«Sleeping on the Floor»

02-10-2309

     I can’t tell you how much it thrills me to be able to sleep in a comfortable bed tonight. For the past 7 weeks I’ve been making nests of various piles of blankets and sleeping bags, ever since I got kicked out of my last apartment. In almost two months I’ve jumped at every chance I’ve gotten just to lay down on someone’s bed and prayed I could get a couch wherever I crashed. Even when I went home to Earth, I had to sleep on the floor of my old room cause my brother commandeered my bed after my cat pissed on his. I was too amused by the situation to care at the time.

     All that time tossing on unsporting floorboards and thin carpet just reminded me of when I first moved to Mars and had no where to stay but Linda’s house. Hell, even after I moved into my first apartment with Pashan, where I just had that broken futon, I still spent almost every night sleeping on the ground in my girlfriend’s bedroom. Even this past summer I spent a lot of time on Allan‘s floor because I still lived half an hour away from my life. But now that’s all over.

     Yes, now I am coming to you from my new apartment on the other side of Costa Mensa. I may have mentioned a complex I looked up, last year while I was first trying to move, called Villa Venusia. If not, it’s a beautifully spacious gated community with an artificial lake that runs through the entire complex. Even in between the rows of buildings where walkways and driveways would belong, deceptively shallow streams and tributaries meander about, trickling over boulders or spewing with fountains. The fortunate residents that live within the inner units even have balconies that rest on the water where one could sit on the edge and dangle your toes if you so chose.

     I may not be that fortunate, but I’m still lucky I got the place I did. It’s a small 2-Bedroom on the second story of one of the units in the back, but far from a shabby residence. I found the room online through one of those sketchy classified services, so I was expecting the worst when it came to the roommate I picked. It turned out for the best, thankfully.

     Witt is a nice Ganymedean woman and we share a few things in common, including a birth sign and roots in Keret, where she grew up and where my father‘s family is from. Although, there is definitely a generation gap pervading our conversations, though deep and insightful, what with her being my own mother’s age. She does like to drag me into these long talks as I’m trying to get back to my room or out the front door, but I don’t mind cause sometimes I do actually want to respond, and any other time her busy schedule keeps her out of the house.

     It only took me a couple days to get all my stuff from Manna and Justene’s garage up to my room and unpacked, and now I’m surrounded by the familiar knickknacks and images from parts of the Solar system I’ve never even been. My portable workstation seems relieved to be unpacked and has been successfully integrated into it’s new homesphere–no need to buccaneer my way into a random unsecured network. I remain seated at it most of the day and night since I don’t have a teli to keep me inebriated, but sometimes when my back is hurting from being hunched over a keyboard and computer screen, I take a few minutes to thumb through one of my books or pluck a few chords on my guitar.

     Actually, now that I mention it, I’ve been on the nets all day researching tourism on Jupiter and Saturn, instead of looking for a job to pay for such a holiday. My back is murdering me and I feel like I’m starting to get sick, so I’m gonna go turn in for the night and lay down on a fluffy, inviting mattress.

«Eviction Party»

12-22-2308

     The news was inevitable. There was no way that Tohm had come up with the money, and Eon had moved out three days prior, knowing as well as I did what was about to happen. It was a rather expected notice, and well prepared for, but the news was still shocking.

     ‘Notice of Eviction for Tenants of Apartment Γ-1. Effective as of 12/18/2308. Sincerely, OC Properties Management.’

     I sighed and crumpled the paper up, making sure to pick off the last threads of celluloid tape that affixed it to our front door. I had been putting off the first cigarette of the day so I wouldn’t have to be the one announcing it to Tohm; not that we didn’t see it coming anyway. I didn’t even want to light the my factory-rolled tobacco stick, but I suddenly needed it.

     Tohm had lost his job, serving at that family restaurant in Newport Beach, about five weeks ago. His irresponsibility and propensity to sleep until the early evening eventually overcame any good standing he had with his bosses or the clientele. Being a corporate chain, they took the two warnings for similar slip-ups into strong account when they terminated him, and the effects were immediate.

     We had already turned in my portion of the rent, and used it to finagle ourselves a 15 day Promise-To-Pay extension on the rent, but with eight days in and not a dollar from Tohm for what he owed, it didn’t look like there were any options out. The day he lost his job, all my hopes of starting my life anew in Costa Mensa were quickly siphoned off. That was until it flooded in the day before our last scheduled eviction.

     A surge of hope named Eon flowed in that day. She had come to hang with us just as she had last week. And, expecting consequences as disastrous as her first visit, came prepared with a weeks worth of clothes and her beauty supplies. Lou had only intended on chilling out for a couple of days while she was suspended from her retail job in NA, but when our plight dawned on her in the early afternoon, it seemed her plans had changed.

     She was the only reason we were able to keep the new place. She sacrificed every dollar she had saved up working all summer long, money she had wanted to use to get herself a crawler out here, or maybe just spend on girly things that would make her happy. Instead it disappeared faster than a cockroach in the light.

     Keeping my home wasn’t, of course, the only pro to the situation. I had been infatuated, if not enamored, with Eon since we went to school together back on Earth. The fates had never allowed us to become close in the past, but I felt like her first moving to Mars, then falling upon my doorstep, and having enough money to keep us afloat another month were all the orchestrations of invisible hands I’d never paid much attention to.

     Granted, at times I wanted those invisible hands to wring her soft little neck, but that’s just a con of living platonically with someone you have such a strong attraction to. She was never farther than arms length at any time during her occupancy, we even shared the same bed. You’d think I’d have gotten sick of what was apparently unrequited love, but instead the feelings grew in my gut like a tumor. So much to the point that I didn’t even feel upset about losing my home as much as I was distraught about not living with her.

     I also don’t have any qualms with outing Tohm. He had, and continues to have, a major drug problem. I drink alcohol and smoke cannabis almost every day, but these are the days I can afford it. He was addicted to Venusian Coca; a habit that cost him 60 dollars a day even when he didn’t have the money for it. On top of that he also consumed everything else that wasn’t nailed down in the house with such fervor it made me wonder if the devil worked as hard for what he wanted.

     I blamed him for losing my home. I blamed myself for not realizing this would happen the day we moved in and he started chatting away on his touchi in Martian with his dealer when I told him I had a little cash to get booze. I blamed Allan for setting me up with his co-worker in the first place, knowing him and his problems far better than I did. Mostly though, I just blamed Tohm for being too hopeless to ever recover.

     I spent the last day in my brand new home carrying all of my possessions out of it. Luckily our neighbors had agreed to let us keep our stuff in their garage until we could find new places to live, so it was a short trip down the flight of stairs–but like everything, I had to do it on my own. It’s only fitting though, that the captain go down with his ship. I surveyed the damage one last time, the rooms barren and fresh as the day we moved in 2  months ago. I stepped back, tipping my hat to emptiness and locked up, closing the door on this chapter of my life.

     At least I was going home for the holiday, and it worked out that my flight back to Earth would occur the same day I had to vacate the residence. As I started my crawler for the first and last time in two weeks, I thought of my dear Eon and hoped to feel the warmth of her embrace soon. I lit a cigarette and watched my old place disappear in the rear view mirror.

«Gone With the Wind»

12-14-2308

     I wake up to a cold bed. I shiver reaching for something warm, only the find the lump beside me is just a blanket. I sigh and roll, pulling it over my shoulder into a ball I can wrap my arms around and try to go back to sleep. I lay here for an hour tossing back and forth before I finally give up and put on some pants. Sitting at the end of my bed, I look around my hauntingly empty room for a moment. The floor is spotless, free of shoes and clothes and suitcases, the shelves void of beer cans and books. There isn’t even a discarded pile of blankets to the side of the bed, or giant bean bag chair at its foot. A shut closet door and solitary, poorly illuminating, lamp stand facing me as I wake, like the last loyal subjects of a feeble, passing king.

     Any other day, Eon would have been laying beside me. She would look, if you could imagine, as an angel sleeping after a bender; so peaceful and almost appearing thankful to rest at last. Her fingers were always wrung around a dirty old t-shirt covered in salt and mascara, a keepsake she affectionately called her blanky. More often than not, she would remain in bed for another hour or two after me, and dodged every attempt I made to stir her. Looking as serene as she did though, I never wanted to try very hard.

     I step into the bathroom to see a clean countertop, fresh as the day I first moved in. The door opening freely instead of being blocked by a heap of towels and clothes. I must admit I could use a little toner or moisturizer, but find nothing so I just splash water on my face instead. I notice the bathtub only contains a bar of soap, shampoo and conditioner; no fancy loofah or wash cloths, no disposable razors or exfoliating scrubs. Leaving the bathroom I find a streak of hair dye still painted on the door. I would mind more if I didn’t like the blue-black color of her hair.

     She had complained about the bathroom every day for two weeks since she moved in. When I had first arrived with Tohm, our budget was shoestring thin and the only things we owned were usually things I had pilfered from my last apartment. Sure, a dozen bars of soap was a nice thing to find as we unpacked, but impractical for doing dishes, cleaning the counters or scrubbing the toilet. We eventually ordered that giant box of cleaning supplies and essentials at her insistence, which was the only day I ever saw her clean–and that was only cause she wanted the place to be sparkling when she invited that guy over. After that, the only thing cluttering up the bathroom were the 30 or so oils and balms, strange tinctures and elixirs, the array of make up and applicators, and a handful of brushes and curling irons she never bothered to put away.

     The living room is bare. I can’t see any dishes or mugs laying about the room, no wine glasses or cups half full. No array of bottles or cans standing at attention. The instruments are properly stored, not left lying on the couch in a stack of papers and disks. There aren’t several books pulled out and lying after answering a question or being used to write on. No decks of cards lay scattered after slipping off the table, no blankets and pillows fallen to the ground and no red stains on the carpet.

     Every morning, before anyone else would wake, I found myself clearing away the aftermath of the night before. I’d take trash and dirty dishes to the kitchen by the handful, making sure to rinse out any glass and aluminum before it reached the recycling bin and then load the dishwasher carelessly. Somewhere in this process I’d make enough noise to rouse the rest of the house. Tohm would take his station in the armchair and Eon would default to laying down on the couch if I was still seated on the floor at the workstation. Otherwise, she would spend more time locked in a staring contest with this glowing screen than I did, reaching out to the nets like I knew only a homesick Earthling could. I can remember laying on her spot of the couch for hours, just hoping she’d turn to say she was bored, and ask me to amuse her instead.

     The kitchen I enter is spotless as well. No condiments or spices are left on the counter, or food wrappers and disassembled packages left spent. No pile of dishes in the sink with food still stuck to them, and if there is, I can’t see it brimming over the edge of the sink basin from where I stand. There isn’t a frying pan left on the range or a cup of tea unsipped in the microwave. The fridge is closed and the butter put away. Not to mention the trash is gone and the recycling sorted and disposed of already.

     We had so much food last week, before it all got shoveled down the open mouths of three needy garbage disposals. I had always thought I was a bottomless pit, and when I moved in with Tohm, I thought he had a black hole somewhere in his lower abdomen. Eon had a conduit to another, much emptier, dimension somewhere within her core, which led to her insatiable consumption of everything in sight. I guess all three of us were very similar in this regard; I never got enough of anything which probably lead to me wanting more of everything. This was well reflected in my Earthling roommates. I loved Lou for her thirst for life.

     I stand in the living room looking out the sliding glass door, staring at the droplets of rain dancing in a pool on the balcony. Winter comes quickly on Mars, I think to myself, reflecting on the sunny days and that scorching wind we had not even a week ago. It may have driven me insane to go through the same thing every day, to endure what was dished to me by cruel nature with a dumb smile, but I liked it better before the weather turned. It’s been cold and miserable and done nothing but rain since the day she left. I was happier with her, I didn’t feel alone or even like an alien with Eon around,  I felt like I actually had an equal in this unbalanced world. So what if she drove me as crazy as the weather, she made me feel warm and loved in all her oblivious radiance.

     “You’ll do fine with out me,” she said bodaciously, “but I’m gonna miss you.” She was curled up in my arms on the bean bag, her luggage packed and ready. My finger tips scratched at the scalp behind her ears as I stared at her closed eyes in sullen silence, knowing well it was more likely going to be the other way around. The closer her departure approached, the more I dared ask her to tell me all the things she couldn’t afford to say. I knew to hear anything more from those alluring lips, or to lean in and steal a kiss from them would just hurt me that much more when I woke up the next day. Instead I swallowed my desire and closed my eyes, hugging her close. “I was probably too hasty with this choice,” she uttered at last. I began to wonder if she meant her decision to go or to live here in the first place, but down stairs in the driveway her ride honked. She kissed me with lips as soft as a cloud, then evaporated just as quickly.

     It’s a real pity. Just as I was getting used to it, the weather changed and she blew away.

«Fall Cleaning»

11-29-2308

     The doorbell rang at half past one. I was up since nine, but had been turning and tossing myself back into sleep the whole morning long. It rang once more, echoed by my sigh as I finally got out of bed and put a shirt on. I walked heavy on the floor to let the visitor know I was approaching, not even disturbing the slothy Eon, still asleep on the couch. If she had been any bit conscious she wouldn’t have let it ring twice, knowing what was on the other side of that door.

     A Martian delivery boy in brown shorts and polarized shades stood waiting with a giant package at his feet and an electronic clipboard in his hand. I greeted him and attempted to relay how important this parcel was with my excitement. He simply shrugged, zapped a barcode on the package and handed the PDT to me with the stylus. Giving the best pixel signature I could muster, I returned it and thanked him, then grabbed the 40 pound box, lifted it over head and proceeded to dance about the living room, shouting ‘It’s Here!’ over and over.

     “Don’t open it without me, dude,” Lou muttered lazily as she squinted at me through those morning-heavy eyelids. I simply nodded and set it down next to the couch and ran to get Tohm up so he wouldn’t miss the greatest day our apartment had ever seen. Well, second to that time we got a fridge.

     Once the house was fully assembled and half-awake, I took a pair of scissors and dissected the corrugated box. I snatched the packing list off the top and handed Todd the sheet of bubble wrap. We all exclaimed in glee as I revealed the goodies hiding underneath.

     Since we possessed no income other than what our parents could afford to slip onto our plastic from Earth, and my father gave me access to some of his accounts without giving me a hardware copy of the card, we had to order a lot of things online. We had survived off having food delivered to a card I didn’t actually own for a week at a time, but what this box contained was more vital to us than any amount of pizza or Saturnian take-out.

     I began to dismantle the box, checking off each item on the packing list, the pen I just opened to do this was the first to go. A collapsible broom, cheap plastic duster and toilet brush came out, followed by surface cleaner, carpet cleaner, windex and bleach. A curling iron, set of razors, pack of sponges and replacement water filters were decedent indulgences compared to the shampoo, conditioner and body wash that came next. The only thing left in the box were an assortment of non-perishable instant meals. It was like Christmas, but better.

     “Alright, I’m getting a load of laundry ready and then I’m cleaning the bathroom,” Eon stated with newfound zeal as she stood, grabbing the detergent and a roll of paper towels from the pile of our ill-gotten gains.

     “I’m doin’ the kitchen. You start your clothes and I’ll get mine done after we get cash from the recycling,” I said grabbing a box of large clear trash bags. “Tohm, wanna gimmie a hand in there?”

     “First things first,” he almost shushed me as he reached for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the pile.

«←→»

     We unloaded four bags of glass and aluminum from the trunk of my crawler, and the box that came today, also full of bottles, from the back seat. The recycling shack was in the middle of a drug store parking lot, the solitary Martian posted there diligently weighing all sorts of beverage containers before dumping them into larger bags or smaller compactors. He slid a couple of large rubber garbage bins to us as they became available, working his way through a young Saturnian girl, a Venusian guy and a lady from Earth before it was our turn. Tohm and I tore open the bags and emptied the bottles and cans into separate containers. We handed over one bin of aluminum and had two of glass, full up and ready to go.

     “Oh, sorry. We no take glass. All full,” he said to us, a little too late, as he motioned to the shack, as if he really had to fit all the materials inside of it.

     “You’re gorking kidding me,” Tohm screamed irately. “Well is there anywhere we can dump these around here, then?” The Martian just shook his head. Tohm stared at me frustrated, then asked the worker “Any other places we could take these bottles?”

     “Oh yeah, 19th street,” He said, immediately turning his attention to more valuable customers. Tohm and I looked at each other and shrugged, knowing we should have gone there in the first place. We did our best to get the bottles back in my trunk with the shreds of bags and the cardboard box and drove across to the other side of Costa Mensa.

     19th street was a much more grand operation than the last dump. In a grocery store parking lot near my favorite bar, half a dozen workers next to a trailer processed the recyclables supplied by a never ending line of single mothers, teenage boys and bag ladies, every last one of them with pointy ears and antennae. We were pleased to see them taking bins full of bottles here and got ours out of the crawler. 

     “You guys are still collecting these right?” I asked with the heavy box in my arms. I almost wanted to throw them at his head when he shook it and pointed to a sign posted on the trailer. Probably the most straightforward help we’d gotten all day, it informed us that we had to separate the bottles into green, clear and brown glass, which didn’t seem that great an obstacle. Then the sign says ‘Due to complaints from the grocery staff, customers are not permitted to sort out their recycling in the parking lot’. Tohm and I stared at each other dumbfounded and suddenly wanted a cigarette. We asked three other workers and the manager if we could just do it real quick, but each of them simply said no and pointed to the damnable placard.

     We resisted the urge to flip them the bird and leave our mess in their way, though it killed us inside. Instead we drove to the other side of the parking lot and sorted it all in less than a minute. At this point it didn’t matter what hoops we had to jump through, I wanted fresh towels and fresh clothes to greet me when I finish using my fresh products in my fresh shower. We smiled as the boss handed us a stack of singles and some change, then got in the car and drove home as fast as we could. We were sure, after taking an hour to refund our past month of partying, that the house would be sparkling clean when we got back. I couldn’t know what mess awaited me there.

«Everyone Comes Here»

11-25-2308

     I wished goodbye to my three Earthling neighbors as they left my apartment. Then, after shaking my head in amusement, I turned to sit and light a Martian Spirit, almost choking as I took that first drag. I pulled up my scarf, leaned back and closed my eyes to the night’s brisk coastal wind as I pondered.

     In the two years I’ve lived here, I don’t believe I’ve ever been drawn to any group of people as much as those not from this place. Whether my friends were Venusian, Saturnian or Jovian, it never mattered as long as they were not a native born Martian. Within the past few months, though, I’ve noticed a startling empathy for the people of my world, Earth.

     They say birds of a feather flock together, and I could never have denied my attraction to like-minded individuals, especially ones who’ve felt just as lonely and alien on this planet as I. Somehow we could tell, there was just a raw magnetism between our kind, and I found it more than coincidence that every time I’d end up vibing off someone I had a conversation with, they turned out to be from home or Luna almost every time.

     My roommate, Tohm, was a lanky Earthling from New Tros who came out to Mars, ironically, to sober up 2 years ago. Our neighbor, Charae, was a stacked Lunarian that wanted to be a wealthy star but ended up a weekend dancer instead. Duke, a friend I still had from my last job, was born in Earth’s cold north and never complained about the weather here, though his family was from one of Saturn’s more tropical moons. Allan may have been the only Martian on the planet I didn’t want to bludgeon yet.

     What I found absolutely tickling, though, were the amount of people I’d run into not just from earth, but from the suburbs of DT where I grew up. A week after I moved to Costa Mensa I helped a group of girls carry furniture into our apartment complex. Justene was born in Chesapeake and lived in Dominia until she was three, and Manna was born and raised just down the street from me in McLean, leaving the Earth about the same time I did. Eon, of course, was a high school friend that came to Mars 6 months ago who now, by some sort of luck, came to be my second roommate two weeks ago. Manna even knew little Lou, having been a friend of her poor brother. 

     A half dozen other friends already came and went, either back to Earth or on through the rest of the solar system. And I asked everyone I knew the same question, why did you want to come to Mars? Startled, I found out each person had a very similar reason to mine.

     Everyone came here to follow a dream, whether it was success or fame, wealth or power, or just taking control of the life that was rightfully theirs. Each person felt like they’d never have accomplished their goals where they were, and some light drew them in to this place like a co-dependant moth. Everyone held this magical esteem of Mars, be it projected upon us by movies or teli, handed off from the prosperous antenna-clad travelers who came to Earth, or if it was just a figment of our collective imagination.

     I never gave up the hope that I would achieve what I set out to do here, but I’ve conceded that I may need to start on the other side of the planet. I snuffed the cig out and went back inside to discuss travel with Tohm and Eon.

     I wished goodbye to my three Earthling neighbors as they left my apartment. Then, after shaking my head in amusement, I turned to sit and light a Martian Spirit, almost choking as I took that first drag. I pulled up my scarf, leaned back and closed my eyes to the night’s brisk coastal wind as I pondered.

     In the two years I’ve lived here, I don’t believe I’ve ever been drawn to any group of people as much as those not from this place. Whether my friends were Venusian, Saturnian or Jovian, it never mattered as long as they were not a native born Martian. Within the past few months, though, I’ve noticed a startling empathy for the people of my world, Earth.

     They say birds of a feather flock together, and I could never have denied my attraction to like-minded individuals, especially ones who’ve felt just as lonely and alien on this planet as I. Somehow we could tell, there was just a raw magnetism between our kind, and I found it more than coincidence that every time I’d end up vibing off someone I had a conversation with, they turned out to be from home or Luna almost every time.

     My roommate, Tohm, was a lanky Earthling from New Tros who came out to Mars, ironically, to sober up 2 years ago. Our neighbor, Charae, was a stacked Lunarian that wanted to be a wealthy star but ended up a weekend dancer instead. Duke, a friend I still had from my last job, was born in Earth’s cold north and never complained about the weather here, though his family was from one of Saturn’s more tropical moons. Allan may have been the only Martian on the planet I didn’t want to bludgeon yet.

     What I found absolutely tickling, though, were the amount of people I’d run into not just from earth, but from the suburbs of DT where I grew up. A week after I moved to Costa Mensa I helped a group of girls carry furniture into our apartment complex. Justene was born in Chesapeake and lived in Dominia until she was three, and Manna was born and raised just down the street from me in McLean, leaving the Earth about the same time I did. Eon, of course, was a high school friend that came to Mars 6 months ago who now, by some sort of luck, came to be my second roommate two weeks ago. Manna even knew little Lou, having been a friend of her poor brother. 

     A half dozen other friends already came and went, either back to Earth or on through the rest of the solar system. And I asked everyone I knew the same question, why did you want to come to Mars? Startled, I found out each person had a very similar reason to mine.

     Everyone came here to follow a dream, whether it was success or fame, wealth or power, or just taking control of the life that was rightfully theirs. Each person felt like they’d never have accomplished their goals where they were, and some light drew them in to this place like a co-dependant moth. Everyone held this magical esteem of Mars, be it projected upon us by movies or teli, handed off from the prosperous antenna-clad travelers who came to Earth, or if it was just a figment of our collective imagination.

     I never gave up the hope that I would achieve what I set out to do here, but I’ve conceded that I may need to start on the other side of the planet. I snuffed the cig out and went back inside to discuss travel with Tohm and Eon.

«On the Third Day»

11-04-2308

     When I woke up I threw on a pair of pants and stepped across the hall to the bathroom, flicking on the light as I was closing the door. The already familiar hum of a fan and shower of yellow light failed to reach my senses, so I threw the switch again. In vain I fumbled with the lights another moment before sighing, closing the door all the way and trying not to pee on my own feet.

    The same story echoed through my home everywhere I turned; fans didn’t run and appliances couldn’t assist, each bulb and screen in the unit was void and lifeless. I couldn’t even power up the sphere to connect to the nets or access my file storage, or any household functions, like heat and windows. At first I’d hoped the bathroom circuit just shorted but it seemed the power had been switched off for the entire apartment. When my texti told me it was the third of the month it all made a little more sense.

     In an age abundant with electronic communication, why not opt for paperless billing? It takes so long for the postal service to deliver tangible parcels from planet to planet, and it never hurts to help the environments. It just makes it more difficult to remember when payments are due if you check your inbox as often as your mailbox.

     So I grabbed my workstation and my wallet and tried to find a corner of my house I could leech a signal in. Reminiscing the days after I’d first moved to Mars, I latched onto an unsecured network from an apartment near by and went to work. A red light blinked to warn me I’d run the battery to critical power playing music the night before, so I spent a moment reconfiguring for highest power management, buying myself a good four minutes of battery life total. Squinting at the now dimmed screen in a darkened room, I waited impatiently for a pirated feed to connect to the electric company, the loading bar filling with glycerin. I never even saw the login screen to access our account, my computer gave a provocative red wink and dropped dead. I shook my head and closed it up, not knowing when I’d again see her bright face.

     Tohm’s workstation lay asleep on the desk of his room. My roommate’s snoring seemed enough permission to let me borrow it a minute. I returned to my corner to begin the process again, this time making it as far as the login screen before I realized we’d filed all the information under my roommate. I hadn’t yet bothered to learn his birthday or memorize his social security number. I hit myself in the head when I remembered seeing this coming a month ago and still didn’t put everything in my name.

     I picked up my texti and punched in their number, knowing I could well talk my password out of them, I was certain my name was somewhere on that form. An automated hot-line and six random digits later, I finally got on the line with a human being and began to state my case. Stating my case to a wall of silence after only a moment, my mute sentence punctuated by two beeps and a flash of green light from the instantly lifeless phone.  Frustrated, I decided to clear my head before proceeding any further, and reached for the switch on vaporizer. About to throw the switch, I stopped before I could have embarrassed myself any further and just reached under the couch for the glass.

«←→»

     Tohm woke up two hours later and followed my dance step by step. I heard frantic flicking of a light switch from a dark, hollow bathroom. Furious stomping room to room and the dead click and snap of every button and switch in between. I took delight in the routine, playing possum from my front row seat on the couch, but before he could touch the computer I put an end to his performance.

     “They pulled our plug. Everything’s dead. I need you’re help to fix it,” I said as I roused myself a second time.

     “You’re kidding, right?” He stared at me knowing half of it was true and tried to determine how much more he wanted to believe.

     “I’m not. Put on your shoes and a sweatshirt,” I commanded as I stood up.

     “Not so fast, I haven’t even had my coffee yet,” He said coaxing me back down. “I’ll do my part and you do yours,” handing me a charged touchi, “just have the glass ready for me when I get back,” he muttered in a half-awake state. “We still have some left right?” the  Earthling asked, suddenly concerned as he stopped in mid step. I hesitantly motioned towards the ash on the table. He simply shook his head as he slipped on sandals and slumped out the front door.

«←→»

     We sat in mostly darkness the whole evening long. An assortment of multicolored souvenir  lamps, flashlights and antique candles, none I had ever intended to burn, illuminated our usually more lively living room. A small pair of speakers lending a red LED, the music stored on Tohm’s touchi the only thing keeping us sane. I played with the wax dripping onto my table, like I used to do when nature used to switch off the power.

     The electric company had received and confirmed our payment, after a fiasco at the bank and following at a Martian swarmed checking service on the other side of Costa Mensa. I had to pay over the phone by check instead of credit. It’s almost like debit and credit are different forms of currency entirely these days, and rarely exchangeable. It was of course setting vermilion outside by the time I’d gotten on the phone with them, so there was no one left to dispatch to our residence.

     The girls’ power was out all day too, switched off by a billing error instead of just a lack of payment. Of course, not even fifteen minutes after I got off the phone a serviceman arrived, from the same company, to flip their juice and couldn’t give us the decency of not having to pee in the dark. I offered for them to join a candle party with us but they opted to catch up on what they missed during the outage on their DVR.

     I walked back upstairs and plopped on the couch, the dim yellow glow cast everywhere made it all the more warm and inviting. Before I could let myself feel any more down and out about my addiction to electricity, I picked up the acoustic guitar and began to play to the flickering candles.

«Costa Mensa, Mars»

10-30-2308

     I finish walking the block back from the convenience store to return to my apartment. I put out my brand new cigarette and use my free hand to search for my key. Accessing the garage, I take a short cut by walking under the rest of the complex. The main courtyard and two stories of units skirting it are held aloft by great pillars, protecting residents from coastal flooding while creating an ample parking situation.

     My unit is in the back though, separate from the proper structure. Past a row of locking garages and up the only set of stairs, the new apartment rests on top of two other 2 bedroom homes. To one side a small group of Martian students and directly below a single Europan family. I keep them in mind as I walk softly up the steps to our place, glancing at the empty parking lot next door.

     I use the sliding door, since its open to the ocean wind blowing up in the early day, and slip off my shoes inside. My roommate, Tohm, is lounging on my big comfy couch with the tube of a vaporizer to his lips. While he holds his breath I set down our breakfast and cigarettes and then hand him his coffee while he exhales. Before I get a ‘thank you’ or an ‘I appreciate you getting breakfast’ or even ‘good morning’ Tohm takes a sip and nearly spits it out.

     “You messed up my drink again,” he exclaims wiping his lip, “it’s too damn sweet. I can’t drink this!”

     “You’re overreacting, you can still drink it,” I half-heartedly try to calm him. “And I got it the order right today, they screwed it up,” I blurt before shoving a bite of breakfast sandwich in my face.

     “No, I have to go back and fix it now,” he shouts standing up and grabbing his wallet and the cigarettes. He takes out a cig and drops it on the table, taking the pack with him as he storms out the sliding door. I chuckle to myself as I finish my breakfast, washing it down with the simple black coffee they couldn’t mess up.

     Snatching up the smoke he left me, I grab my shades and step back out on the balcony. It’s a warm weekday afternoon and the pink sun radiates nonchalantly overhead.  I sit down in the satellite chair and light up, slumping back into the soft pad and closing my eyes. The wind and a sporadic birdcall tug at my peace, the intermittent drag and puff of smoke the only unnatural interruption. It’s a relaxing day.

     Or at least, it is until they arrive. Out of nowhere three clamoring Broadsides descend  upon the empty parking lot my balcony over looks. I grumble as the oversized economy transports land and their engines begin to unwind. My roommate and I suspect it’s a sober living house next door, as not one of the 30-or-so residents but the obnoxious staff is allowed to drive and they all smoke more cigarettes than us. There are a lot of establishments like this all over Olympus County, especially right by the shore in Costa Mensa and Newport. Apparently Mars is a haven for recovering addicts and alcoholics from all of the inner worlds, contrary to everything I’ve ever learned about this place.

     Even louder than the now stagnant skippers are the patients they unceremoniously unload. Gabbing and chatting about the most inane bullshit, the two dozen yelling twenty-somethings slothly make their way to their dorms, only shutting up for two seconds to light a cig. At least, by the time they get to the other side of the facility near the entrance, I can barely hear the din.

     Now it’s the staff’s turn to start shouting about pick-ups, drop-offs, rebounds and fall-offs. It’s as if they’re attempting to carry on a conversation across the whole parking lot as they stock the vehicles and check the engine’s fluid levels. Between the clangs and thuds and their ear-piercing conversation, two-way communicators chirp like a pulley on a flag pole, incessantly banging away. They respond to their calls even louder, practically screaming at the poor voice at the other end.

     As I wonder when exactly it was that sober people became this loud, I hear a familiar stomping up my stair. My lanky Earthling roommate returns somewhat satisfied with his new drink. Taking a seat on the stool next to me he throws another cig at me.

     “I ‘ought to punch you in the nose,” he says half serious in his New Tros accent.

     “You ‘ought to just be the one who goes out for coffee the first time,” I snicker lighting my cigarette. He simply shakes his head, glaring at me as he lights his own.

«On the Right Track»

10-06-2308

     The fresh coastal breeze blows up my balcony, sending my long hair wild as I take the last drag off my cigarette and stub it in the tray. I stay locked in a staring contest with the neighbor’s feline for another minute before blinking and turning around. Swinging open the heavy old door, I step into my new apartment and lock the wind out. It’s only been a week since we moved in, but already it’s settled and feels like home me. I’m not sure how to express my excitement about leaving Fender for Costa Mensa.

     Sorry about the last few weeks, there’s surely been an upsetting amount of radio silence from my end. But you’re aware how much free time one has when they’re rushed to get their feeble belongings on the road and running before the end of the month. This past week has been spent catching up for the last season or so of buffoonery.

     I’m almost all caught up by now though. My new address has been uploaded to the Martian DMV, bank, post office, vehicle finance and comm companies and updated on all my social networks. We had the utilities switched into my name, our personal sphere activated and still have a good name with the rental agency that supplied the van and our new fridge. This week I’ll have the registration paid off on my crawler and finally be an enabled, functioning member of society again.

     Now, please excuse me for not being more lengthy, but the day is so short and my quest far from over. I’ll tell you more about my new home and my roommate later, but there’s much business at hand still. This is simply the first step of the Job Odyssey.

«Everything I’ll Miss»

10-01-2308

     I’m finally moving to Costa Mensa!

     For two years now I’ve lived in a certain satisfying squalor, fitting of a starving artist. A weeks passing will change all that though, I’m leaving this desert town behind for good, albeit six months later than I‘d have liked.

     Walking to the front door in the red hot afternoon I take a moment to appreciate it all. The dry, static air giving not so much as a tease of a breeze. The ambient roar of the adjacent expressway layered with crescendos of construction equipment. Without searching for something else to loathe, I quickly use the key and step into my unit.

     Inside I take a look around at everything I’ll miss. The broken stop recessed into the wall, the uneven floor and the stub by the door . The cracks in the wall and in the ancient coke bottle cabinets, older than a few wars. The glacier slowly encroaching upon my refrigerator, dripping onto the disgustingly outdated linoleum floor. The antique stench released by every cabinet and drawer. The sea of discarded cigarettes surging against a cement shore. The strange scavengers living in the spaces between the units and underneath the patio.

     The soothing swish outside my window of wind and traffic waves breaking. The nauseous primary blue paint on my bedroom walls I love so much I could just puke. The army of thick black hair spawned by the Jovian, lurking in every corner of the bathroom. The smashing new tile job, with grout that disintegrated the moment water splashed on it. The shower with reversed hookups, contradicting the conventional “Hot-Cold” label, thus leading to painfully confusing situations. Actually, let’s stop with the bathroom here, I could fill another page with complaints about the bathroom alone. The bathroom is dead to me.

     There’s actually nothing too fantastic about the place other than the cost of rent, which is increasing anyway. The location is inconvenient, the management is unhelpful, conditions intolerable, and always too damn hot everywhere in this town but the hill. I’ll be glad when I don’t have a bedroom that offers such a brilliant, picturesque view of the sunrise each day without fail. I don’t really know my roommate or my neighbors, only that they make loud noises in their native tongues late at night; Pashan chatting with girls back home on Europa while it‘s daytime there–my Martian neighbors just singing along with already deafening music that comes with the night. There’s really not much.

     In hindsight I’ll spot something worth missing of this place that I can’t bring with me. In the meantime though, I’ll just grab my coat and head down to the back porch to shed what may be my last tear for the nicotine coastline.

     I’m finally moving to Costa Mensa!

     For two years now I’ve lived in a certain satisfying squalor, fitting of a starving artist. A weeks passing will change all that though, I’m leaving this desert town behind for good, albeit six months later than I‘d have liked.

     Walking to the front door in the red hot afternoon I take a moment to appreciate it all. The dry, static air giving not so much as a tease of a breeze. The ambient roar of the adjacent expressway layered with crescendos of construction equipment. Without searching for something else to loathe, I quickly use the key and step into my unit.

     Inside I take a look around at everything I’ll miss. The broken stop recessed into the wall, the uneven floor and the stub by the door . The cracks in the wall and in the ancient coke bottle cabinets, older than a few wars. The glacier slowly encroaching upon my refrigerator, dripping onto the disgustingly outdated linoleum floor. The antique stench released by every cabinet and drawer. The sea of discarded cigarettes surging against a cement shore. The strange scavengers living in the spaces between the units and underneath the patio.

     The soothing swish outside my window of wind and traffic waves breaking. The nauseous primary blue paint on my bedroom walls I love so much I could just puke. The army of thick black hair spawned by the Jovian, lurking in every corner of the bathroom. The smashing new tile job, with grout that disintegrated the moment water splashed on it. The shower with reversed hookups, contradicting the conventional “Hot-Cold” label, thus leading to painfully confusing situations. Actually, let’s stop with the bathroom here, I could fill another page with complaints about the bathroom alone. The bathroom is dead to me.

     There’s actually nothing too fantastic about the place other than the cost of rent, which is increasing anyway. The location is inconvenient, the management is unhelpful, conditions intolerable, and always too damn hot everywhere in this town but the hill. I’ll be glad when I don’t have a bedroom that offers such a brilliant, picturesque view of the sunrise each day without fail. I don’t really know my roommate or my neighbors, only that they make loud noises in their native tongues late at night; Pashan chatting with girls back home on Europa while it‘s daytime there–my Martian neighbors just singing along with already deafening music that comes with the night. There’s really not much.

     In hindsight I’ll spot something worth missing of this place that I can’t bring with me. In the meantime though, I’ll just grab my coat and head down to the back porch to shed what may be my last tear for the nicotine coastline.

 

«Caravans to Cuffed Hands»

09-19-2308

     It was supposed to be our last hurrah. It was supposed to be the last great adventure before the summer came crashing to an end. It was supposed to be a memorable experience for all.

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     When I regain consciousness I’m handcuffed to a chair in a foreign concrete corridor. I’m halfway through reciting my address to a grizzled uniform disinterestedly taking my words down on his requisite paperwork.

     “It was pretty sly of you trying to sneak by me wearing a different top,” the hardened old officer snarls sarcastically, “but you didn’t fool me for a second. You should thank your friends for bringing you back in so you could go to jail,” he finished with palpable scorn before looking back to his clipboard. At the mention of this I realize I wasn’t wearing half of my clothes anymore. Suddenly I’m wearing a collared shirt under a read Europan sweater. I begin to feel the gravity of the situation, my hands bound behind my back by a plastic band, seated in an unfamiliar place with the contents of my pockets strewn across a folding table. It’s only now that I start to wonder what happened to the past few hours, so I try to piece it together as I casually dispense personal information to the badge with a slur.

     We were going down to Sanctus Da Vinci for a two day festival-style concert so we could celebrate the end of summer. Next week my best Martian friend, Allan, would begin school at his new university. He somehow convinced our Saturnian friend and fellow bandmate, Dune, and myself to spend what little money we had left on tickets. At the time, we thought that was an awful price to pay.

     The night before we would set out, Matt and I made ourselves a part of a different adventure in the name of rock and roll. After visiting a bar, named after an Earth city renowned for its music scene, we tagged along with the friends whom we came to see, and the other two bands they just played with, to an after party. The caravan left Costa Mensa heading for the City of Olympus. A bustling suburb between NA and Fender that unwitingly awaited the trail of crawlers we joined.

     Led by our friends’ tour van, the party arrived at 2 AM and didn’t die until 4. It wasn’t your typical party; the loud music and alcohol is requisite. But this crowd seemed to be more concerned with having a good conversation than see how many beers they could chug. At some point, after the Uranian comedy duo was done playing on the wall-mounted  teli, Ganymedean techno began blasting and everyone began to dance. Whatever dismay I had suffered earlier in the eve had dissolved completely from my memory, maybe taken by the sweat now soaking my hair and clothes. Through some irony, the cops would put an end to the fun this evening, prompting our departure back to my home to catch what little rest we could before the real trip began.

     As to be expected, we woke up late. With no time to shower and properly prepare ourselves for the coming day, we rushed down 4 freeways to meet Dune where he was waiting at Allan’s house by himself. The Saturnian obviously had enough forethought the night before to know this was going to be a grueling journey, otherwise he would have answered our calls when we begged him come to the show.  Originally wanting to be parking in Sanctus Da Vinci at 2 PM, our show didn’t get on the road until 4. I kept reassuring them we’d be there in time for the first band, that it only took two hours to get there. I was wrong, but of course I was, I’d never been to Da Vinci before. Once I’d been to Oceanside with my only other Martian friend, Brick, the halfway point from OC to SDV, and was foolishly miscalculating our ETA by thinking it was much closer.

     An hour into the first set we were only checking into the hotel. It was at this exact moment that Allan realized he left his ID and his charge cards at the bar the night before. I slapped my forehead, Dune sighed and swiped his card, warning knee-breakings if he has to pay for damages to the room. After quickly dropping off our bags in a dinky hotel room, which looks like every dinky hotel room, we began running to find a bus.

     The first night of the show we didn’t even worry about chemical enhancement, we were just stoked to finally be there and listening to so much great music. The second day gave us some time to prepare before the music began to play. Since Allan didn’t have his ID he couldn’t gain access to the beer gardens to drink during the concert, we had to come up with a creative way to get fucked up. We never did come up with a better way, and didn’t want to risk entering the premises with substances illegal to carry, so we just drank in the car instead. A six pack and half a bottle of rum passed before we felt ready to let the event commence. The day’s motto was ‘We gotta get drunk, right?’, after all.

     The plan worked flawlessly at first, as most do. And as most plans involving alcohol do, it would slowly begin to unravel. Things really began to fall apart when Dune found a twenty dollar bill on the ground. This twenty would have to be spent, on booze and quickly, god damn it! The forgetful Martian waited outside impatiently as the two people who didn’t leave their ID’s at home got to enter the magical land of beer. It actually wasn’t that enchanted on the inside, discarded plastic cups in pools of strange colored liquids carpeted the way to the ticket stand. For 10 bucks you get seven 2oz samples and make you finish each before you can receive another, making it impossible to sneak any back out. This wasn’t arguable though, it just meant more beer for the two of us. More beer we’d have to finish quicker since we couldn’t it enjoy it slowly while watching the next band play, so we chugged and left the gardens a little more difficultly than we’d entered.

     At an indiscernible period of time before I left the beer garden a second time, I blacked out. Not to be confused with passing out, no I was still active as ever, the lights were definitely on but no one was home. My body continued to stumble aimlessly long enough to leave me with plenty of bruises when I woke up, but that the only part of the story I could decipher when ownership was returned to me. Everything else had to be supplied by the first hand accounts of my friends.

     I was told that on the way out to the car, the last time we needed to refuel, I was into my badass habits of jumping off or almost breaking everything between me and my destination–a typical sight when I’m not behind my own wheel. At least my body knew it was too drunk, it didn’t even take a sip of that last round of rum as it went around the back seat. The runaway train even knew well enough to insist it stay in the car, it couldn’t manage to chew what I had already bit off. But the powers of coercion work well when I’m not quite up to bat, and it would be dragged back in through the gates.

     Or at least they tried to. Some moments later Dune and Allan would realize they were a person short, walk out and find my body laying on my back somewhere down the street from the entrance. If I had been there I would have told them I had been given a warning and wasn’t allowed back in at all. If I had been there I wouldn’t have let them make me throw up and change my clothes. If I hadn’t checked out early I would’ve helped my body beg them to let both of us (me and my body, that is) stay behind.

     The next time Allan would lose sight of me, he wouldn’t find me until my hands were already bound in rings of some sort of silver-plated steel. I wouldn’t actually meet the officer until later in the evening, but in the meantime he was busy trying to get my body out of the concert and away from my friends in the most efficient manner possible.

     “Just tell us where you’re taking him,” the Martian pleaded in desperation, failing to reach any human emotion in the cop.

     “Don’t worry about him, go watch your band,” he would reply with a scorn I’d later learn is just his natural tone.

     Which brings me back to my present restrained self. I’m in complete control of my body now, though limited to the range of motion of a bobble-head doll at the moment. I’m sure if I tried to form a sentence the words would be there before the body could catch up, but instead I’m giving the officer my telephone number and former addresses so he can check my background, requiring more accuracy than I can muster.

     Last time that I come to Sanctus Da Vinci.