8/11

Part 1

It was truly beginning to become cold in the city the night he wrote the story. Theodore's mind wandered as he pulled a sweater on -- for hours now, he had been working on an assignment for The New Political Fiction Review, a small publication ran out of a state university. He didn't think much of the opportunity, and was mildly surprised upon news of his hire as he had forgotten applying in the first place. When he got the cream-colored envelope in the mail, it took him a moment before he could recall seeing the ad in the newspaper. It was the early morning, the light turning golden, his coffee in his hand, while browsing the Classifieds.

In stretched, cramped letters, seemingly designed for a much larger space, it read:

THE NEW POLITICAL FICTION REVIEW IS SEEKING WRITERS
$50/story

There was no more information save for the instructions at the bottom:

KINDLY MAIL RESUMÉ AND SAMPLES TO

Department of Physical Sciences
North Central College
30 N. Brainard Street Naperville, IL 60540

The rest of the ad space was blank, though Theodore remembered noticing an unusual texture to the image, one that gave it a quality he couldn't place. This stood out to him, as he prided himself on the cogency of his thoughts.

He had forgotten about it because it was so vague, vague enough to stink of desperation, of stacks of unsold magazines, a mildew-ridden office, of some sweaty Professor embroiled in a departmental rivalry. Nevertheless, $50 is $50 and so he sent several of his samples, one of which had been published several months ago in a small Midwestern science fiction magazine. He continued working as a line cook and put the possibility of rejection out of his mind.

Three weeks ago, he received word that he had been hired. Moreover, he'd been paid a generous advance for 5 stories. Theodore had been working on the story since then. He didn't mind writing about politics, although he was sure many writers, and perhaps even line cooks, may have shirked the topics. He followed his country's politics quite closely. Theodore considered himself to be well-informed and measured in his judgment. He had felt this way ever since graduating university, where he majored in Philosophy. He remembered an assignment in his junior year Ethics seminar where he was instructed to extrapolate three sets of contemporary political positions from his first principles, using a different ideology for each one. A flutter of pride swept through his heart as Theodore recalled presenting his project in front of the class. His reasoning was much better than his classmates'.

It was late now, Theodore began to realize, as he gazed out of the window in his living room for perhaps the first time all day. The sky had taken on a deep, staticky blue, like some great energy was gathering, an electricity that hummed beneath the thick roils of clouds. Theodore felt lighter and satisfaction ran flush upon his skin. He quickly washed his face, brushed his teeth, and masturbated before withdrawing to his room, leaving the story untouched for the night. Tomorrow he would mail it to 30 N. Brainard Street Naperville, IL 60540.

For now, he would sleep.

10/29

I remember one day a drunk forced his way through the iron grate in front of the shop and he stepped where the cars usually stood, stumbling over the pulverized remains of his cigarette.

10/27

Sometimes we'd work special jobs for the city zoo and Lo' and I, broke, desperate, the only garbagemen without families, we'd volunteer together, ya know? And I learned, or at least, Lo' and I saw... that once a year the giraffes would drop dead. Like... KAPUT! Like a snap. And it was hush-hush, very grave when they came to us, the zoo officials. They pulled me and Lo' over and told us not to speak a word of it and to take the bodies out. They offered to pay us a little extra, something to give us some breathing room, which I felt good about thinking that this is some big scientific discovery. But I never saw anything on the TV about their study. And Lo... well Lo took that money and ran. Couldn't be a garbageman forever! He used to laugh at me as we hauled the dead giraffes across the rim of the enclosure, into the real world. That motherfucker... he would read on the shitter, you know that? Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse, he'd peek his damn cigarette out through the crack of the door, scruffy face buried away in some book about something you've never heard of. He was old and mean and smart as hell, I tell ya. Old, mean, and smart as hell.

10/26

Every day you touch me every day I feel you and I want you and I need you and I do things for you and I take the garbage to the curb behind the theatre in the parking lot that smells like the ocean. I used to be afraid of dogs gnashing their teeth in the churning water of the shadows and I took it for granted that I could take my trash to the trash heap and the garbage man could pick it up and take it to the landfill and it would rot there, they trucked it around the country figuring out what to do with it - Hell, we took it to the middle of nowhere, bumfuck Nebraska and for shits and giggles one time, get this, one time we dumped it there. Imagine that! Gunpowder breath, a god damn heap of trash in Ma's forgotten land. I looked at it and I tell ya... It was bigger than ever.