06-04-2019, 06:18 PM
Night Brings the Hunter Pt. 08
"Well, I met a girl in West Hollywood, I ain't namin' names.
She really worked me over good, she was just like Jesse James.
She really worked me over good, she was a credit to her gender.
She put me through some changes, Lord, sort of like a Waring blender."
-Warren Zevon, "Poor Poor Pitiful Me"
An old woman dressed entirely in black sat at an outdoor cafe in the San Finzione Marketplace, drinking her vino and watching the world go by; as she had for as long as anyone could remember. Some suspected that when the Sun exploded and the Earth crumbled to dust, the Yia-Yia would still be sitting at her table, continuing to drink her wine while floating through space and not thinking much of this new-fangled "void" thing.
Today seemed unusual to her. Not like that time a couple of months ago with the Americans; that had been amusing. People seemed sadder today. The waiter who'd refilled her glass had asked if she was all right. She sipped and didn't understand why she wouldn't be and dismissed the youngster with a wave of her hand. A few minutes later, she recalled that he'd been wearing a black armband, but hadn't connected it to anything. Once she'd noticed many other people passing her by wearing them, she'd started to wonder.
She looked up into the sky. A group of fighter planes flew overhead, followed by two other airplanes descending from the clouds; a large passenger jet and a smaller jet behind it. It was an unusual sight, but she'd never been on an airplane, nor was she ever going to be, so not worth thinking about. As she returned her gaze to street level, she noticed that flags had been flying at half-staff and made the connection: Oh, dear, someone important had died. Well, good thing she was already wearing black.
These days, she couldn't hear much that people around her said and cared about even less of it, however, one word kept repeating from the din of the café's patrons and the passers-by: "Contessa." Was that who died? She thought she'd met a Contessa once. Seemed like such a nice girl. She hoped it wasn't her.
Whichever one it was, she hadn't seen people this unhappy since the day the tanks rolled through the Marketplace so many years ago, but that sadness had changed to joy when tanks later rolled through in the opposite direction. She couldn't recall if they'd been the same tanks or not, but everyone was happy about it the second time. This was more like the first one.
She considered going to find a newspaper and finding out more about what had happened when the waiter came and refilled her glass.
Yeah, why change a good thing now?
* * *
"Well, I met a girl in West Hollywood, I ain't namin' names.
She really worked me over good, she was just like Jesse James.
She really worked me over good, she was a credit to her gender.
She put me through some changes, Lord, sort of like a Waring blender."
-Warren Zevon, "Poor Poor Pitiful Me"
An old woman dressed entirely in black sat at an outdoor cafe in the San Finzione Marketplace, drinking her vino and watching the world go by; as she had for as long as anyone could remember. Some suspected that when the Sun exploded and the Earth crumbled to dust, the Yia-Yia would still be sitting at her table, continuing to drink her wine while floating through space and not thinking much of this new-fangled "void" thing.
Today seemed unusual to her. Not like that time a couple of months ago with the Americans; that had been amusing. People seemed sadder today. The waiter who'd refilled her glass had asked if she was all right. She sipped and didn't understand why she wouldn't be and dismissed the youngster with a wave of her hand. A few minutes later, she recalled that he'd been wearing a black armband, but hadn't connected it to anything. Once she'd noticed many other people passing her by wearing them, she'd started to wonder.
She looked up into the sky. A group of fighter planes flew overhead, followed by two other airplanes descending from the clouds; a large passenger jet and a smaller jet behind it. It was an unusual sight, but she'd never been on an airplane, nor was she ever going to be, so not worth thinking about. As she returned her gaze to street level, she noticed that flags had been flying at half-staff and made the connection: Oh, dear, someone important had died. Well, good thing she was already wearing black.
These days, she couldn't hear much that people around her said and cared about even less of it, however, one word kept repeating from the din of the café's patrons and the passers-by: "Contessa." Was that who died? She thought she'd met a Contessa once. Seemed like such a nice girl. She hoped it wasn't her.
Whichever one it was, she hadn't seen people this unhappy since the day the tanks rolled through the Marketplace so many years ago, but that sadness had changed to joy when tanks later rolled through in the opposite direction. She couldn't recall if they'd been the same tanks or not, but everyone was happy about it the second time. This was more like the first one.
She considered going to find a newspaper and finding out more about what had happened when the waiter came and refilled her glass.
Yeah, why change a good thing now?
* * *
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