The 58th Street Manifesto

The 58th Street Manifesto: Thoughts, articles, crafted words and miscellaneous expressions. Exploring the symbolism of the eight-pointed star, and recontextualising cultural appreciation.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

The Adventures of Neon Ballz

Episode 4: A Place in Time

Neon pulls up to location X. He gets out and finds the mayor checking his mail. “Whatsup, neon. I’m glad you could make it. We have made the breakthrough we have been waiting for. Come upstairs and we’ll talk about it.” This sounds good. ‘Perhaps the mayor has found a way to send me home’ neon thinks to himself. They walk inside and up the old wooden stairwell. The smells of fresh flowers and old wicker baskets permeate the air. Upstairs, the mayor ushers neon in and hands him a cigarette. “We analyzed your pod again using the newer dark time algorithm, and we think we know how to send you back.” Neon smiled, noting that in this case back was actually forward. “Who else knows about this?” neon asked. “No one but you, me, agent 23, and beppo. I have to admit, neon, I still don’t know that it’s a good idea for you to go back there.” Neon can see the concern on the mayor’s face. “I know . . . I know. But Fuck, I have to do this. We just stick to the plan, and when I get back make sure you have the seaweed.” A moment of silence passes. “Where’s my pod now?” “We’ve got it down at the yard. They are just putting a new shielding on it. It should be ready to go in no time.” Neon reflects for a moment, walks in to the bathroom and gets a piece of toilet paper, blows his nose, lights up a cigarette, stretches, yawns, and says “Then I’m ready to go in no time.”

Captain Hiram was driving with Rob Dobbs in a blue 1988 Buick regal down a river front stretch of the hot Florida highway. “So your friend has our man this time.” “He’s down at the restaurant now captain. Everything is going according to plan; and I wouldn’t worry about Neon Ballz either. That fool doesn’t know which way is up! The only thing we have to worry about is what to do with all that money.” Captain Hiram sneers at rob. “You’re the fool. You sound exactly like your brother bob. Neon Ballz should be our number one concern. He is the only man who can stand in the way of our plan. He won’t stop me this time though.” Captain Hiram reflexively reached for the gun in his crotch. “I’ve got a place in time to put Neon Ballz in his place.” Silence falls on the car. They pull in to the parking lot of a busy restaurant. Inside, the captain is approached by the host. “You have a visitor captain.” The host leads them to a table in the corner where a businessman and an anorexic blond are sitting, sipping on obnoxiously boisterous mixed drinks reminiscent of a tiki bar in Salt Lake City where the disproportionate enthusiasm for alien symbols of culture are matched only by the disproportionate shape of the residences’ heads. The captain introduces himself. The blonde stands up and excuses herself to the bar. “We understand that you have him.” The businessman stands up and smiles. “He’s in the office.” The businessman leads the group to the back of the restaurant. They go in to the kitchen and work through the bustle of the employees, until they reach a back hallway that leads to two cramped offices. The businessman opens one of the doors, and all three walk in. The captain and rob look down at a small Asian man tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth and a blue towel tucked into his front pocket.


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