This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Thursday, December 14, 2017
Gripes of Wrath (Blogophilia 42.10)
All I could was shake my head as I drove out of the parking lot. That was the craziest circus I had ever seen. Was Grim insane? The meeting really wasn't going well, but still. Makes me wonder if he isn't the Terror
I had to admit the carny show was top notch. The disappearing globe was good enough to fool Penn and Teller. So, where did the Mary's and their lambs go? Gypsy Joleene is in on it, for sure. But, How? And more importantaly, why?
Let me think... Six months the email came. Some nitwit wanting to tell about writers disappearing. One with nationwide significance. It sounded kind of fishy and I was about to blow him off, when the boss said they needed something for Sweeps Week. I decided I'd go ahead and hear him out. Didn't know where it would lead, but all I had was time to waste. And I'm not one to turn down a free lunch.
We met at one those weird Asian places out on the Four Lane- something Hot Pot. He showed up dressed as Michaelangelo and wore a Rafael t-shirt-the Ninja Turtles, not the artists. It was a little over the top, but I had seen worse. Take the interview with Domo Kun Cosplayer at the Anime Fest, I couldn't understand a word through all that felt. Some people love their 'toons.
After we were seated, He suggested the Terrapin soup. The menu was in Chinese, so just too the lead. It wasn't like anything I'd ever had, that's for sure. The bowl seemed to be as big as the table and it was half filled with a thin broth with little flecks of dark green meat. Could have been Martian for all I knew. But the flavor...not really spicy, but it left a burning sensation down the back of my throat. I was thankful for the cold beer that came with it.
Anyway, Turtle Guy was hunting for someone who had disappeared in Florida. A friend that owed him money. So, why come to a two bit features reporter? It wasn't like some massive exposé involving the Governor, but a missing dead beat with no assets. He kept going on and on about the missing guy, evil turtles, and other nonsense. It was one of those interviews. I questioned his sanity and mine. Without missing a beat, the joint is lit in front of God and everybody. He offered it to me.
Looking nervously toward the door, I shook my head.
"This isn't a moonlight ride."
The smoke hit his throat wrong. After a full minute of coughing, he weakly replied.
"Let me get to the point." He said, dabbing his spit covered lips with a stained napkin. "You don't know how it feels. This Gypsy Lady took his money and mine, too."
I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. I never had any use for "Psychics" after that incident in college. Lucky the cop believed me rather than her, or I would have been expelled. But it did make finish the Journalism degree, so I guess I can't complain. Something I learned since then is all of those "New Age" types have a schtick; a scripted act designed to divert and distract. Every one of the scams has a kryptonite factor. The key was to find it and the truth would bust out like a butterfly from her chrysallis.
The pungent smoke was burning my eyes. I excused myself.
"I got to head on down the road." I said. "There's somewhere I've got to go."
I turned out on to the Four Lane to head back to the station. I looked up and realized I was passing the restaurant. Those poor lambs were in deep trouble.