the girl. the scribe. the mad man. the misfit lord.

George lynch was sulking around behind the bank in an alley. Standing next to the dumpster he wondered if he would ever get used to the smell of so many different shitty smells. There was a cat rummaging through plastic bags and second hand fast food left over crap…Siamese cats are usually very particular about what they eat…this one was not. George considered the cat for a moment…



“You’re not a Siamese cat are you?” said George bending over the cat to get a closer look.

“Read the tag, asshole…” answered the cat.
George read the tag…it said, “made as china.”

“Typical…” said George and looked up at the window…at his watch and back at the window again. “I’m hungry.” he said and left.
Restaurants are easy. George took the table by the window, so he could look outside and see the waterfall.
“Do you see that large cube of glass over there?” he asked the waitress.
“Yes…but only barely…it’s transparent…kind of hard to see.”
“Help me move it a bit to the right…there’s less light there and it would be fun to see if you can help me or not.”
“I can try.” she said.
“You don’t fascinate me at all…” said George and slid his finger across her throat. “So tell me…what exactly are you doing here?”

“on this planet? Or in this restaurant?” asked the waitress.

“In my mind.” said George.

George stepped back into the bank. It was still as beautiful as ever…with trees and birds and lakes and rivers. Honey bees singing then stinging…mostly just bothering the dwarf…who was jumping about with a fly squatter…a walkie talkie blaring out static in his ear…he answered back as frantic as anything…sweating like crazy… “It’s practically world war three.” He shouted over the desk as George passed him by.
“I don’t care.” said George and moved off towards the counter where the athletic redhead did whatever it was that she did.
“you are insanely beautiful you know…” said George…

“hello George…we sold those cars with the defective engines to a third world country…they had been rejected by Japan and Germany around eighteen years ago and now that they have become absolutely obsolete we sold them…the government is really pleased…a shipment of eight thousand cars…that’s huge…and only one country…one poor country is buying this…at a relatively low price but we’re still getting a profit of 7%...which I don’t think I have to tell you…is huge…I might get a promotion you know…”

“what car is this?” asked George…he was seeing double and breathing hard at this point…the redhead swished her head a lot when she was happy…which made George happy…there’s always something else to move on to.

“you know…those four wheeled cars…they have something called a carburetor in them…no fancy new age chips and yet we managed to sell them.”

“new age chips…are you hungry?” asked George…his mouth was dry and he was feeling dizzy…perhaps sitting down for a bit might help…time wore nike joggers around this girl whilst he had a rock around his neck and little space in his lungs. “you guys have a nice manager…I’ve met the guy…he seemed stoned but alright...funny beard…plays a guitar.”

“you mean the hippie in the broom closet…? How come you spend so much time with that lunatic?” asked the redhead. George started laughing.

There was a park in the back room…with computers and flying squirrels…lots of pineapples growing in around the room where chuck lobsterman sat writing his book. It was about rock stars who sing, “that’ll be the day that I die.” so on and so forth. It was mostly just obvious stuff…nobody remembers jeff buckley because he was alive type nonsense.

“There was something really sexy about the 70’s…chuck.” said George as he sat down in front of him whilst chuck typed away on his computer.
“hell yes…cushy tube lights will take us down and tear our souls apart. Nobody wants to swim anymore. But what do you know???? You…of all people…?” said chuck.

“I’m trying to seduce the redhead at the counter in front…so I know a bit.”

“Interesting…incidentally I can’t find my Siamese cat…I’m afraid that goddamn dwarf might be riding it...if I find him with it…I’ll kill him.”

“you’re a strange man chuck…it’s in the dumpster out back…eating shit.” Said George.
Chuck got up and beckoned George to follow. They passed by carpet covered smooth dirt then around small delicate flowers and large heavy boots. It felt like a trip back in time until they reached a door labeled…

“There used to be this colourful story book in my past.
It had thick bland pages with a smell that I really liked…it was comforting.
It had a large red cover and now I remember a chair inside. Chemical dependency.”

“where does this go?” asked George.
“I’m not sure…it usually doesn’t say this…actually generally it just says toilet…I wanted to show you the water colour in the faucet. Or drop some.” said chuck.

“I’m not paying attention, as such, but I heard those last three words…I think it’s a good idea…I think we should go inside.” said George.

“excellent…but nick hornby won’t be joining us…his book ended happily.” said chuck and opened the door. George followed him inside. Inside where there were rooms with bottles broken bottles everywhere and the kitchen was made of blacks and whites. There were stairs that led to other dimensions and large mirrors in cozy rooms…swirling faces and a light bulb sun. Which we won’t worship no matter what the hobbit says. Obscure and deluded.

George staggered into the foyer…the toad stools looked like tiny babies in a cloning lab. His senses reeled. The floor was turning mushy…there were faces in the marble…dots chasing one another and pulsating walls. Then somehow he was back at the counter.

“Your pupils are dilated.” said the redhead.

“Not that I’m gay or anything…but have you ever thought about removing those?” said George referring to her clothes… “I don’t see why you don’t come have lunch with me…my treat…you pay.”

“I have a better idea George. Why don’t I just smile a bit and then walk away instead?” asked the redhead.

“Yeah that would be amazing…thanks…I’ll go feel small now.” said George.


There was a guy painting pictures in the vault. Standing in the dark he was humming to himself something melodic and kind of sad. When he saw George he stopped and asked him to come closer.
“So? What do you think?” he asked George...

“I think it’s nice…I like the way the hand turns into hair and it’s all gold and stuff…what’s with the fish?”

“Lean out your window…golden hair…I heard you singing in the midnight air.” sang the painter.

“yeah I’ve heard that one…I like it…it’s ok. So which one of you guys was pink?”