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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #869
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "A Pointless Story Which Protests
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 Other Pointless Stories, We Swear"
888 888 888 888 888 " by Tasha and Nybar
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 10/9/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Mitch wished there was some way to break free of the rudiments of
life; to not be trapped in the routine of eating, showering, buying new
clothes, taking down the Christmas tree, etc.
June was different -- a true aesthete, she took pleasure in all the
'irrelevant details' of life. She went into agonies of pleasure upon
brushing her teeth or taking a shit.
These two, though seated across from one-another, would probably
never know about their difference. Now, that is ironic -- but irony like
this occurs all the time, no one has the knowledge or the inclination to
laugh. Except for myself, the Eternal Narrator, but I'm no one. Still, I
digress; the diner. A conversation ensued.
"Hello." Mitch wittily stated.
"Hello," June replied in the sugary-sweet voice of nonchalance that
she always used. June sat smiling politely across the small round table at
Mitch. She wasn't studying him or taking in all of his features, but was
merely offering him the common courtesy of a look in the eye, although her
mind and thoughts weren't concentrated on the same thing that her gaze was.
June was busy thinking about the cheap table cloth falling in folds off of
the table and brushing against the fabric of her skirt. It was some type of
smooth silk she'd picked up in a popular department store.
June enjoyed the feeling of the skirt brushing against the skin of
her leg which had been shaven just hours before in preparation for going
out. Mitch was not thinking about his pants or how great the fabric of them
were. This could was, of course, to be expected, Mitch's pants were made
out of wool or tweed or some other like fabric, which really isn't that
comfortable and just causes incessant itching problems. However, as with
other things, they'd probably never discuss this difference in opinions,
dress, and thoughts. They would just have dinner and go back to their
apartments. Mitch would watch the news and curse at various things that
weren't working, June would pet her cat and read a book.
"How are you?" The question was expected in order to continue with
the normal conversation of two people who knew almost nothing about one-
another, but Mitch could have cared less about June's answer, whether it be
that she was perfectly fine or suffering from a terminal illness.
"I'm okay," June answered, "how are you?"
"You don't want to know." He said, and sat. In his hand he held an
expensive briefcase, which he placed on the table and opened. He obviously
expected June to inspect (or at least register!) its contents, but instead
she just sat. Eventually, she leaned back, stretched her raised her arms,
and yawned for nearly 15 seconds. Her face was a picture of careless, cat-
like delight.
"We have business to discuss, you know!" He snapped at her.
"Yes--" she finally responded after 10 seconds, enough time to
complete her pondering about table cloths "--yes, I'm aware we have business
to discuss. So discuss it."
Mitch couldn't fathom June's attitude, but he could certainly
comprehend how angry it made him. Still, he thought, he had been involved
in countless business deals with people far more difficult than this.. this
girl, who seemed to have her heart in the right place but her head in the
clouds. She couldn't hope to match the difficulties he had endured as he
strove towards the top, barely sleeping, always on top of his game. Then, a
thought he'd been harboring for a long time sprung to the center of his
consciousness and dragged his mind into it like a black hole. The thought
was, what if he somehow attained all his dreams -- what then? He instantly
forgot about business and started furiously calculating; but the
calculations were a sham. He knew the answer, he just needed to know a way
to hide it from himself.
To people not privy to Mitch's stream of consciousness (such as
June), it seemed that he was just staring off into space (as indeed he was).
June shrugged and decided to ponder the ceiling. They stayed like this for
5 minutes.
"Why me?" June asked, interrupting Mitch's thoughts and calculations
and anything else that was going on in his head. It was all a mystery to
June, anyway, and, really, she had no idea what was going through Mitch's
mind at this small table in this hole-in-the-wall diner. She didn't even
care to think about Mitch as much as to think that anything was even going
on in his mind. She really just cared about her dress and the tablecloth,
and, maybe, why she was here. What did _she_ have to do with this elaborate
plan she knew almost nothing of? Her, an ordinary girl, who had really
never done anything to make her a prime candidate for some plan that was so
extraordinary she couldn't be told about it over the phone.
Mitch hadn't been the one who had called her on the phone. She
didn't know who it was that had called her on the phone and woken her from a
dreamy sleep. It was 4:00am and the voice was crackly and sounded far away.
It was a male on the other end of the line, and he sounded rushed. He
surprised Jane, not only because she never got phone calls at such hours,
but because no one had ever sounded so excited and intent on her being at a
certain place and participating in anything. She was always picked last for
sports teams and such in school, but here she was, sitting in a diner, about
to find out that _she_ was the only one who could do _this thing_. About to
find out what this thing was.
"I'm not the one who picked you, and I am not completely sure as to
why I was picked," Mitch answered very matter-of-factly. He didn't even
stop staring off into space, just became possessed and slowly answered
June's question in a dull, monotone voice.
"You have to have some clue as to why they would pick me," June
persisted.
"Well, as far as I can tell, you're a perfect candidate for
operations such as the one we will, hopefully, perform together. A plain
Jane, so to speak. Middle-class, white, young secretary. No one would ever
suspect you. And they know that." Mitch seemed a bit more into answering
June and and upholding the conversation now, but it still did not seem as if
his entire mind and heart was focused on it.
"Who are 'they'?" June asked, a bit weary of Mitch's inevitable
answer and a bit scared of all the secrets that seemed to get more and more
complex as she found out more about what was going on.
"Ah, but what is the concept of 'they', dear? It's all me, or all
you -- but always all me even for you, isn't it? Hah, I'm one of the users,
one of the users -- there's no such thing as unselfishness, you know. We're
all greedy. It's part of the operating procedure. We need and thus we do.
But -- what we do sometimes defies what we need, or even what we want. And
that's never good. But who can set back the clock? Who can tell man, that
altered beast, to rise from his grave? No one, no one..."
June frowned, and grabbed a snatch of the table-cloth between her
thumb and forefinger, to make sure it was real.
Before Mitch had a chance to continue, a commando dressed all in
black with a ski mask on rushed in. Mitch's life flashed before his eyes.
And he laughed, an acrid sound that would haunt all who heard it. He truly
didn't give a shit, and was probably wondering if he willed the merc into
existence. Puffing for air even though he'd been ventilated, he fell,
laughing until his lungs failed. June, on the other hand, never stopped
thinking about the damn table-cloth as she was slaughtered. Both dead;
luckily neither ever really existed...
Suddenly, Jamesy awoke with a start.
"Hmm... what an odd dream... the characters were just a story in my
mind... just a story in my mind", he mumbled to himself, and then for the
first time considered who was in the bed next to him. He had no idea. A
nubile young lady, most likely. Or at least a nubile old lady, like his
mother. Just like his mother.
"Tell me allll about it." bF replied.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."
"I'm afraid so, babe. Even when I first saw you, I knew you were the
kind of guy I would someday listen to records with."
"My ass aches."
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #869 - BY: NYBAR AND TASHA - 10/9/99 ]