If on a winter’s night a traveller: written by aliens, read by fictional constructs
.A sustainable reading of the text suggests that aliens wrote this fragmentary masterpiece.
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“… so anyway, eventually I got it off the fucker. Some fuckin’ nerve, though, enh? Uh-huh. Three fuckin’ weeks! Ahhhh. Whac’n ya do?”
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The sound of the subway was loud. The rhythm of the wheels passing over breaks in the track was uneven, jarring. I hated going into the South Bronx. Especially on the subway. Especially at night. There were a lot of weirdoes around. They made me jumpy. My gun was kinda showing under my leather, though, and it should stop any trouble. The party had better be a good one. Find some girl with some talents, yeah, some skill and enthusiasm, yeah.
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The bus pulled into the terminus. I took my bag from the overhead rack and walked off the bus out into the city. My watch read 22:24. Light from glaring neon signs bathed my face as I walked to my hotel. The city was dying, but in this part of it I could feel its life. I was glad to be back, and happy that the city and I had both survived our time apart.
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Muriel Weatherspoon: “…The teenage cultural scene, ladies and gentlemen, is dominated by illegal drug use, underage drinking and illicit sex. Teenagers seem drawn to these like a fish to water, and the immorality of today’s ‘hip’ (to use a currently ‘in’ word) lifestyle is a terrible influence. We, those who care, must…”
The fish tank wasn’t a real fish tank. It seemed like one, but if you looked closely you see it was a screen displaying computer generated fish in computer generated water swimming around computer generated rocks and plants. Someone called my name, so I looked away to reply.
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