Brother
Skunk and one of the bookstore cogs headed down into the main streets of town,
another shift behind them both, another crack at the Christmas shopping ahead
in the extended opening hours his companion referred to as a feeding frenzy.
cog:
Do you think you’re getting the hang of it now? Or are there still, I mean,
once you’ve learned how to
They
stopped at the crossing, waiting for the lights.
Skunk:
Yeah it’s okay. I think I prefer it out the back because you get, you’ve more
time to think about what you’re doing and there’s not the same pressure on you
to... That guy today, I couldn’t believe that.
cog:
Oh, you don’t get pricks like that in too often. I wouldn’t let that kind of
thing get to you. It’s not... It’s just not worth it. The main thing is
that you’re getting the hang of the computers, and the job, not these idiots.
Skunk:
I suppose so.
The
lights changed in their favour; Skunk felt even colder watching the grey fumes
fall from the exhaust pipes of the idling traffic and spill out onto the
street, billowing up in clouds that would remain even with their source
departed.
cog:
You know what you’re getting?
Skunk
(tapping himself on the breast with a gloved hand): For me? What I’m
getting?
cog:
What you’re getting for, the presents you’re buying tonight.
Skunk
(blowing out a thin ribbon of visible breath): Nope. I’ll just see what I see.
He
knew he should get his mother something perishable: food or flowers, something
he would not see again after its giving, that would neither embarrass nor accuse
him on subsequent visits, that would be removed from her bedside because it had
to be.
Even
in the near-dark he saw the penny on the pavement.
Skunk:
Groundscore!
picking
it up and slipping it into the watch-pocket of his Levi’s.
Skunk:
It’s not that I’m superstitious or anything...
cog
(laughing): What’s that?
Skunk:
..it’s just I’m so damn poor. I’ve got a glass jar at home, and eh, I put all
my groundscore in it, you know, the, all the money I find in the street and
stuff...
cog:
Are you saving it up for something?
Skunk:
Nope, I’m just saving it. I keep it until the jar’s
and
then they both stopped, aware the passing automobile noise contained organ
music.
cog:
Come on.
Turning
into a sidestreet crisscrossed with hanging coloured bulbs, they edged between
parked and moving cars, finally stopping beneath the strange dark luminescence
of church windows lit from within, and the muted singing voices
cogs:
God rest you merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay
and
on.
Banging
their hands together, stamping their feet, they waited for the end of the carol
before resuming their walk down to the main shopping streets.
cog:
Well, that’s the religious bit dealt with...
and
laughing
cog:
..now it’s time to join the feeding frenzy.
