Taxing Time - Part IV

     “What’s up flower child?” Joe called out two hours later. He stood at the opposite end of a dimly lit street.

     “I got 70.” Curst said. Joe and Daron congratulated her. “How’d you do?”

     “Daron got 30. I blanked.” Joe said.

     “Not bad. Get hired already Daron.” Curst said. They had a laugh at the expense of their transient occupation. Adrian was only a little late. When he asked what Curst wanted as a reward for her epic day she didn’t hesitate.  “Scooby snacks.” She said. Curst had neither the time nor the capacity for a conventional lifestyle.

     “I feel like Curst is going to keep surprising me.” Adrian said. He was right but only in a day-to-day sense. He’d be back in his frigid homeland before the signs of her advanced aging became apparent. The transformation from a flower child to a wise withered crone would be a shock.

The van pulled to its final stop. The fundraisers left it laughing. The exploited foot soldiers of the institutional left called it a day.

     “I’ll catch up with you folks at Adrian’s. I need to grab a few things from my flat.” Joe said. The crew waved to him as he biked away on his absurd little Raleigh. He still hadn’t figured out how to keep the seat up so his knees jutted to his chin with each pedal. The rest of the crew returned to their quiet office.

     “Hey Cal.” Adrian called. Cal returned the wave. The late night cleaner was the only other soul in the building. He floated slowly through his tasks waiting for a friend to smoke with before the road home. Such friends weren’t hard to come by in a building that rented to the trolls, fools and pixies of the city. Together, they contributed to a beautiful perversion, seething among the perfection of crisp granite steps, and white picket fences.

     “Hey Jesse is in town!” Jaime announced. Smiles broke out across the room. None knew Jesse very well, but that was as inconsequential as how well they knew each other. None of them needed facts or figures after the clocked out. They knew Jesse as a fierce, beautiful hippy with great stories. Her soft voice would paint them pictures of nights gone by.

     “Well guys, I think I’m going to pass on the festivities. It’s date night.” Daron said.

     “Bring out your lady!” Adrian said. “It will be magical.” Daron just laughed off the invitation.

     “Maybe next time guys. Tell Jesse I say hello.” Soft protestations continued and followed him out the door. Daron didn’t look back. A, not necessarily very beautiful, girl waited for him at their shared dwelling, submerged in steaming water with her eyes open, and her fingers dancing along the surface. He’d made the right decision.

     “Alright guys let’s kick it.” Adrian said. With everything in motion Curst suddenly lost interest. She didn’t care about the rebellion or the illusion. Sex, drugs and rock and rock reverted to a tired cliché. But she went along with the group as they picked up supplies and dawdled back to Adrian’s apartment. Joe arrived a half hour later. He brought a pie, a blunt and a bottle of wine. No one would eat the pie. This might have been due to a subconscious fear of disrupting symmetry, but more likely it was because Adrian didn’t have any plates.

     “Anyone want to smoke a bit first?” Joe asked. Everyone, except Curst, did. She also passed on the wine as it rotated the circle. The mood eased and soon guitars were taken out. Joe wrapped a handful of chords around the desperate words of a repressed transsexual and Adrian carried in cups of tea, two at a time. Each mug contained a mild poison. The group drank it quickly and lounged in the midst of the usual distortion until the pull of nature won. Curst caught her reflection in a mirror as she walked down the stairs. She wasn’t sure if it was the drugs, but she swore that her hair turned grey in front of her eyes.

 

END