《Here's To Something Beautiful》


 Chapter One

    YA?MURLU K?z


    No one knew where she came from. Yet, here she was, standing in the doorway of our apartment house soaking wet from head to toe. Her long blonde hair was dripping down her wonderfully slender body. I couldn¡¯t help but stop my gaze when it hit her eyes. They are such a magnificent shade of greenish-blue. I have never seen such unique portals in all my life. The fact that she was covered from head to toe in the glistening scent of another ancient time hadn¡¯t hit me yet. But when it did. It hit me hard.


    It hadn¡¯t rained in decades here on Mercer Street, But, here she is, covered from head to toe in what I faintly remember to be the sweet smell of water falling from the heavens above. Our world is in fact, experiencing a very low level of water in the last few decades. It¡¯s been an ongoing struggle since before I was even born, possibly even before my parents. The people here in the waterworks department spend the majority of their time trying to solve this particular crisis. We needed rain, and we needed it now.


    All our water is harvested by machines from the earth below us or brought back from another sphere floating off in the vast unknown. All that water requires a lot of treatment, which can be a nasty business if not handled properly. We have had a few incidents here in Mercer. I don¡¯t think they have quite mastered the algorithms yet, seeing as we have been on a water shut down for almost a decade here. I was one of the people to work on the water algorithms when I first arrived here. I very much enjoyed my time down in what we used to refer to as the ¡®dungeon¡¯. Many a late night was spent trying to solve the puzzle that is our lack of water here. It is a unique problem for the residents here in Mercer Street. The rest of the world and time that surrounds us still have near endless supplies of naturally occurring water.


    You see we like to remain hidden from the prying eyes of the outside world. To most people, we are just a dream. An unavailable destination of which they will likely never know. You must have the frequency that was written upon the lomatonas stones by the ancient ones. The stones are locked away in the caverns below the Grandark Station in the center of the market. You can only get to them with the key that rests around the neck of the Keeper, the most divine man in Mercer.


    Back to the water, all the people living here unanimously voted almost thirty years ago, to the day, to only use our water for gardens and crops to provide food and things for the market. The market is the lifeblood of Mercer Street. It is what connects us to all places in time and makes our little experiment here viable. So naturally, we wondered where she got so drenched in magic.


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    Key, my roommate, approached the strange woman eerily. He was inching his way towards her across our new wood floors. Slow and steady, his socks slid ever so slightly towards the door. I could tell he was nervous and put off a bit by the entire situation we have found ourselves in. I mean who wouldn¡¯t be a little perturbed by a strange figure just suddenly arriving on your stoop. Especially when your apartment house is at the end of the line. There is nothing else way out here. No neighbors. No nothing. It was a purposeful endeavor that we took on when we first arrived. Everyone in town thought we were a couple of nuts moving way out here at the end of the line.


    ¡°Uh hey there¡± Key said gently, trying not to startle the strange woman standing in our doorway.


    No response.


    Key looked in my direction as if to signal to me. I don¡¯t speak signal. Not knowing what to do, I stood there in silence like a statue. I made sure to keep my distance from the stranger in our doorway, there were two chairs and a coffee table between me and the door.


    ¡°Park, help me out here¡± Key said to me, he was inching closer and closer to the strange woman standing in our doorway.


    Great, and now she knows my name.


    ¡°Can we help you?¡± I said without taking a breath. It just fell right out of my lips like an uncontrollable wave of rubbish. ¡°Whats your name?¡± I asked further.


    Still no response from the strange woman in our doorway.


    I was growing increasingly paranoid of this strange figure in our doorway. I wont call it a woman anymore. It might not be a woman. For all I know it is the Devil herself waiting to be invited in so she can take our souls and eat our fresh baked sour rye bread. Well not on my watch. I slaved for hours over that rye bread. I made the flour myself in the courtyard out back, all afternoon in the hot sun. For what? So some demon can come into my home and relish in the fruits of my labor. Not today.


    Just then I remembered that my sister¡¯s husband had recently given me a gun when they came to visit Key and I a few weeks back. He said they wanted me to be safe. ¡°If youre going to choose to live in such a strange neighborhood here, you should at least protect yourself.¡± I believe were his exact words. They were always referring to the lizard people that live in the Yonder Mountains that rest as a backdrop to our little compound.


    I miss seeing my sister. I even miss seeing her creep of a husband. He means well. He just doesn¡¯t quite measure up to dreams I had for my dear, little sister.


    I now find myself wondering how I was going to get to the gun that was in the nightstand next to my bed in my room. I tried to return the signal language to my roommate and faithful comrade in arms. No response. He wasn¡¯t picking up on my signals. Which were: DISTRACT THE FUCKING CREATURE SO I CAN GO GET THE FUCKING GUN IN MY ROOM.


    He was looking at me like I am a blank sheet of paper. So I made an internal decision.


    I am going to dash to the bedroom and hopefully the strange figure in our doorway doesn¡¯t kill and maim my good friend. My palms were getting sweaty but I had already convinced myself. 3,2,1. I dashed my way into my bedroom.


    ¡°My name is Margo.¡±

 Chapter Two

    GAYANDI CAZ ADAMI


    I never stopped. I heard her speak, ¡°My name is Margo.¡± But I never stopped. I ran right into my room and slammed the door behind me. ¡°Holy fuck¡±. I let out as I fell into the armchair next to my bed.


    I love this armchair. I got it from a friend that had passed on recently. His name was Gayandi Lovette. He was a jazz musician. And, he was a pretty fucking good jazz musician at that. Gayandi had a way about him. He could take the things that most people feel, but cannot ever put into words. And he translated that into the most beautiful guitar music you could ever witness on this sphere or any other. I can remember nights of him playing jazz guitar in the warm summer air while my wife and i danced around the living room into the parlor and back into the living room. We danced for hours and hours some nights.


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    I missed the days when my wife was still here. They were the greatest days of my life. Perhaps the greatest days I will ever know. I can still smell her perfume from time to time. Sometimes it¡¯s on her pillow that still lies in its spot on the bed. Other times it¡¯s on my collar where she used to lay her head when we sat in the swing on the porch, rocking our nights away. It keeps my mind at peace in a way that nothing else can. And for that I will forever be grateful.


    I drifted back from thinking about my friend gayandi¡¯s jazz guitar music into the current situation. Which was: Me locked in my bedroom safely with the gun in my hand. And Key, my roommate, outside with that maniac named Margo. She¡¯s probably ripped him to shreds and devoured his testicles by now. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder though. What was going on outside my door?


    I pressed my ear up to the door. I couldnt hear anything. No sounds of people talking or walking. Nothing. I am becoming more and more curious as to who this Margo is, the girl with the rain. I couldn¡¯t help myself any longer. I tucked the gun into the back of my pants the way I used to see the gangsters do it in the movies back in the old days when I was a child, and I opened the door.

 Chapter Three

    AK?AA?A? ?URUBU


    ¡°So how did you get here? To Mercer Street?¡± Key asked in a peculiar tone I hadn¡¯t heard in years. He has perked up a great deal since the last time I was in the living room of our apartment house. I think he wants to fuck this strange woman named Margo.


    Maybe she has taken over his mind with some kind of demon witchcraft that we have never seen the likes of before. Or maybe Key hasn¡¯t been in the presence of such a lovely woman in a very, very long time.


    She has moved from the doorway to the chair at the island in the center of our kitchen.


    ¡°I¡¯m not really sure. Where is this?¡± She responded in a wonderful sound. Her voice was magnificent. It sounds the way real maple syrup tastes. It was easy on my ears. I could see why my roommate was enjoying his time alone with Margo.


    I don¡¯t really notice beautiful people anymore. People tell me I am a beautiful person. And that I could have all the beautiful things that exist. They wonder why I live where I live, and with Key. None of it makes sense to them. Truth be told, sometimes it never makes sense to me. It¡¯s the life that chose me. And led me here to the girl with the rain.


    ¡°Can you remember anything?¡± I asked. I wanted to be a part of the conversation. Or else I felt like I was just standing there gawking at this magnificent woman and her sultry maple syrup voice.


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    She looked up and took her hood down from around her head, I saw the rain drop on to our kitchen floor. I wanted to get down on my knees and lick it up and roll in it. It was magical. I had never been overcome with such an outside force before in all my days.


    ¡°I remember running through a forest.¡± She said with a slight pause. ¡°Something was chasing me I think. It¡¯s all a little fuzzy right now, really.¡± She said as she looked towards Key. ¡°All I remember is that it was raining so hard that I could barely see in front of me. And the branches were snapping against me, hitting me in the face, but I just kept running.¡± She finished in a sort of drained tone. Like the wind had been taken right out of her sails. She instantly deflated right before our eyes.


    Key waited for the strange woman named Margo to look away and we both caught each other. Our eyes saying ¡°What in the actual fuck.¡±


    You see, there hasn¡¯t been a natural forest in over one hundred centuries here in Mercer, maybe even longer. There hasn¡¯t been an area more than a hundred square meters of woods since before I can remember. And they get harvested every eight to ten weeks. Although, some people would like to change that. That¡¯s the maturity point in our time. When they reach that size they are harvested and used in various ways. But, there hasn¡¯t been rain since I was a child. I can¡¯t remember rain. I try to. I never can. I couldn¡¯t believe the things this woman was saying. But I knew she wasn¡¯t lying.


    I could smell it.


    That sickly sweet smell of earth and heaven all wrapped up into one big gift. Rain. The closest thing I can think of that resembles the smell permeating from our new strange friend, is when I was a child, I would take the stones from the riverbeds and hold them to my nose. It always made me feel more connected to earth below me.

 Chapter Four

    PETRICHOR


    Key poured a cup of coffee and came into my room. Margo was in the living room on the couch sleeping. I don¡¯t think she was really sleeping. I think she wants us to think she is sleeping so she can listen to what we are saying. Maybe im just paranoid, it isn¡¯t everyday that we get strangers appearing on our doorstep after all.


    ¡°What do you make of it Parky old friend?¡± Key asked in a somewhat tired voice. It must be getting late in the night, I wondered what time it was now.


    ¡°I¡¯m not really sure, Key. I want to believe she was lying in the kitchen. But I can¡¯t help but believe her. Something about the way she smells. I can¡¯t remember. But I know that smell.¡° I was pacing around my bedroom now, trying to place the smell. It was right there on the edge of my brain but it kept escaping me at the last moment.


    ¡°It¡¯s the smell of rain. You know it.¡± Key said in a straight-forward kind of voice that rarely makes an appearance. I could tell that he was taken in by the strange new woman named Margo, who has suddenly graced us with her presence out of nowhere. He was clearly taking this all very seriously. I can¡¯t say I blame him. You really can¡¯t find a good woman these days. They are either pro¡¯s down at the market trying to take you for every cent youre worth. Or they¡¯re married housewives pumping out little bastards every few years. Or in my own personal story, they¡¯re dead.  But Margo. She was different. She was wonderful.


    ¡°People have been searching for rain for decades Park. You know it. It¡¯s always in the newspaper. They are always trying to find the next step in the algroithms to push us further along. The old timers are always talking about it down at the market. No one has seen or felt rain in over 40 years.¡± He finished and sat long, stretched out in the chair.


    ¡°So where did she come from then? Did she just slip out of time somewhere? If so, where? Is she from a time or place we don¡¯t even know? How hasn¡¯t someone found it yet? That just couldn¡¯t be.¡± I kept pacing and pacing.


    Could she be from a time that we aren¡¯t aware of? Back when there were still governments and countries and races? How could that be? Information and time have been free for over one thousand years. We can go anywhere we want at any point we want and learn anything we want. And people have. That is why people get invited to Mercer Street. It is the time experiment. So where did this strange person named Margo come from? And, where did she get the rain?


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    People have gone to a time when there was more water in hopes to bring it back. But it has never worked out. I¡¯m not really sure why it never works. I could never quite break through the algorithm myself. If you believe the old crazies down at the market, they did bring back rain and they just keep it for themselves and use it as a tool to control the residents here. I don¡¯t really believe the old crazies down at the market. I fall more into the line of thought that we just haven¡¯t figured out the information yet. I have faith though. I believe we will one day find our rain again. The people here have made great strides, each generation increasing the progress ten fold. It may not be in my lifetime, but it is only matter of exactly that. Time.


    ¡°She is a wonder to look at though don¡¯t you think park?¡± Key asked in an excited tone. He perched upright in the chair now, glancing towards the living room. I was now positive he wanted to fuck this strange woman named Margo. It is such a miraculous thing, love. It can happen just like the snap of a finger. Sometimes you know a person for less than thirty seconds and you fall deeply into their energy, like a warm bath drawing you in to a paradise.


    ¡°Her voice sounds like maple syrup. Its nice.¡± I replied. I wanted to compliment her in some way so Key knew that I was with him no matter what was bound to happen.


    I had finally stopped pacing. I sat in the armchair next to my bed that I love so much while key was sitting at the foot of the bed.  I rolled a joint and took a match from the box.


    ¡°Do you think she will remember where she came from? Do you think she will take us there?¡± I asked as I struck the match and lit the joint. I took a deep pull and inhaled the smoke down.  ¡°I hope she will remember.¡± I said coughing out the smoke. I passed it to Key, who was already taking a long pull off his opium stone. He finally found it earlier in the day, tucked away in his laundry basket.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Some people would say she might not ever remember where she came from. Others would tell you that it is only a matter of time before she remembers piece by piece if not all at once. All I know is that wherever it is, I want to go there.¡± Key said, standing in the doorway looking out at Margo in the living room. He handed me his opium stone and took the joint. ¡°She really is magnificent though.¡± He said, taking a long pull and inhaling the smoke down deep.


    He didn¡¯t cough. Key never coughs, I envy that about him. I cough like a lunchlady after a smoke break sometimes. Its get to be a bit much when we find ourselves dipped in the hash from market.

 Chapter Five

    DOST B?r DEV


    I couldn¡¯t sleep knowing there was a strange woman in my living room. Margo. If that¡¯s even her real name. I didn¡¯t know what to believe anymore.


    What to think. What to think.


    I remember being a child and hearing my parents talk to someone. Someone up in the sky. I never saw them. And, I never heard the person answer. I think it is what people used to refer to as ¡°god.¡± It¡¯s not a term I am familiar with. We learned about different gods in school when I was just a boy, but they were all part of an old timey gypsy mysticism that has been long since forgotten. I wonder. Could this strange woman with the rain be god? Is god lying on my couch covered in rain, sounding like maple syrup?


    I think god just shit her pants a little into my favorite spot on the couch.


    I laid in bed for hours wondering how this all happened. We were supoosed to just play some habberdilly in the park today. Nothing special. I had my racket restrung this past week by the pro down at the shop in the market and I have been up for a game since Key last shut me out three in a row.


    I¡¯m not going to sleep tonight. I already know it.


    I can hear Key moving around in his room next to mine. I tapped lightly on the wall twice. I always tap twice, never three times. This had become somewhat of a routine for Key and I throughout the many years we have lived together. Four knocks back. Never five.


    I sat up in my bed awaiting my good friends arrival to my room. I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed our favorite nighttime I CANT SLEEP bong and packed it with some fresh Caspians Breath we harvested a few weeks back. It isn¡¯t finished curing yet, but I can never wait to try something new.


    ¡°May I enter?¡± Key said, as always, knowing full well he could enter. He was old fashioned that way.


    ¡°Entr¨¦e vous.¡± I muttered in between breaths while ripping through the drawer to my nightstand. ¡°I¡¯m trying to find the davinci, I don¡¯t know where I put it.¡±


    ¡°Should I grab more off the back porch?¡± key asked referring to the cannabis plants that we lined along the back wall of our screen porch. They were hanging there awaiting their final resting place in our lovely purple jars.


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    ¡°AHA!¡± I exclaimed, holding up the resin coated wonder. ¡°Here she is!¡±


    I started to break it up and pack it in to the bong. I like to pack one hitters. Nothing I hate more than a full packed bong to pass around. By the third hit it tastes like absolute shit and hurts my throat. I¡¯m a snob when it comes to very few things in life. Weed is one of those things. And I¡¯m not ashamed of it.


    I wasn¡¯t quite sure how to bring up the subject of ¡°god¡± with my good friend tonight. It¡¯s not something we have ever discussed before. So I never brought it up. I didn¡¯t want to end up having even more questions that I couldn¡¯t possibly get any answers too.


    Key was sitting in my favorite armchair, pulling gently from the blue opium stone in his hand. We could both hear Gayandi and his lovely jazz guitar music as we closed our eyes basking in the clouded moonlight that surrounded us. It was an epic moon this evening. Haunting almost. It was low enough to reach up and pluck right from the sky.


    ¡°So, what should we do with her parky?¡± Key asked. He sounded unsure for the first time since the strange womans arrival. I could tell he too had been up all night thinking about the girl in our living room. The girl with the rain, and no answers.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure old friend. I think perhaps we should wait until morning. It¡¯s a purple sun tomorrow. Purple suns always bring a good day.¡± I said as I sat there thinking about God still. I didn¡¯t want to sound like a crazy old fool so I never brought it up. But I wanted too.


    Key was getting comfortable in Gayandi¡¯s armchair. He stretched all the way out, which was a feat in our old age. Key was a very large man. Especially for the time we choose to live in. He stood well over six feet tall. The average height in Mercer street in the time we¡¯ve chosen (or rather, that chose us) is a little over five feet tall. So Key was a giant. A friendly giant at that.


    ¡°I can¡¯t smoke this thing anymore parky, I¡¯m going to roll a joint.¡± Key said. ¡°You want in?¡±


    Key always rolls the most fun joints. He can roll them to be pretty much anything you could imagine. I remember once when we were young lads, He rolled a Pyramid joint. I don¡¯t know how he did it, still to this day. There was over a pound of grass in that joint. It burned up in six hits. I have always wanted to be that high again, but he never rolled another pyramid joint.


    ¡°When do you think she will wake up?¡± I asked my dear friend and roommate.


    ¡°Im not sure, but I¡¯ve already decided to start making noise around six.¡± He said in a mischievous tone.


    I could tell he was up to something. I knew he wanted to fuck her. But I think maybe there might be more to it. Maybe he could love her. I wanted that for Key. My friendly giant pal. I don¡¯t know that I have had a truly happy day since my Grace left this realm and went into the next.


    I feel joy sometimes. But it just coats the sorrow. It never replaces it. I try to imagine loving again and it just doesn¡¯t seem possible. Grace was the most wonderful person I had ever known. She had the biggest heart I could find in any time or place. She was one of a kind. A true child of the stars. And she had big beautiful blue eyes. No one has blue eyes anymore. I might be the last person with blue eyes left. I think that¡¯s why everyone tells me I¡¯m beautiful. Because my blue eyes are the only two left in existence.

 Chapter Six

    AK?AM G¨¹NE??


    Key had fallen asleep in Gayandi Lovette the jazz mans armchair. I couldn¡¯t sleep. I sat up all night into the morning. I kept rolling joints and packing the pipe, nothing seemed to ease my mind. Not even the opium stone. I was anxious. It had been a very long time since I had been anxious. Life in Mercer street isn¡¯t dull I¡¯d say. But it¡¯s nothing extraordinary. Surely, you would have to leave and visit another time and place to find something extraordinary. I like to think sometimes, that, through our years of friendship and business, key and I have built something quite extraordinary in a quite mundane place.


    ¡°Pssssssst¡± I heard through the door. It startled me at first. And then I felt a great wave of relief come over my entire being.


    KNOCKS on door.


    ¡°May I come in?¡±


    I knew that voice. I could pick it out of a line up of near identical voices. That smooth, sultry, maple syrup tone.


    It took me a quick moment to register what was happening. I stood up from the armchair on the other side of the bed. I didn¡¯t care much for this armchair. It definitely wasn¡¯t as special as Gayandi the jazz mans armchair. It isn¡¯t nearly as beautiful.


    ¡°Oh yes please do come in dear.¡± I said, I tried not to sound startled. I wanted to seem welcoming. I didn¡¯t want her to be frightened of us. But I suppose if she was frightened of us she wouldn¡¯t be knocking at my door.


    She walked in, and somehow her hair was still wet with rain. But, her body and clothes were dry. I didn¡¯t understand it. Key stayed asleep in Gayandi the jazz mans armchair upon her entrance.


    ¡°How can I help you?¡± I asked


    ¡°Can you tell me where I am?¡± she replied. She sounds awake. Very awake. But it is so early. Such a strange bird this Margo.


    ¡°You are currently at the Key/Shawn apartment house of Mercer street.¡± I told her with great pride. Surely she has heard of us. Why else would she choose our apartment house to barge into of all the places around.


    ¡°I thought I might be in Mercer street.¡± She replied. The way she said it made the hair on my neck stand up. So she had been here before, I thought so. It really isn¡¯t the easiest place to find.


    ¡°Oh have you been here before, Margo?¡± I asked in a somewhat excited tone while trying maintain my cool as a cucumber attitude.


    ¡°I can remember all the colors. The different colors that people¡¯s shoes leave everywhere they walk. I always enjoyed that small detail here. I know I can only see mine. But knowing that everyone¡¯s are unique is something just so magical. Knowing everywhere you¡¯ve gone so you can always find your way back. It¡¯s a lovely addition to the space here.¡± she exclaimed.


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    I honestly hated the colors. Ive gotten used to them over the many years here in Mercer street. But I hated them. I did not like the idea that anyone could find my colors and just follow them and eventually find me. Even though that isn¡¯t how it works. The colors are unique to each of us in that only I can see my colors. Unless, I code in someone else, such as Key. It is one of the oldest algorithms of Mercer Street, and it¡¯s never been changed. Visitors don¡¯t get their own color. They simply get stuck with grey. I just often wonder if the color scheme is as anonymous as we¡¯re told it is. I enjoy a certain amount of solitude in my old age.  That¡¯s why we live at the end way way way waaaaaay away from everyone else.


    Its not that we hate people. We find our way into town a few times a week. I sit and talk with the old timers at the market so I can hear stories about different times and places. Times and places with rain.


    ¡°So what brings you to Mercer street, Margo?¡± I asked in my usual, curious tone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know. I must have gotten lost somewhere along the way. It¡¯s happened to me a few times recently.¡± She said in a somewhat blaise manner.


    ¡°But Uncle Eek always finds me. I don¡¯t know this time though. Mercer street is very difficult to find. The folks here have hidden it well. I am not sure what I am going to do now.¡± She spoke in a very unenthusiastic tone.


    I looked up from the joint I was rolling to see her staring helplessly out the round square window I cut in the wall about seventeen years ago or so. She looks captivated by the purple sun that¡¯s rising to the south. Her eyes haven¡¯t closed in at least two minutes.


    It¡¯s funny, because here I am captivated by her being captivated by the purple sun.


    Purple suns were a nice surprise I got after arriving to Mercer street all those years ago. The sun is always different here and it kind of goes wherever it wants too in the sky, but every now and then it becomes the most wonderful sight a set of eyes can see. The purple sun always brings a good day.


    ¡°It¡¯s just so splendiferous¡± she finally spoke, twirling around and finding her way to the floor. Her voice sounded like it was that of a child in a candy store waiting with her hands out for those sweet sugary treats.


    She propped herself up on the side of Gayandi Lovette the jazz mans armchair. My favorite armchair. I couldn¡¯t help but take a picture in my mind of the two lovely people set before me appearing to be so at peace that it sort of lifts the energy of the room as a whole. Key, fast asleep in Gayandi Lovette the jazz mans armchair. And Margo, sitting on the floor propped up against the side of the same chair, wrapping her hair up in a rather magnificent bun.


    I knew Key would enjoy when I describe the mental picture to him later.


    Margo popped up suddenly, her movements woke Key slightly. Key stretched out quite long before sitting up fully in Gayandi¡¯s chair. Rubbing his eyes and raising his arms, he looked to Margo and I. I could tell he needed a cup of coffee.


    ¡°Here you are, I didn¡¯t know if you took cream or sugar so I brought you both. And some honey. I like using honey in my coffee. So I brought you some.¡± Margo said as she gave key his coffee. She disappeared to the kitchen and back almost like magic. I didn¡¯t even notice her leave. She sounds kind of nervous. Or giddy. Could the strange woman with the rain from our doorstep, in fact, be taken by my dear friend key, the same way he is taken by her?


    Love is the only real magic that exists.


    ¡°Thank you, you certainly didn¡¯t have to do that.¡± Key said in a surprised, but delighted tone. He took a sip from the cup and smiled. He approves.


    ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure, Key.¡± Margo replied.


    She sat on the edge of the bed closest to key and put her hand out on the armchair.


    Oh she definitely wants to fuck my good friend.

 Chapter Seven

    ANANA? DA?LARI


    Key was finishing putting the rest of the hemp oil into the car so we could make our way to town. I needed some things at the market and I wanted Margo to hear the old timers talk about rain. I loved going into town, all the bubbles that fill the air from the exhaust is quite mesmerizing. I hop at any chance to take a car trip to town.


    WHISTLE ¡°Come on cosmo!¡± Key yelled to the dog. Cosmo had hidden himself outside behind our apartment house in the garden when our strange guest arrived. Just then, he came bolting around the corner and jumped right into the back seat. I reached out and pet him as he looked up to me wagging his tail.


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    ¡°Ah comso our old friend. Hows it going buddy?¡± He looked at me with his head tilted. He knew we were going to the market. Cosmo loves the market. Mrs Greyy the old bag from town always feeds him jerky and treats. It always makes his breath stink like shit for days. I hate when Mrs Greyy gives him that garbage. But cosmo loves it. So I don¡¯t really mind.


    ¡°Come on Key!¡¯ Margo yelled. I could tell she was excited to go to town. We all were. It¡¯s an adventure. We get to drive through the pineapple mountains and down passed the bubble falls to our good friend Henrys house. In all our years here, I always love to go to town.


    My sister lives over in the Holy Hills next to the nectar creeks. Her and her husband are always collecting nectar from the creeks to use in their strange hippie brews. It¡¯s too sweet for my liking but my sister uses it on EVERYTHING. I hope in my mind that we might get the time to take our new strange friend to meet my dear sister and her husband. But I knew the chances of it actually happening are slim. Her husband is kind of strange. A bit aggressive for me. If he was an animal he would be a shark.

 Chapter Eight

    KABARCIK


    We were making good time on our journey to town. We always got there faster than I thought we would. Always. Especially when Key drove. But we got there faster than I thought even when I drove. I never understood it. My concept of time has always been a little shaky at best though. So, I¡¯m not really too surprised.


    ¡°WOW, look how beautiful.¡± Margo exclaimed waving her finger out of the window to draw our attention.


    ¡°Where are we now?¡± She asked in an excited, curious tone.


    ¡°We are currently passing through kabarcik. To our right you will see the magnificent bubble falls.¡± Key said in the voice of an old time city cabbie. He is really enjoying this time with our newfound strange friend.


    You could see the excitement building in Margo¡¯s face, too. It reminded me of a dog meeting you at the door when you first get home after a long day out in the world. It was nice to see. It made me feel wholesome. It¡¯s been a long time since I have felt wholesome.


    ¡°Pull over!!!¡± She screamed, immediately popping out of the door as soon as we stopped. It may have even been before we came to an actual complete stop.


    ¡°It¡¯s just so wonderful.¡± She said, taking in a deep breath while spinning around in circles before collapsing to the ground, staring up at the sky above us.


    ¡°Do you guys smell that? It smells like sweet berries and vanilla. Maybe even a hint of sweet golgmarth cream.¡± Margo asked to Key and I as we stood there patiently waiting for the magic of this moment to pass for our newfound friend.


    I don¡¯t smell the sweet berries and vanilla. The bubbles always smell different to different people. I smelled licorice today. Sometimes it smells like I am in a field of roses. It¡¯s always pleasant. I have never had a bad experience at the falls. People in town say that if you smell something unpleasant, it is a sign for bad times too come. I have never subscribed to this type of logic in life. But I never hold it against those that do.


    ¡°To me it smells like eternal spring time. Like a bright meadow teaming with flowers and butterflies.¡± Key said as he stepped out of the car. He took his opium stone from his chest pocket and drew a long hard pull, exhaling it into the wind. The wind took that hit a far and great distance, all the way passed the horizon. Twirling it like a ballerina through the air the entire way. The wind can be playful like that at times.


    We¡¯ve stopped here before. I think in this very spot exactly. I bet if I looked I could find the tire tracks from the car that we left when we peeled away. I always remember spots like this. Bubble Falls isn¡¯t my favorite. But I know Key always enjoys it. The air is nice here. Thick.


    Margo was running around popping bubbles and catching them with her tongue. The taste of the bubbles is an entirely different matter. Very earthy. Its what I imagine spoonfuls of actual dirt taste like. She was clearly enjoying herself, like a child¡¯s first snow day from school. She was really taking in these moments with us, It sure was nice. It is always nice to feel appreciated, even when you¡¯re more and more becoming the third wheel of the group.


    ¡°Have you ever been here before?¡± Key asked looking in Margo¡¯s direction. I am glad he his still poking her for information, I am useless in my current space. But, there is still so much I am curious about. She hasn¡¯t exactly been withholding, but she hasn¡¯t parted with anything grueling yet. She remains very much a mystery still. My old friend Key has felt the universal connection with her. That¡¯s probably the only reason she isn¡¯t tied up and in the trunk. If Key trusts her, well, then I trust her as well.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°I think maybe when I was a young girl I came here. I can remember the smell and the sound of the bubbles hitting the rocks. I always remember lots of things about the places I end up, but then I can never quite put them in the right order. My grandfather has always said I am clumsy with my mind.¡± Margo said while running towards the falls. ¡°My mother says it¡¯s my gift.¡±


    Margo propped herself on the rail and dangled her feet over the edge. I could tell she was dreaming of diving right in. It was illegal to jump into the falls. It¡¯s been illegal since before I came to Mercer Street. I think perhaps it has just always been illegal. I am not really sure why. To keep things in good taste I suppose. But I think it is just because they want to keep the bubbles beautiful. And not let them all go to shit with people ripping through from all over time. Mercer street is a hidden gem. And we like to keep it that way. People have to seek a great amount of light and knowledge before they are able to find this place. It is special.


    I remember hearing tales when I was a child about this place. For me, it was always somewhat of a dream. I never thought it actually existed. Or that I would ever be graced with its presence. And then one day I finally found my way here with the help of my long time friend. We¡¯ve been here ever since.


    Key pulled a joint out of his pocket and sparked it up. It was made in the shape of a delicate rose. It however was not that delicate. It felt solid and unbreakable in between my fingers. I played with it for a moment, rolling down the line of fingers, admiring the technique my dear friend used to create such a masterful piece of art. I love when he uses the gold tinted papers. I think he found them one of the times we visited Istanbul. I remember the shop lady giving us a hard time because we smelled like reefer. And then we saw her later that night in a Turkish speakeasy. I watched her most of the evening, she left with a man who was twice her age and lacking an incredible amount of teeth. I slept well that night knowing her judgement was useless in the big picture.


    I didn¡¯t want to sit here long, the daylight was disappearing faster and faster and my eyes were getting heavy. I know the opium stone isn¡¯t helping. But, I wanted to continue on our journey into town. I didn¡¯t want to be a grumpy old fuck though, so I waited it out a little longer. Also, I couldn¡¯t wait to stop by our friend Henry¡¯s house and see if he was home. I hadn¡¯t seen Henry in quite a while. I have not made the last few trips to town with Key due to my lack of wanting to go, so I wanted to use this opportunity to drop by and say hello.


    ¡°Alright Margo, lets get a move on. I want you to meet our friend Henry!¡± Key said in an excited manner as he brushed her towards the car. He noticed I was getting fidgety and knew I wanted to get on our way. He knew I would want to see our old friend Henry. One of Keys greatest qualities as a being is his complete understanding and selflessness that he bestows on those around him. Doesn¡¯t matter if he has known you for twenty minutes, or twenty life times. If youre black, white, yellow, purple, green or blue. He will always lend his hand to anyone or anything that requires his gentle touch.


    ¡°Do we really have to go?¡± She asked in a disheartened tone. She was longing at the falls, wishing she could stay forever.


    ¡°I could stay here forever.¡± She said as she started to turn back towards the car.


    In my mind I scoffed at that idea. Living at the falls forever? It sounded disgusting to me. I couldn¡¯t blame her though. I remember having the exact thought myself years and years ago. It is one of the first places that really draws you into life here. It helps to trap you here with its beauty, like a siren luring you towards the rocks. Only instead of death you receive a sort of salvation.


    ¡°I know, I could sit here and watch your wonder for hours.¡± Key retorted. He wasn¡¯t hiding his interest in our newfound strange friend Margo anymore. I liked watching him like this. Confidence in mingling with the fairer sex has never been Keys strong suit. So this is quite the breath of fresh air.


    I got into the back seat of the car, Margo and Key paused for a moment before getting in to lock eyes and smile at one another above the roof, out of sight.


    Key adjusted the mirror so we could see each other for a moment. He had the most tranquil look I have ever seen on his face. We both knew where this was leading. We acknowledged that to one another through looks. I just hoped for my good friends sake it ended up in a place as wonderful as this place is now. I was never been a fan of the falls. But everything is better with love in the air.