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Clean-up on Level Zero

Gus Savoie's picture

Joe, two levels down from me, is trying not to appear to be eyeing the tit-mags. From my vantage point, however, he is quite obviously not reading the copy of Transworld Skateboard but staring — possibly open mouthed and drooling — at "Juggs". Not that I can blame him, Transworld is largely a sausage festival on wheels.

"Joseph here, is perusing the sexuality and photography periodicals." I announce. "He appears to be interested in primate mammalian females with giganticism of the mammary glands."

"Understandable, the mammaries are one of the distinguishing features of the primate mammal." Pez slides into the commentary right next to me with practiced ease. We may as well be wearing oversized headsets and used-car sportsjackets.

"He's making a broad survey of the field." I remark, "from his position in the seemingly unrelated field of global roller-sport dynamics."

"Perhaps he's considering a refocusing of his investigative efforts?"

"Perhapsh, Moneypenny" I slurped my best impersonation of Sickboy from Trainspotting doing his impression of Sean Connery as James Bond.

Level Zero. Seems that a bit of a scuffle is breaking out. Three persons, attired in Gorilla masks and bright orange t-shirts bearing the slogan "Shoot Down Astronauts" are unfurling a long banner comprised of similarly orange and sloganned paper. The banner has the look of something painted with poster paints by persons who discovered proper lettering and spacing as an afterthought, but had only one piece of paper long enough for the job. Security guards in peaked caps and heavy utility belts loiter around, worriedly talking into their massive radios. I can't hear more than the angry buzzing of scuffle sounds.

Then chanting rises to our ears. "Kill Major Tom. Kill Major Tom." and so on, in a piercing falsetto.

"Shit, look at that, wouldja?" Pez pauses, mid up-roll of his coffee cup rim, watching the events unfolding and unfurling. Camera flashes are firing on level zero now. The gorilla-heads are posing with what looks to be elephant guns, aimed upwards over the arcing escalators to the glass suntower that comprises the vaulted ceiling, 6 stories overhead. A crowd is forming.

Dark figures five to a line move rapidly toward the escalators on level two. Threat Response staff. Cheaper than cops and with less regulation. The gorillas must have been tipped off. They drop the sign and scramble, disappearing into the throngs. The TR guys would be disappointed after all that running.


Please don't leave it there. This is just enough to hook a reader, give them a sense of the rhythm and pace, and allow a glimpse of the story to slip out. Withholding the entirety of the story now would be sadistic.

Gus Savoie's picture

me too

I know what you mean. As soon as the fucker lets me in on the rest of the story, you'll be the first to know!