personal information, part 1

by bofa xesjum

the cubicles stretched for miles, were small and narrow, and did not appear to afford much privacy. a nondescript person carrying a green manila folder entered one of them, and sat down across from a second, equally nondescript person looking down at the pale blue screen of a small tablet. a sign behind the second person read: do not give your personal information except to authorized personnel. your name is roger mortimer? the second person asked the first person. no, it is dylan sansculotte. you gave it as roger mortimer to the sentinel at the gate. i changed it in the elevator on the way up. fair enough. you say your first job was assistant maintenance supervisor - is that correct? no, i was a dog walker dispatcher. i changed that too in the elevator. all right. did you change anything else in the elevator? everything. good. i like a person who is not afraid to change their mind. i did not change my mind, i changed who i was. not a problem, just tell me who you are. do you not have a list of questions? of course - the next one is - what is your favorite food? beef stew. do you make it yourself, or get it out of a can? do i look like the kind of person who eats beef stew out of a can? i have never known a person who admitted to eating beef stew, let alone liking it, so i can not really say. maybe when this interview is over, you can take me to lunch and i can show you where to get the best beef stew in town. i will consider it. so, if you get your beef stew in a restaurant, i guess you do not make it yourself. not necessarily. how do you know i am not the head chef at the place that makes the best beef stew in town? did you stop to think of that? no, i did not. i apologize. that is the trouble with you soulless bureaucratic dorks - you never stop to think about anything except your next doughnut and your next cardboard cup of watery coffee. do you know where i can get some non-watery coffee? but the doughnuts here are actually pretty good, would you like one? i will take one. do you have anything to drink - besides the watery coffee? orange juice, grape juice, apple juice? apple juice, if it is indigenous. made from apples planted by johnny appleseed himself. do you know which country produces the most apples? i think it is either afghanistan or angola. but it is not my job to know such things. what is your job? to obtain your personal information. so far, i do not seem to be doing a very good job of of it.

the empty road - 40. the end

by bofa xesjum

part forty of forty

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john prester fell asleep at the wheel, and delilah ran off the road and down a bank and flipped over. when john woke up he could not move and did not know who he was or what he was. it was between three and four o'clock in the morning and the sky was filled with threatening clouds. where are the highway patrol now when you need them, john might have thought but did not. he was riding through the same night he always had. looking for something to look for. he wanted to be a strange man, because that was who he wanted to be. to have men point at him and say, brother, there goes a strange man. to have women whisper to each other about him in their mink coats walking down the gangplank of the haunted house in malibu or marseille. smoking a cigarette in a holder like the king of greece. no orchestra - just a gypsy to toss a coin to. a gold coin from the tomb of a pharoah. whom he had been in a previous life. i am afraid it is closing time. yes, even for you, my lord. the good times are over. how quickly, how quickly. they went by. good night. night. the end

the empty road - 39. the plain

by bofa xesjum

part thirty-nine of forty

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the creature ran and ran and ran across the plain, chased by another creature about three times bigger than itself.. the creature was fast, and the bigger creature was equally fast, but might tire quicker , the smaller creature hoped. they ran and ran, kicking up dust, past rocks, and past shrubs that might be good to eat. but the big creature was not the least bit interested in stopping to eat the tasty shrubs. the smaller creature had no choice but to hope the bigger one got tired and quit. suddenly another, even larger creature appeared from behind a large rock - all three creatures froze. the third creature snarled at the first larger creature, apparently ignoring the small creature. this is my chance, the small creature thought, and he ran off sideways. the small creature did not look back , and gave it his all. he ran and ran until he dropped on to the sand. because that was all there was - sand and more sand . where am i, it thought sadly, , as night fell. it could see nothing to eat in sight. it had escaped the large hungry creatures. who might return at any instant. only to die of hunger? it was not fair. and getting cold. very cold. cold. next

the empty road - 38. the king

by bofa xesjum

part thirty-eight of forty

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gilgamesh was born with a kingdom of his own to rule, but, strangely enough, he did not like it much. i would give up my kingdom to be free, he told his friend bud as they watched the sunset. i do not see that as a problem, bud replied, your brother bill would happily take your place. do you really think so, gilgamesh cried, let us see if bill is willing to do so. bill proved quite amebable, and gilgamesh and bud set out on their travels the next day. on the second day they met a girl named sal, and she bewitched them both. she belongs to me, gilgamesh told bud, do not forget that i am king. you are king no longer, my friend, bud retorted, and she likes me. enraged , gilgamesh picked up a rock and bashed poor bud's head in. so now i am all yours, sal whispered huskily to gilgamesh. a cloud passed over the waning moon, and gilgamesh wept. get away from me, you evil creature, gilgamesh cried. you have made me kill my best friend. i thought you liked me, sal expostulated. gilgamesh turned away and left her. he headed down the road. the long empty road. to his destiny. without bud. alone. next

the empty road - 37. the trail

by bofa xesjum

part thirty-seven of forty

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despite the best efforts of highway patrolmen, a few wandering souls continue to walk the roads of this great land. such a one was jeremiah jackson jones, who thought of himself as the last of the truly free men. jeremiah had no memories, only dreams and stories, and his appearance counted severely against him with the authorities. true to his roots, he had a new dream every night, and a new story every day. on monday, if it rained, he was born on a distant planet in a distant galaxy. on tuesday, if it was sunny, his father was the richest man in the world. wednesday, rain or shine, he was born to be hanged under a bad sign. and on thursday, if he had a drink, he forgot who he was. on all seven days he wandered from road to town to road. leaving behind a trail of broken dreams and empty wine bottles. he guessed he washed his clothes in a muddy stream. the last of the truly free men, yes sir. but all good things come to an end. all bad things, and bad men, too. on a midnight railroad track between - between somewhere and somewhere else - can you hear it? right behind you. at last. free. next

the empty road - 36. the sky

by bofa xesjum

part thirty-six of forty

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standing outside the kentucky fried chicken store, sheriff pete poole suddenly realized he had no idea what he was doing. he did not know who the man in the store had been, and had no reason to chase him. much as pete despised the new crop of self-styled crime fighters, what had the man said or done? i guess i must have been letting my imagination run away with me, pete thought somewhat disconsolately. with a sigh, he got back in his car, and sat there looking out the window. there was nothing much to see - just the mcdonalds and the street and the sky. pete sat there for a few more minutes, contemplating the street and the sky. and they did not change -, they just stayed exactly the way they were. finally, pete started the patrol car, and pulled out onto the street. pete was neither young nor real old, or fat or thin. but he was in more or less reasonably good shape. he wished his life was a little more exciting. but then, so do a lot of people. maybe they all watch too much television. that could be the reason why. it is just a thought. i have these thoughts. how about you? do you? thoughts. next

the empty road - 35. the world

by bofa xesjum

part thirty-five of forty

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the name of the colonel sanders afternoon girl was barrie and she did not consider herself to be particularly unfriendly. she just did not much care to make pointless conversation with old men like john prester or pete poole. after john and pete had both left, barrie returned to her thoughts, which they had so rudely interrupted. murderous thoughts of samantha sinclair, the richest and most popular - and supposedly the prettiest - girl in town. if poor barrie had belonged to her grandmother's generation, she might have had dreams of escape. but, unfortunately for her, she was stuck in the modern world, with nowhere to go. she could work at colonel sanders in minneapolis, or paris france or abu dhabi. where she could watch the exact same videos on tik tok or youtube. maybe you are one of those people who do not even care. because you see this is what the world has come to. i apologize for the unnecessary digression, it won't happen again. i just get carried away sometimes, it's my way. anyway, barrie was left alone with her thoughts. some people might not call them thoughts. but what do they know, huh? another customer finally came in. he looked at barrie. opened his mouth. closed it. hesitated. next