Democrat, Illinois - The ElectroLounge

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“This is sabotage! This is not what I want!”
“You haven’t told me to leave.”
“I want to know why you came & what you want.”
“I don’t know.”
Silence. “Then go now.”
“I didn’t know I was coming. I saw the TV show too, & I went out & I haven’t gone
back. I don’t know where I am now, exactly.”
Pause. “Are you in trouble?”
“I don’t know.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“Yes.”
“Go.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Come back as a man not a mist.”
“Why?”
“That’s for you to risk.”
“Is there any good answer between us?”
“I don’t know”
“I’ll go now.”
“Don’t come again at all unless you are serious.”
The woods are dark, he’s back in his body. What was that? What the fuck was that?
He checks his bag. Checks himself. Both OK. The woods are quiet but they are
woods.
He looks around & finds nothing human in evidence. Not even a trail. How did he
get here?
The high moon gives him some light to raise camp by. His tent pops into place, his
things go within with his sleeping bag & pillow.
No sleep though. Not even close. He wonders how close he is to any of Boss Dogg’s
secrets. Are there tripwires he’s luckily missed? Cameras up above he can’t see?
A campfire would be a bad idea. Better to bundle up layered thickly. It’s not too
cold.
No creatures. Not even distant noises. A howl or a hoot would give him much
reassurance. A rustle.
Nothing.
A can of beans with mini hot dogs. A couple of tokes. A can of diet soda. Now some
weariness.
A drift. Longer now. Crawl & stagger into tent. Zip up & then into sleeping bag. All
flaps closed. Maybe there is a rustle before the next drift that carries him away,
A clock, tick tock.
But no, no tick tock.
A broken clock.
OK, check the next. No tick tock. Broken clock.
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