[Welcome back to Broken Ankle Point! This week, we’re going to follow Alice around and see how she likes to shop. Again, this is a pretty short chapter, so I’m going to post another chapter tomorrow, just to keep you folks excited! If you haven’t read any of Sharkey’s story yet, go HERE and start from the beginning! Otherwise, let’s go find Alice… —RFY]
The trip to the furniture store only took Alice about half-an-hour. She found a king size, oak framed bed that she loved, and although the manager had originally claimed they were too busy to deliver anything until the middle of the week, Alice was able to “persuade” him to make her furniture (which she got for cost) a priority. (She could have gotten everything for free, but she didn’t see any reason to rob the guy blind.) A truck was scheduled to drop her stuff off at five that evening, and a crew would move it all in and set the bed up for her. Alice would undoubtedly tip the delivery guys big—after all, they were doing the hard work.
Meanwhile, Alice had the day to kill and decided to check out the downtown “Saturday Market.” She’d been to hundreds of these in her life on several continents, and they really didn’t change much over a dozen decades. Food booths, bad art, crafts that no one really needed, and people trying to make a buck.
As Alice walked by booths selling horrid landscape paintings and dreary water colors, she shook her head. These themes were tired when she was a little girl in the 1800s, but everyone gets a turn at reinventing the wheel.
A girl with green, spiky hair and a blue and red flannel shirt strummed an acoustic guitar in front of a movie theater. Her open guitar case had a few dollar bills and some change in it. The girl, eyes closed, sang about being abused by a previous lover, and Alice again shook her head. “When will women learn that you won’t get respect from dressing like a scarecrow,” she thought. Alice knew the way to get respect was to grab your date’s hand as it’s sailing through the air in an attempt to bitch-slap you in a crowded bar, then to slug the fucker in the gut and drop him to the floor. Once he’s down, you fish his wallet out of his pocket, take the money, drop the wallet on his head, then say, “Thanks for the drink, asshole. It’s been fun.”
Of course, the respect you get in a situation like that is usually from the crowd of people standing around, gawking. The guy on the floor tends to fall more into the “embarrassed hatred” camp. And that’s when magic comes in handy. If the guy can’t let it go, some suggestion of unholy fear or a command that he piss himself whenever he thinks about you can be fun. Alice, in particular, didn’t like erasing memories, though this was often the easiest way to get out of a bad relationship. If the spell went wrong, bad things could happen. Very, very bad things.
Alice tossed a buck into the spiky girl’s guitar case, patted her on the head (infusing her with a little artificial “courage”) and decided to go look for a bar or diner to grab a bite to eat.
[Check back tomorrow for the next exciting chapter, as we rejoin the potty-mouthed Adam, who gets the opportunity to take on a disturbing case! —RFY]
—Richard F. Yates
(Primitive Thoughtician and Supreme Bunny Lord of The P.E.W.)
SUPPORT INDEPENDENT FOLKS WHO ARE JUST MAKING STUFF BECAUSE THEY LOVE IT!!!