Broke, homeless, completely destitute, now riding through his dream; sitting upon an old time elevated train; going from stop to stop and wondering where he could find a decent neighborhood in surround of the given platform to finally descend. But one had to be very quick in terms of pushing a button and then running down the exit stairs before the train can pull one back to be on board. Stop, by stop, by stop, until finally arriving at the northern most major boulevard. Hoping that there might be the possibility of a job downstairs that he could have.
He found work for a state security service as a minor functionary tasked with making a trip to the continent to attend a convention. The government appropriations having been barely sufficient to keep the their offices open; the stipend provided insufficient to the task of supporting proper international travel; the home office having to then ship his clothes overseas across the channel directly to the hotel via a curious designation of “justifiable diamond‐ship.” This trip despite all its shortcomings promising to be a, once in a lifetime, big break for him. The ghost of his old deceased friend Michele suddenly appearing at the event by a side stairwell much like the goddess Diana of old, tasked with tutoring her equally ancient pupil, Ulysses.
Then finding himself back from over the Atlantic planted way out West somewhere in Arizona staying within a communal dormitory. The people residing there amidst the fiction of the designation, ‘hotel’, all trying to spy upon him in his room. Though called hotel, indeed it was not! The goal of their continued intrusion being a quest to reliably determine whether he was a Liberal or Conservative? Though, in terms of outward public political exhortations, he played them on as if he was a card carrying ‘Commie‘! The inhabitants as a body were engaged in the design of arcane forms of electronics as well as associated devices of a nature that was kept rigorously cloistered. One woman angrily exclaiming during the course of his stay, “You mean to say you played my husband for a fool!” The general atmosphere was to be picky about the slightest details of one’s behavior. One might as well have been sucking their thumb for all the effect that any effort to reveal what this crowd was up to. Though they all seemed obsessed collectively with nightly gathering around the outside of the frosted glass of his room in this alchemical fancy of a hotel.
The text of his report stated in no uncertain terms, “How did I bridge that gap? Was I so bad at it that I had to operate totally anonymous in this far off city? I might have appeared gregarious to some of them, but in terms of people of any contemporary mindset, I was an anachronism! Someone that to this of a communal PC sensibility would inspire the ‘kiss of death’. Yet no one dared become hostly involved with me or dared to engage my services, lest the association prove too fucking dangerous to them personally. What a sickening world that these crazy fuckers had created! The result of the bidding’s of . . . I hated to say whom. Just evil minded people institutionally addicted to power grabbing on a level that went way beyond any individually bound avarice. All the rest of us seeming to be these Devil’s playthings.”
An image brought continually to mind, wherein a rough hewn vertical wooden cabinet graced with marble top and a peculiar wooden shelf; one constructed to resemble a honeycomb of triangular nooks, and all of them filled with burning candles. This same innocuous piece of furniture appearing, time and again, and again, in so many different places. It’s ever-present glow warming the corners of one’s consciousness. Some incontrovertibly arcane from of overt symbolism suggested by it. The drama and action of the moment always occurring before it as if it was some type of a spectator tasked with an unspoken sort of penchant for voyeurism.
His next assigned task was to shepherd an older couple to a remote meeting. An impromptu expedition by bus had begun by the end of day wherein the three of them were to separately rendezvous at a bus stop just beyond the one that left one off by a state prison. His encounter with the mother was of one who erroneously de‐trained by the prison and not the one just beyond. Somehow with the expectation of finding her mate. Realizing her mistake, he also had gotten off there to try to find her. And after wasting some of their valuable time so as to avoid missing a connection with the old man by not being at the right place at the appointed hour, he then noticed her sitting ever expectantly within a lounge area. The one on the second level before at the entrance to the bridge that extended back over the transit tracks allowing for travel in the opposite direction. The notion of promptly gathering her up so as to attempt to retrace this error and end up arriving at the place on the dot, still on his mind. Though he also considered that this kind of expectation on his part was more likely to end up in an aggravating farce.
He had parked the sedan on the highway at the end of a long concrete walkway that ended by the entrance of the prison. Having miraculously fallen into a naive acquaintance with some Middle Eastern types he found himself in possession of one of three scratch built automatic pistols. Something created from odds and ends. His own version lay sequestered deep within a small black nylon fabric backpack that he had casually slung over his right shoulder. The other two had gone into the entrance of the hospital wing some minutes before with the intention of releasing their third brother from government captivity. His own appointed task being to wait just outside to provide cover for their escape. There he stood looking as casual as possible as the single minutes congealed interminably into quarters of an hour. It soon became apparent that the two were not coming out, and possibly in need of immediate relief! The implied responsibility of his choice to go to their aid weighing heavily upon him in terms of his fulfilling an honor bound promise. One to forsake his own safety, life and limb by entering to rescue them? Or should his own safety take precedence over that commitment leaving him to surreptitiously retreat back to the parked vehicle and leave?
Torn between the two options he soon found himself sitting in a bus speeding quickly back to the city. His backpack balanced upon his lap with the weapon inside; still uncharged without an active round in its chamber. The next bus stop heralding the entrance of a malevolent looking ruffian who unceremoniously garnered the expanse of three seat a promptly produced a serrated hunting knife. The naked sight of the same producing a guarded gasp from a surrounding group of females. That ghastly drooling expression deeply engraved upon this miscreant’s face suggesting a determined fascination with the weapon’s sharp pointed shiny tip. Something that seem to speak to its expectant use within the next few minutes to come. An inescapable malevolent fate seemingly chasing the other ‘would be’ revolutionary holding the pack. His spontaneous reach in snaking his right hand into the pack to grip upon the butt of the untested pistol bringing challenge to this raging fiend just across the way. The nicety of a ‘first move’ now a toss up. The dilemma of the sort of rapid timing needed to get a round into the chamber, cock the action to get off a well aimed shot, much on the mind of this untested agent.
The giant’s ghoulish eyes now fixed upon the blank stare as it totaled the odds of success. Those twin sharpened daggers silently saying, “You had better leave it in your pack, lest you fall into harm challenging me!” The recipient of this silent message hung up as to whether to proceed to try to rack the slide and let thunder fall, or remain unmoving and apathetic to the other’s lethal menace? He then noticed, with horror ,that the madman’s knife has now been joined by a small caliber pistol wielded in his direction by the demon’s other hand. To commit or not? The stakes now raised leaving the odds of survival greatly diminished.
Thoughts now treading heavily of those other two fellow revolutionaries whose trust in their compatriot had been erased by a lack of appearance. No doubt apprehended and in prison. The authorities collecting their now freely offered details to their new captors about their traitorous accomplice. A counterpoise mental review of what might have otherwise transpired if he had dutifully gone to the parked car and fetched another weapon and come to their rescue as planned. One seemingly preferable to being on this bus and directly at odds with this homicidal maniac. The sight of the pistol frozen in space and time and aimed at his middle making him wonder how he could have ever hoped to escape his fate either way?
The little drama in his head now expanded when he realizes that his dilemma was not a case of personal honor or random fate, but the guile of a plan by military intelligence to simulate a terrorist attack by way of useful idiots. The planned escape from the prison to a predetermined location so as to enact a further false flag episode of terrorism. A feather in the nest of a much larger international political agenda. And he was the worst of the useful idiots to be duped! Some childish form of Hollywood driven altruism driving him to sign up to be part of this messed up the plan. And then to be duly fatally rewarded either way for not sticking to it’s lunacy. The other two who had enticed him into the ploy now safely under custody and sequestered from public view. His face to be used with a useful headline supporting the ongoing putsch of their nefarious national agenda to expand the burgeoning evil empire and its waylay of treasure. The man now staring along hypnotically at the shiny chrome of the tip of the knife with his executioner. The oversight of not having cocked the pistol earlier spelling his imminent demise now fully upon him.