Beyond this point Furries wearing heads will be shot on site.

Half reading today’s script and half watching the gorgeous shirtless men hanging signs on the lamp poles in the center of the boulevard.

My peaceful walk from the Shuttle Station to the festival ground is disturbed by a grizzly faced man’s shrill Parisian accent, yelling over the birds and breeze, “ACCÈS RESTREINT! Les furries au-delà de ce point seront tirées à vue. Fuck you mean? Les personnes portant des costumes Furry seront abattues à vue.”

I stopped and showed him the video clip from this morning. “Oui monsieur. C’est ce que j’ai été réveillé par ce matin.”

One young man puts on his The Haters’ Club uniform shirt and climbs down from his ladder laughing, “Je me demande s’ils ont chié leur pantalon. Bonjour! Yes sir.” Holding up the pastel magenta signs in French and English that read, “Imaginary friend rule book page 65. paragraph 9 – IRL gaming council reg 98.7

FESTIVAL WEEKEND

This side of the street you’re on festival grounds. Have fun.

That side over there is a RESTRICTED AREA! Furries will be shot!

That side of the boulevard, YOU IN DA HOOD. 

Furries must take their heads off or they will be shot.

In Detroit, it is always open season on coyote, chupacabra, yeti, lycanthrope, vampyre & unauthorized make believe creatures without permit.”

I read the sign aloud, “Brought to you by Pizza Slush. 

Fine American Cuisine and 

The DETROIT DEPARTMENT OF In Real Life NEIGHBORHOOD POLITENESS.”

The young man says, “Unless they die of fright or something, they’ll be fine. But, we have to put these signs back up, all around the parkscape.”

The little Frenchman says, “Vous êtes assez articulé pour un Afro-Américain”

The Hater says, “If you were White, I’d take your Gaul as an insult. Mais c’est la ville sur le détroit and you’re just a poor ignorant French tourist, so. Merci a lot. And you have a very Di’ney Day.”

The little old French man complains, “But I bought tickets to run in the Haunted Holiday Toy Store. Quel bordel. Ma femme va me battre à mort.”

As the Hater is saying, “Damn thing don’t start ‘til October anyway. Well. That ain’t got nothing to do with me. Let me see your tickets. I’ll see if I can get your passes updated to NPC.”

I just walk away laughing.

When I get to the park, I stop this gorgeous shirtless young man from trimming the purple gray flowers growing under a hedgerow of evergreens to direct me onto the back lot, Pointing out this old guy in a groundskeeper’s utility vest. “That’s Mr. Day, the Propmaster there Ma’am. Over by Sunny’s Gravatron.”  

His gaze is set on this group of children on a berm about twenty meters away. Long before I realized that he is him. Papilion recognized me

I couldn’t see the woman they were engaged with, until she stomped out from behind the balloon kiosk. ‘Bout my build and height. I don’t know why she’s giving me the stink eye, growling, “Who y’all calling Umma Heyboo… 

…I’m Scrumptious. Ain’t nobody could forget this good thang.” As she passed us barking, “I’m Skrumshus dammit!”

The children run across our path shouting, “Um. Umma… Umma Heyboo!” Which reminds me to find the record adapter in my bra.

One beautiful sable-colored child dressed like a wood fairey pauses, does that hand gesture, and sings, “You look scrumptious to me, Miss.” Then flits off to catch up with her friends.

He smiles sadly, says, “Okeydokey. She gone be alright. 

Turning his attention to me, he does the thing with the hand saying, “American Sign Language for, You’re pretty, like me. Ooh! An orange spinner. Wow! You’ve been invited to a coronation.

I answered, “Look Mister, I was told to ask for the Propmaster. He’d show me to the Casting department.

Saying. “And that would be my old ass.” he pulls a pair of cheap pink reading glasses off the back collar of his Grounds Crew tee, starts polishing them on his shirt tail, when I say, “Hey, you shouldn’t rub them on cloth…”

He smiles sadly, puts on his glasses, lights a cigarette, and says, “Walk with me.”

A path clears as we stroll off the back lot and through the festival ground toward a cluster of buildings and trailers.

Coming in a backlot gate, Sydney and her gang slow to sing their greetings, “Hello Mr. Day. How are you?” 

Sydney, the khaki hued tiny human Lego, in my tee shirt strolls by, tolling, “Hi Umma Heyboo.”

Papilion stops, snuffs his cigarette with his fingers, takes off his glasses, steps back, kneels to her eye level, snarling, “Good morning Miss Sydney.

And until the coronation, her name is Miss Kanni Walker to you. Yes?” 

Sydney says, “Yes, sir. Your coffee, sir.” 

He smiles and says, “Thank you. Cool shirt Dude. I had one just like it. Got it at Kenny’s birthday party on the block, back in the day..”

Stands up, smiles, “Still hot. Good morning everyone.” 

Then asks, “Is it still Miss?” 

When we clear the tide of children, I stop him, “You remember me? From when and from where?”

Papilion scratches under the rim of his Kuroi Yunikon dad cap, “I remember you, Large chocolate and caramel latte and a Panadol. But, we spoke for the first time outside Marwill’s.” 

I say, “You bumped into me with the door.  

He continues, “You had a copy of ‘Delta of Venus’ in your hand.” 

I smirk, “You told me I should read to you one day. I told you, you shouldn’t polish your glasses on cloth.”

He takes off his glasses, polishes them on his shirt tail again. I bite my tongue. He smiles, “I just remember how your mothering triggers me. Okey Dokey. I lose these things all the time. Besides, they’re cheap. We make them here on the back lot.

I remember the moment we changed. We were standing right here. You got out of your car and hugged me, you said, ‘I’ll treat you to dinner then you come help me assemble my furniture. Meet me, Cass and Forest. I wanna go to Twingo’s.’” He smiles sadly, ”Yes. I remember you Miss Kanni.”

“Yeah. So, I had to wait for my car’s engine to cool down so it would start” I say, “I thought I was taking you somewhere new and hip to celebrate you helping me find and move into my apartment. I made you sit upstairs, next to me…

I’m still there. Ah…

Nothin’…

Yea.”

He whispers, “Made it hard to eat. I loved Christine’s baking.”

I kept going, “The whole way that bitch served your coffee pissed me off. 

I was about to tell you I wanted to have sex with you, when that…

…Sexy Bitch…

…In her little French Maid uniform. The whole way she took your plate, asking with that smoky deep sexy breathy voice, “Se sent-il bien. Excuse me. Is he Alright?”

Like I wasn’t even there, asking, ‘Trish? Butterfly, you are not eating. You are not writing, ça va?.”

Papilon asks, “Rico?”

I kept talking, “…She turned over your placemat, poured your coffee, one sugar cube, one stir. 

Put that pretty ass china cup and 

silver spoon on top of that 

linen napkin on the 

matching saucer in the upper left hand corner of the placemat. 

And then that…

…Sexy bitch, put that box of crayons on the table, by your right hand.

Papilion says, “Yup! That was Rico Africa.”

…And when that sexy bitch brings out your dessert! Damned straight I got heated. 

Did you see what she was wearing?

Papilion says, “He. Rico. Dude, probably fishnet stockings with garters, heels about this high, ruffled petticoats and something provocative in sequin or buglebeads on his apron. He appreciated my hatred of glitter and respected it.

Rico played Frankenfurter on stage for ten years.”

He looks me in the face and says, “Dude had the prettiest legs.”

I’m saying, “She just came out and 

sat your leftovers on the next table, wrapped up in an aluminum foil swan.

And that whole routine with your favorite dessert and…

…I’m angry as fuck all over again, just remembering out loud, “Yea. I was like, Hey, I didn’t order that shit! I made reservations up in this bitch! I’m in charge tonight!”

And that sexy bitch sits the plate up on them pointy matte black nails, right in your face, drizzling that knock down, drag-out delicious hot caramel sauce over that slap yo mama luscious apple cake, saying, “Christine says this is the way you like. Oui?

Then that sexy bitch growls, “And No! You in my hut, Honey. I’m in charge! Mercie, Mistress, Papilion.” Curtsies and walks away.

Papilion says, “Oh funny what you remember. 

Rico. Rico was a dude. 

Yep! I loved the way Dude served. 

Big sexy bald head, flawless makeup.

I think Rico was a dude.

Doesn’t matter. Rico loved serving.”

I say, “…Oooh I hated her…

…Him.

Whatever.

I wish I could walk in heels like that sexy bitch.”

Papilion says, “You cussed at me all the way to your door about that.

I say, “So, Yea. Um. I get it now. This morning, I had this cocoa drink that made me remember and understand that I would only serve you like that after we made love.

Yea, I was mad as fuck with you. 

How could I know Twingo’s was your favorite lunch spot back then. It was really expensive.

She was a man? Really?”

You did love me.

I made us into a fuck and blamed you.

I’m sorry.”

We stop outside a small glass building where every minute or so I’ve seen a woman that kind of looks like me walking out, looking angry as fuck.

He’s saying, “Of course I remember you.

I told you my dreams.

I told you about this place before it was real to anybody except me and my God.

I loved you then, I love you now.

I just can’t remember us or that moment.

But, I remember the last time I saw you.” touching a spot on his left forearm. “I got a little scar right here to remind me that until you’ve made something tangible with a fuck’s inspiration, the only difference between making love and fucking is, how the person you’re fucking makes you feel about yourself. 

I miss that tee shirt. It looked good on you.”

I say, “Yea, um well. See, I sold your shirt to Sydney, that tiny Lego person. Yea.”

He smiles sadly, “Okeydokey. Don’t sweat. It was just sex. It happens. 

So, Was I any good? I hope so.”

I was about to say, I live in the same place again. Then I thought better of it.

He points at the glass building and says, “Casting. Follow the banners to the courtyard in back. Hey! I gotta get to the yard. You’ll probably be able to find me at the book signing later. When I saw Neil and Neil doin’ it, I got it. 

I can’t wait to see who you’re being cast as and in what story.

Nice seeing you again, Miss Walker.”

And he was off.