Po.
We were all standing on the bus stop square when the Iron Pimp arrives. All the Little Michaels and all of you Tolo, dressed in blinking recycled plastic mesh saying, “Baba. Whatupdoh? You sababa yo?” I’m looking around.
The mall is completely different. Signs stripped away, sparsely populated with people dressed like characters on the cover of sci-fi video games.
The bus stops on my square. I get off, wave Peace to the Iron Pimp. And I look up to affirm that Lapis, my poor date, has not lost her mind. She has.
Whynter and I danced the yellow brick road, the whole festival ground right back here to my square. The next song was N’Dambi, Call Me. Al Jarreau, Let Your Love: Agent X Bubblegum Crisis Blackout remix. I’ve been cleaning wood burning ovens all weekend, I’ve gone through a dimensional portal back and forth in time, and back again. I’m tired, I’m old, I just ate, I’m horny and I was going to lay my head in Whynter’s lap while Sun read me to sleep.
“Now your bitch ass nigger blue eyes are staring at me, trying to steal Whynter’s ass, talkin’ ‘bout, “Oh, you know we’re fuckin’. Right?”
Twirlling his parasol, he’s growling, “Oh no the fuck we ain’t!” Periwinkle starts, drawing a whirlwind pyramid on the ground around his square, ”Lately, I’ve been making people aware of the fact that we are not able to justifiably tell a child, born in this generation, “You Can’t Do That…” Because of any reason other
than…
…You say so!
Which apparently really doesn’t go that far with you, lady.
‘Cause your kid can’t function in the meta and they won’t accept him in anybody’s Mars program, he has to stay here in this dimension on this planet, in this neighborhood, with us.
And your kid fucked up a perfect Summer day.
Cornell Lapis Bragg caresses Sun’s costume and sighs in her usual unintentionally lusty low breathless tone, “Ooh! Your wings are the same color as my hair! So pretty. I want one.”
She turns, oogles, shouts, “ShinyThing!” and says only more lustfully, “And yours are so hard.” Fondling Whynters’ Sopdet Battle Armour. Vapor, Scheherazade Shadetree’s Takouba long sword in Whynter’s left hand, still under the Blackwatch Tartan cloak, and Hush her Billao short sword, flashing in the atrium light, she’s whispering, “Sun, get over here now.”
Lapis purrs, “Oh! You know I want one!”
I turn to her and say, “So, I am here now. I’m Periwinkle Bubbles. I’m not trying to scare you but, this is real, half a generation of people just left this reality on purpose.
And then your kid is still collecting that ass whoopin’ Sunday, right after church.”
I’m sayin’ “…So. Uhh. Yeah, we’re turning this into a fight scene..”
Whynter says, “So uh. I’m last in line Yeah. Miss Dehr Whyte, ain’t no rush! Just don’t nobody kill that bitch ‘fore I get to her.”
