I do, my health should be adequate.
"I look at the world through apple eyes, and cut myself a slice of sunshine pie, and dance with the peanut-butter flies..."
Oh wait, that is one my ring tones. I should answer the phone, only clients should have this number, unless the alcoholic miraculously woke up so early. I should never try a "prarie oister" again. I'm just gonna deposit his money from now on, he only uses it for meat and booze. Oh right, the phone.
"This is Deneuve. Is there a situation?"
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As I cooly glided in the dimly lit bar, cigarette smoke filled my nostrils. “This is the place,” I thought. I glanced around and only saw a few patrons. It was still early. In a shadowy corner there was a woman wearing a red dress and an expressionless face. Our eyes met. “I’ve got work to do,” I thought and looked away. As I was sitting down at the bar, a glint of light caught my eye. In the reflection of the mirror I saw it. Under the bar was a M1014 Combat Shotgun. It was a semi-automatic, made by the Italians. Currently it was only used by the U.S. Marine Corps. Under that I spotted a box of flashbangs. This was no ordinary bar.
“So what’ll it be?” The bartender interjected.
“Jose Cuervo and keep it coming,” I said. After downing 8...or maybe 9 shots, the bartender asks,“What kind of work do you do?”
“Some call me an old fashioned cowboy, but I’m a simple bounty hunter. I also do other odd jobs if my wallet calls for it. Here’s my number if you ever have anything that needs doing.” On my second try I swiped a pen off the bar and wrote my number on a cocktail napkin. The bartender said nothing but pocketed the napkin. I stopped him from pouring me another drink, “Time for a Prairie Oyster,” I said. He made it. "Bottoms up." I downed my drink and headed out. As I meandered up the sidewalk, I decided it was time to give the juvenile delinquent a call. “Yo kid."
“Yeah well I'm still gonna keep calling you kid. Listen, I need some information on the bartender.”
“Busy with what?”
“Why are you investigating all the tenants? Wait a second…my alarm clock!”
“Michael you son of a !”
click. He hung up. The power didn’t go out last night, it was him! Next time we sparred I’d be sure to kick him in the face for that. Lost in thought I entered the Wrath. Piercing dark brown eyes and a hesitant smile greeted me.
“I, ah, I’m looking for someone.” The smile vanished.
“Follow me,” she said. The next thing I know, I was sitting in a small room smoking a pipe. She sat across from me, legs crossed, eyes closed, letting sand run out of her hand.
“This is real mystic and all but uh, do you have anything to eat here?” I said. A growling stomach was her reply. “…I see.”
“The blue-eyed thief will appear with the rolling dice. That is what I see.” There was something different about her voice, I couldn’t place it.
“You, swimming bird,” she said.
“Huh?” I said.
“The swimming bird will meet a woman; the bird will be hunted by this women and then….death.”
“Heh, one more time.”
“What’s that?”
“I was killed once before, by a woman.” I got up.
“…you take women too lightly my friend.”
“On the contrary, catch ya laters,” I replied. I put the peace pipe down and headed for the door. At the cash register I stopped. I didn’t know if she was expecting payment so I threw down a 10 and stumbled back out into the world. “I wonder where there's gambling.”
Veal for supper
I woke up this morning wondering if yesterday had been a dream. Some crazy man was in my house when I came home... talking about some business about being a detective. I don't know if all of it was real or if I am going insane. I just can't stand it anymore. It's just too much for me. When I moved in with Marcus (my deceased husband), everything was glorious. The street lights worked and the diner wasn't a place for lunatics. Maybe that guy, Michael I think was his name... who "investigated" my apartment yesterday was right. I must be on some sort of drug. It all seems like a blur now. How did this retroevolution of Washington Heights occur. Maybe the Jewish Homes would be better than this... well certainly not better but maybe safer? I guess it doesn't matter... let someone come in a murder me, what else is there that I need to do? I just hope Alexander doesn't get into trouble in this neighborhood.
Today I went to the butcher, to pick up some food for Alexander. He always tells me I don't give him enough food. He's eating me out of house and home. I don't mind buying him meat though because that butcher, Oscar, is one of the nicest men I've ever met. Such a nice man to have been serving that fresh meat for all these years. He's always giving me deals too. His place is always pretty full... but not with people I would think would be in a butchery. Shady looking men... with dark-colored trench coats and thick accents are usually hanging around the place... playing cards or talking about current events. Today when I went, Oscar was out of ground beef... I had to figure something else out or Alexander would be enraged.
"Well, if you don't have the beef what else do you recommend Oscar," I said.
"Aw, well the veal is great Ms. Pearl," Oscar replied.
"Veal? I don't know if Alexander would like that," I said.
"O'course he will! The meat's so tender 'cause they keep the little things in cages, so they can't use their muscle, some may call it inhumane, I say it's brilliant," he said.
"Alright Oscar, you always know what's best so I'll take your word for it," I said, admiringly. "I better get a pound and a half, Alexander can't stand not being satisfied after a meal."
I came back to the penthouse, hoping there wouldn't be another strange man eating Alexander's chocolate chip cookies in my apartment.
"Alexander I'm fixing you supper, it'll be ready in about thirty minutes or so," I said.
"Grandma, actually I'm going out to dinner with some friends tonight," He said, nonchalantly.
"Well why did you wait to tell me until now, I went to Oscar's," I said.
"I forgot Grandma, but I need 10 dollars too," he said, even more nonchalantly.
"Alexander, you're killing me," I thought in my head but not-surprisingly said outloud.
"And... can I get the car too," he asked, already knowing my answer didn't matter.
I didn't say a word. I put the veal in the freezer and handed him the key. "Call me later," I said... knowing the call would never happen. "See ya later grandma, love you!" he said.
I don't know how much longer I can take this. I just don't know what to do. This place is driving me crazy.
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