Note: This chapter was rewritten as of 2/10/21
He could never forget the night she told him she wasn’t real.
One of those nights when the moon was exceptionally envious. Positioning itself properly in the vast vacuum of space to capture as much sunlight as possible from its celestial counterpart. Accompanied by stars of all calibers. The majority of those singular specks many would pass by in their night watching. Falling over themselves as they threw full attention to the constructs of constellations, packaged together with ancient mythological importance they knew nothing about. Perhaps humans were really nothing more than compact piles of cosmic dust as the passing tripper would attempt to describe to him in-between the sporadic dancing fits, seeing as we treat each other the same as these insignificant illuminations all across the universe.
This cold shoulder was replicated by Mother Nature. Couldn’t really blame her, they treated her like a bitch too. Which was rather beneficial, as the cold air seemed to work in tandem with the cheap acid she’d snagged from a crusty curly-haired curator camping out the back on an old B200, with a psychedelic mural to timestamp the very moment he determined his life peaked. Just young enough to give Tricky Dick the slip, but just old enough to ride out the dying waves of the hippie heyday. Before it would recede hairlines and drag them in the rip current to drown in the corporate ocean. It was a silent massacre of an entire culture. A genocide, if you will.
And man, genocide ain’t groovy.
The only positive he could see was the removal of any accusations of appropriation. Wearing an old pair of corduroy pants caped over worn-out canvas shoes, scribbled over with tiny notes she’d kept step by step throughout the years. She’d kept her womanly features warm with a large crochet sweater of prismatic patterns, suppressed by an even larger Sherpa jacket she’d bought at one of those outside thrift markets, the price slashed with every missing button and ripped thread. Her hair done up in a cutesy cliched manner, a beach blonde mess with clashing currents of curls and wavy strands.
And those sunglasses. The reflected mirror world that kept him still with terrified trembles, that maybe what she told him was untrue. A hypothesis from heightened senses stimulates by the grandiose guitars and stinging sitar of the music. It could make your heart race unbelievably quick, thoughts irrational with such an extreme emotional reaction. But no, she was right. She wasn’t real. As much as the rest of the world tried to convince. She made that absolutely clear.
And still, she smiled all the same. The smile he’d come to love and hate in similar thoughts, as it would carve itself into his skull and cause his muscles to reciprocate regardless of his emotional state.
She was right. She wasn’t real, too good to be true. A lie that laid out on the grass, propped up on a Persian blanket to protect itself from the piercing blades of grass from the field they’d found themselves in. It was something he would have to come to terms with sooner than he anticipated. Everyone had to at some point. To stand where he stood. In their own field, staring up at their own night stars and deciding whether to accept those notions or blink. It was a terrifying thought, attempting to admit that life's positive aspects were just as if not less significant than those that cause pain and suffering. All those old sayings about deeds and their doomed consequences running through your head. Certainly wasn’t something he wanted to face, so it decided to confront him instead. Remnants of a previous life, one full of passion and desire for the now and coming. All laid bare that night in the field.
He went back to that field one day. It’d been paved over into a parking lot.
It came to a sudden stop at the light of the intersection, cascading tides from the small lakes formed from the day’s previous showers. Recovering from the slight jolt, he unbraced himself and leaned back into his seat, shuffling on the sandy suede as he puffed on his cigarette. Tracing the stray tears of rain as they slithered along the edges of a giant phoenix plastered across the hood. Making its fiery presence known across the muted gold backdrop of a ’78 Trans Am. A gaudy machine of a bygone era when the American dream was defined by its bark far more than its bite when it’d come to the beasts of the roads. The kind of machines the could wake an entire neighborhood with a single rev of the engine under the shiny hood.
It didn’t need power, nor reasonably powerful for that matter. None of that mattered when you were busy soaking up every second of those 15 minutes of fame. Their destinations were seclusions in stuffy garages or wrapped twice around a lamp post for cars like that.
He slumped at the thought, exhaling a bitter cloud as he petted the steering wheel like an old dog, “Not that you gotta go worrying like that. I’ll keep you going, same as the ones before me.” He gave the dashboard a light pat.
The car gave him an idle purr.
“That’s my girl.”
A strange comeback, the rhythmic thumps of someone rapping on the passenger window. He turned to see another girl, one of a human presence, all hunched over as she peered into the cabin giving him a slow yet enthusiastic wave. He’d almost subconsciously waved back if he hadn’t noticed the smudges shining in the sunlight. Her mouth began to move, trying to use another form of communication, which was also unsuccessful as she consistently desynced with the lyrics booming from the radio. Dual conversations down separate paths. He choked the music and churned the crank as the window slowly crunched into the doorframe.
“Well…hey there, mister,” Her voice scratchy and sedated. He gave her a slight nod. “I’m really digging the wingspan you’re rocking out here, could see it coming from a mile away. Rolling all the way down to me.”
His eyes studied her for a moment as the cigarette hung limply from his lips. “If you’re looking for a handout or a ride around town, afraid you’re outta luck either way.”
“Hmm-well, lucky for us, I’m in no mood for scalping or searching from passersby,” She adjusted her bandana, a dirty yellow floral wrapped around her red dried out dreads, “Made my way up here with a small group of ours, a commune so to speak.” He raised an eyebrow as if to say and? “Looking to get a message of ours out there, to those who really need to lend an ear.” She thumbed over to a small militia on the street corner, arming themselves with signs and flags of varying capacities. Their messages definitely violated some open carry laws for this beachy side of California. Though in all fairness, that wasn’t exactly a difficult feat to pull off.
“Is that right?” He turned back to her and smiled. “Look girl, I hate to be a bummer for you and your buddies here, but we left Vietnam ‘bout a half-century ago. As an aggressor, at least. Believe we even set up a few Mickey D’s as monuments to our many sacrifices.”
“Sacrifices still being forced all across the nation…the world. Poor people spilling their guts to grease the machines trying to control us all. It’s such a terrible thing…”
He adjusted the collar of the chameleon wrapped around him, often phasing between a buffalo plaid flannel or a dark washed denim. Likely the second, as her eyes managed to stay focused on him rather than bouncing around the checkered cotton. “I hear you, but I take it that’s not why you’re here?”
Her eyes slowly blinked, the light briefly flashing a vivid violet, “What? Oh, no-no-no, we aren’t here for anything that extreme, dude. We’re just spreading some much-needed knowledge on the preservation of animals near-extinct, about those that are barely clinging on. Ones we’ve near thrown into the grave ourselves.” She leaned to the side over the window frame, the fringes of her pink sundress draping over the door, “You wanna talk about a real bring down bummer, pal. That’s about as bum as they come.”
Bringing the ailments of natural jungles to those of concrete, he thought with another puff of nicotine, nonpartisan in nature. It was a noble endeavor. He knew that surely. To stand up for those who lacked the mental capacity to comprehend how bad a hand they were dealt while the house worked with the commanding species to screw them every way till Sunday was something to strive for in these times. Certainly helps you sleep at night. But from the seat he was settled in, to the boots strapped on his feet, his word would’ve meant next to nothing beside them.
Also didn’t help they tasted pretty good. Grilled or fried. Pink of perfection.
The collection of cars accumulating in his rearview caught his attention, “Gotta say, that’s awfully considerate of you to be thinking that way, but I best be going now. Peace and love and all that.” He flashed her a sign as he reached for the wheel.
“Hey!” An outburst causing them both to jump. “Would you mind pulling off into this empty space here?” She motioned to a parking spot just off the right turn, “Perhaps we could continue this little discussion from greedy little eyeballs…just me and you…”
There it was. “Last time I checked, we’re not supposed to be led anywhere by strangers, much less talk to them.” He answered in a joking manner.
“We’re all strangers to some degree, mister. Even to our own parents at one point,” She patted her hands on the frame, sticking her head in the cabin. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t get to know each other a little better.”
He relaxed his shoulders, slowly tapping the wheel with an index finger, “How many times you used that as bait today?”
Her eyes rolled playfully and smiled.
“Hmph, well…” He took one final drag and buried it in the console ashtray, “Looks like you finally got a snag.”
“Righteous!” She did a twirl on the spot with an exaggerated point to the parking space. Many features of her face shone with excitement and anticipation as the phoenix glided its way around the curb, the low guttural growl grumbling along to nest itself amongst the asphalt, cigarette buds, and other trash you’d come across when scraping the sidewalk.
He watched as she made her way over, playing hopscotch in the puddles pooled around, her bare feet splashing like a child as she bounced up to the driver's side. The cars behind him were now making their way through the intersection, many drivers shooting him looks. Some angry. Some curious. But all continued to drive along as if nothing ever happened.
She waited for him to crank once more, slow and steady, “Geez, these guys seriously need to take some chill pills, y’know what I’m saying?” She waved to those who continued to honk at them.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think they combat congestion,” He glanced back. Her companions remained dormant, conversing amongst themselves. Every head accounted for, “Alright then, so what’s your deal here-“
“Nicole.”
“Hmm?”
“Name’s Nicole.” Repeating with a softer tone.
His brow furrowed with a forced scratch of his beard. “…Ambrose.”
“Ambrose…” She allowed it to roll around on her tongue, getting a feel for its texture and the alien aftertaste. “I can dig it.”
That’s a relief. He couldn’t remember the last time someone was unnerved by the gravelly vibrations of his vocal cords. That paranoia usually came about with realizing his skyscraper spine, and 7% body fat spread out accordingly. Seeming to expand and contract depending on the emotional themes of the conversation. But for now, the cartilage in his joints remained calm and compressed. “Well then…Nicole,” A sly smile. “You have my curiosity.”
“Radical! If I got that, then this’ll surely get your attention.” She quickly began rummaging through her satchel. A handmade crossbody stitched in spiraling eccentric patterns. He took note of the centerpiece, a trunk with a red heart treetop. “I’ve…we’ve been cooking up something real special for a while, Ambrose. Just you wait, gonna blow your mind ma-a-a-an…”
“I eagerly await my aneurysm.”
She popped up, her hand shooting up like an arcade claw, “A-ha! Here we are!” She grabbed his hand and slapped an object into his palm, cool and metallic to the touch. He looked down onto a small tin with a bright, colorful graphic.
“Damn, that’s kinda harsh. You could’ve just said something about my breath, I don’t bite.” She said nothing, mouth open and staring with eyes empty in confusion. He held the tin up to her face and rattled. “Get it…uh…it says mints.”
Her eyes remained unmoved, yet her lips began to curl, “Oh…” She gave a slow, unfocused laugh, lifting an index finger, “You…I like you. And I think you’re gonna like these.” She tapped the mints and leaned closer to his face. “Many people do…passed around from person to person. Even got a fancy little name for them, the Elements as we’ve been told. Got all the makings there in those…captivating little capsules. They’ll getcha feeling right in no time, after some time baking is all. They really come into their own with a little help…companions with cakes, partners with pastries, buddies with brownies-whatever, man! They’re all friends.”
He looked her straight in the eye, another moment of silence after her spiel. “You call that a sales pitch?”
“I call that a promise.”
He looked back once more, the group hadn’t moved, yet one head was now turned in their direction. “Well, to tell you the truth, it wasn’t all too convincing.” She responded with a cartoonish sad expression, pretending to wipe a tear. “However, I got someone back home who…well, would feel right at home with this kinda stuff.” He chuckled, patting the tin between his hands. Made him think about lighting another cigarette.
“Really now, your girl? Your o-o-old lady?”
“Nah, just a friend. Been living with him for a while now, roommate kinda thing.” She nodded. “Heh, he’s the one you should be talking to right now. This is right up his alley…more like an occasional stroll for me.”
“Helping out someone without even meeting them? Groovy!”
“Yeah, you should definitely be talking to him.” He tossed the tin in the passenger seat, fumbling around his pants pockets. “But I suppose I’ll play the messenger today. How much?”
“What?”
“How much?”
“How much?”
“Yeah, how much?”
“How much for what?”
“Umm, how much for these…Elements as you called them?”
Her face twisted up from some unknown stench. Perhaps the stinging smell of worry as she eyed the distressed leather in his hand. Seemed like she wasn’t prepared for that question. Maybe she’d never been asked it before, forever surrounding herself by dedicated dope smokers and paisley pushers. Not often you can straighten out to see an outsider wanting to get involved. Much less in late 70's muscle all painted one color. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t law enforcement, a narc as he’d heard before, but that might bring about new waves of fears not yet conceived. Cut him is he stands, shoot him if he’d run.
He sighed. “Here, let me set the price.” He unfolded two bills, showing the lumpy portraits of Lincoln. “Take a ten, ain’t gonna hurt if I’m a few bucks shorter and you’re suddenly ten dollars richer, sound good?”
She took them in her hands carefully, flipping them over and over. A softening gaze on her eyes as they darted around the corners of the bills. Finally, she nodded once more and cleared her throat. “Ok…that sounds good to me. Thank you very much.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m sure capital is frowned upon in your inner circles anyways.” He waved her off the car. “We should probably be parting ways now. We both got people waiting on us, but…” He looked down to the steering wheel, eyeing the curvature of the interior he’d seen so many times over. The streaks of chrome aglint on the dashboard sparkled brighter than usual. “Thank you for taking an interest in the car, really. It means a lot to me. And it means even more to a lot more people. You’ve made them far happier than you can possibly imagine, Nicole.”
She caressed his arm once, sliding up his limb and placing one hand over another as she pulled him closer, “No, thank you, Ambrose. For it’s you who’s going to make somepony very happy.” He felt her drop another object into his hand, balling it into a fist and gripping it tightly. “Very happy.” And with that, she hopped back from the car with a large smile. “But you’re right. We should probably be groovin’ along now. Happy trails, Ambrose, blessings!” She gave him a large wave and quickly scurried back to her posse, who were all looking at him at this point.
He gave them a PR style smile and wave. One mirrored the motion with a dispassionate hand before they all shuffled around the corner, leaving no trace of their presence. Laying still as it always had. He finally relaxed, slumping back in his seat as he ran a quick hand through his hair. Exhaling loudly as he adjusting the seatbelt, which felt like a makeshift noose at this point. He looked down and opened his palm. Blossoming onto a small capsule as she called it, resembling a pink butterfly.
“Hmm…” he grabbed the tin and opened it, soon blasted in the face by a brief light show, as a rainbow aura shot out intensity mixed with the sunshine. He dropped the butterfly in and slammed it shut, throwing it back into the passenger seat. He whipped his head around once more around the street. Her group was gone. Cars were stopped again at the intersection as the other lanes were making their way through at differing speeds. Some people passed through the crosswalks, others waiting impatiently for their light to run through its 30-second cycle. Relatively quiet. Calm. He looked at himself in the rearview, combing down crazy hairs in his beard. The deep blue of his eyes was still visible, with a slight glint of gold from the sun, and his pupils were still of a proper dilation. He sighed with relief. “Yeah…alright then.”
He shifted the car into drive and whipped it around, tires squealing wildly as he sped through the intersection, cutting through the turn and ripping down the straightaway.
Slumped over the toilet, he gazed into the stew of past regrets. Brown chunks of short-sightedness blended together with the slime of his digestive system's disagreements bubbling away the chemical-filled lake within the bowl. The aroma of disgust sucked into his nostrils with a fierce, fiery sensation within the slimy soot. A few more dry wretches had confirmed his stomach was cleared of any hangers-on, only leaving him with shakes as spit slowly dribbled from his mouth. Labored breathing. Blinking from blurred vision as he adjusted to the bathroom’s buzzy light. Another addition to the things he’d need to fix down the line, take a number.
Like molasses, he got his knees underneath him and slowly stood using the sink as support. His bare feet freezing on the tiled terra firma. He smacked his hand on the level, each attempt sounding off an echoed thump and a disappointed grumble until he finally managed to pull it entirely. Flushing unworthy subjects down the everyman’s throne. Cupped water thrown into his face, the chilling currents running down his chin and onto his chest. The only thing close to a shower that day.
Turning locks could be heard through the askew door, followed by heavy boots on the carpet, walking in a familiar step pattern.
“Lou?”
He swiveled his neck, sounding multiple snaps of his spine.
“Lou Lou?”
“Bathroom…” Attempting to respond, gargling as he spat leftovers into the sink. “…Who is it?”
“Ambrose.”
“Which one?”
“The one who just got paid.” The voice replied, carried by steps as it slid along the walls, entangling itself amongst the wallpapers' florals.
“Ah…” he nodded as his glazed eyes rolled around to the mirror, spotting the stains on his teeth and cheeks. Quickly sucking spitting water until his saliva ran clear, vigorously rubbing his face with a towel. “Nice, I’m a real big fan of that one. He treats me much better than the others.”
“Yeah, me too.” Ambrose’s voice continued into the kitchen. “Usually, he’s easier on my brain, but today…” There was a pause, as he could hear him fidgeting with something. “…today he went and got me all curious.”
Oh boy. Curious. Wasn’t usual for Ambrose to be what is known as curious, as it often revolved around the subject of Louis and his long list of shortcomings. What was it this time, a plate out of place? Trash tossed into the corner? Or maybe the emotion had gotten ahold of him for no reason whatsoever, some entity gnawing away as his reasonably portioned sanity. Sucking on his brainstem, cracking into the cranium. That unholy slurping. Ugh, it was enough to make him sick. Luckily, his own brain was safe from manipulation as he had just flushed down the toilet moments prior.
He shambled out of the bathroom, causing goosebumps to bubble all across his flesh, frigid to the brisk AC blowing through the house as it extinguished the sweltering heat outside, just as it’d done all week. Reaching the kitchen with a huff, he found Ambrose searching under the sink. Many grunts and sighs as the bottles of cleaning soap and window washers placed along the floor. “May I ask as to what has piqued your interest, Amby?”
Ambrose looked up from the floor and making eye contact...widening slightly as it trailed down the multiple ink splotches etched into his skin and stopping at the patterns pasted across the V of his waistline. “How about explaining why you walked out here naked?”
He looked down. “…What are you talking about? I’ve got a towel on…” Ambrose’s brow darkened as his hands went still, bringing about a nervous laugh. “Heh…uh, it-its laundry day, man. Yeah-laundry day and the birthday suit was the only thing left clean-“
“You still not feeling well?”
A slight cough. “No, I’m in the middle of a breakthrough discovery on porcelain, studying its habits. Lays dormant, slow reactions, yet a serious craving for bullshit.”
Ambrose stifled a laugh. “Huh, must be a long lost relative then, considering what I have to put up with you.” He found what he needed, a stainless steel flashlight, and stood up.
He cranked his neck upward, “Fuck you, man.”
Ambrose continued to hide his amusement, “Not looking like that, you aren’t.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out another cigarette, putting one in his mouth. “You gotta pretty yourself up first before you even step to the plate, let alone take your victory lap, Babe.”
“Excuse me?”
“Y’know…like Babe Ruth?”
He smiled. “…That was terrible.”
“Tsk, tough crowd,” Ambrose muttered. Out of his pants pocket came a small metal tin. “While you’re getting dressed, do me a favor and look at these, will you? I gotta go…check something on the car. Think I hit a bump on the way here.”
He took them from his hand, rattling it skeptically. “Why? Aren’t these just mints?”
“Not exactly, I don’t think.”
He did a double-take. “The fuck? Where’d you get them?”
“Some hippy dippy chick, the tree hugger type. I’m sure you’re familiar.” He was. Much more than he liked to be these days. “Though this time around, they’re animal huggers, I suppose. Going someplace for something to talk to somebody about endangered species…somewhere.”
“That’s a lotta some’s.”
Ambrose nodded and made his way to the door. “And our little encounter was summed up with that little parting gift. Originally I was gonna throw them out, looked like glorified Tic Tacs to me. But I figured someone would want to give a second opinion before I commit something as cruel and heartless as that.”
“Gasp, who could that be?” Louis snickered, turning the tin over in his hands. “Sure, I’ll take a look. Just. For. You.” He pointed a flirty finger at his friend, who shook his head with a smile.
“One more thing…she tried to be all secretive about this exchange best she could. A little heads up. Just. For. You.” He mocked as he walked out the door, punctuating his proposition with its slam.
Louis pulled his hair out of a tie, splashing the dirty blonde waves all around his shoulders. The sheet of cotton had morphed itself around his legs in a dark denim form. He leaned back into a creaky chair and placed the tin onto the table. “Well now, let’s see why you’ve got Amby all spun up today…better be something good.” He blinked, eyelids licking at his lingering interest, popping open the lid and peering inside.
What he discovered on the inside was…interesting, to put it lightly. Rather than finding a pit of polar white peppermint, instead laid 6 colorful capsules all cut into various shapes: a blue balloon, orange apple, red lightning bolt, purple diamond, pink butterfly, and a magenta star, that one being slightly larger than the rest. Their coloring was so vibrant, that mixed with the metallic interior, it lit up his room light a light show. A rainbow aurora cascading across the walls and ceiling. Not only that, but the contents gave off a strong smell that stung his nose, a scent he never would’ve expected.
Cupcakes?
As he squinted from the onslaught of the colors, his only answer to their unusual arrival was a well-spoken “Huh.” The objects were working their way inside his brain, entrenching themselves deep within the folds of his mind. Nerves attempting to make connections where there were none. But something about their appearance was surprising…familiar. Those shapes, he could’ve sworn he had seen them before, some sequence of events that created the colorful kaleidoscope he’d just been witness to. It had been from somewhere; the weather, a movie, some vivid hallucination from a frantic fever dream, there had to be something! Maybe even from a certain place. Yet even as they continued to dance around in his head, his brain turned up a whole lot of nothing, leaving him slightly annoyed. It was there, for some reason he just couldn’t put his hoof on it.
Wait.
Louis shook his head, snapping back his senses, "What was that?” he asked no one, “Must’ve short-circuited for a sec there, this smell ain't helping much.” The fumes were overpowering, completely filling his head with irritating icing, so he quickly closed them away. With the click from the lid, so came another from his brain. He’d finally figured them out, awarding him a mischievous smile.
"Well?"
Short-lived bliss, bursting into near convulsion as the figment of Ambrose had faded into existence before him, now in a much calmer state of being. “I-um…uh…” Flailing of the voice, cords not contracting correctly. He scratched his head to find a sense of rhythm. “These definitely aren’t gummy vitamins, I’ll tell you that, man.”
“What are they then?”
“My best guess…they’re candies dressed up in a little lace. What did this girl you meet say?”
Ambrose’s face muscles moved in thought, most likely replaying the events in his head. They didn’t appear to be all that traumatizing. “Said it was something her group had cooked up not too long ago. Seemed to be quite proud of it, even giving them this fancy buildup. Calling them the Elements…” He said with an exaggerated expansive hand gesture.
“That’s it? She didn’t mention anything like oooh y’know…dosage…how much to take…how to take them?”
“Ah-that last part. Yeah, she did.”
Of course, skip all the significant bits. Avoid liability wherever you can. Every scrap you can scrape away. Especially if anyone unfortunate got word of the situation. What? I don’t know anything of any drug deal going down! All I remember was this tall, muscular man in a flashy car coming over to shake me down! I was petrified! A moment of weakness!
…Hmph, may be weak, but certainly not stupid.
“From what I could piece together, and believe me, it was quite the jigsaw, that you gotta prepare them through baking. Like a brownie or whatever.”
“Hey, I think we got a spare bag of baking mix laying around the pantry somewhere. We could use that!” Both men were quite surprised by the enthusiasm of his response. Almost like a reflex-like response.
“You say that like you wanna cook them…tonight.”
He shrugged. “Why not? Not the first rodeo wrestling with a myster-r-r-ious concoction ooo…” He wiggled his fingers in a childish frightening manner. “C’mon now, it wouldn’t to lighten up a bit, don’t be such a pussy. I mean, you met her, man, she seem semi-trustworthy to you?”
“She looked like she didn’t know what planet she was on.”
“Close enough.”
“Louis.” His voice grew stern. “Mind over matter isn’t gonna cut it here. You should wait for your body to catch up.”
“Aww, nice to know you care, Amby.” He placed his hands over his heart, rocking in the chair in a mushy trance. “But it’s nothing serious, probably just ate something bad. Should be better by the time I’m done prepping all this, you got nothing to worry about.”
“The only thing I’m worried about is you puking the rest of your guts out on the carpet…or the tiles…or me.”
“Ah-ah, if I puke the rest of my guts out, there’ll be no guts left for them to fuck with. The perfect plan!”
Ambrose threw his hands up. “Fuck it, do what you want. Just don’t come crying to me when this whole thing comes crumbling down around you. Not one whine.” Pace by pace, he went into the living room and collapsing on the couch. Pulling up a remote and turning on the TV, his feet finding their way onto the coffee table.
A nature channel. Using the pixels of the screen to plunge the viewer into a lush forest. Possibly one under the rain classification, no concrete here. He could never figure it out, and this was about his seventh attempt this week. Must’ve been for some competition for the network, a Hail Mary to save their skins and snag some ratings. “What’s this channel’s fascination with this forest? I keep seeing it over and over.”
“Who knows, maybe it’s a sign.” He joked, baking sheet in one hand and measuring cup in the other, assembling his work station across the counter. “Keep looking. Maybe you’ll find some kinda deeper meaning with it all—the tales of the trees, each leaf a limerick. You get down to the nitty-gritty of all that while I work my magic back here. Then we might get the true reason as to why it keeps coming back to you.”
“What else does that eight-ball of a brain tell you?”
“You’ll be groveling at my feet from the sheer amazement of my creations?”
“…Reply hazy. Try again later.”