Overdressed for the weather
Syd
Overdressed for
the Weather
The mall had gone downhill. Stores were gone. The cliental got
seedier. Gone were the days when whole families would come shopping,
where expensively attired people would come to shop and be seen. The
mall was still frequented. But, it's glory days were behind it.
Paul Wright mused these thoughts as he walked the length of the
walkways, eyeing various clothing stores that had replaced the music
and book shops that had been a long term presence. He sighed, ordered
a meatball sub sandwich, and sat a table to eat. He wasn't thinking of
anything at the moment.
Out of the crowd popped a woman. In his opinion, she was overdressed.
She wore a dark hip length fur coat. The temperature outside the mall
was well over eighty degrees. She was yakking into her cell phone. She
might be either Afro-American or Asian. Her skin was rusty colored,
her hair was not long, but dark, her right eyebrow had been pierced.
She passed Paul without noticing him, but he was hit by a ton of
perfume. He surreptisouly turned and watched her as she strutted down
the way to the farther stores. He shrugged, turned back to his meal.
Someone wearing a fur coat during spring, with the temperatures being
what they were, he figured her for a prostitute. He shrugged again,
tore back into his sandwich.
Brooks Pruit hated getting girls from the priesthood, but at the
moment, he had little choice. He eyed the girls, dolled up and dressed
in habits and bikinis. The Reverend Pierce was showing them off. He
seemed to leer too much.
"And this is Amanda," he said. The girl was tall, chubby, with a cute
face and long brown hair.
"Nahh," Brooks said, "Too big for my tastes."
Amanda looked insulted. They moved on. Reverend Pierce indicated a
short girl, with doe eyes and short black hair. Her glasses smiled at
him as she did.
"This is Tiffany."
"Too young."
That seemed to be the problem with all the priesthood's girls. Either
too young or too old. He was not normally this picky, but these girls
just seemed outside his tastes.
"Carolyn?"
He eyed the pretty redhead. South American, by her cast. She seemed
close enough to what he wanted.
"Good enough," Brooks said.
The music shop was dingy and damp. The lights were half-working.
Posters hung on the wall by a sliver. The CDs on the racks were mostly
brand new. The oldest was maybe a month old. None had moved.
The record industry, unable to take responsibility for poor music and
high prices, had instead instigated a war at their consumers. A losing
situation no matter how you looked at it.
Paul Wright spoke to the owner, who, since he was an old friend,
showed him into a back room. The room held old CD's, from the past
sixty years. Hidden away, because the industry had decided that the
past held no meaning for them. They were only interested in pushing
the present. The problem was, no one wanted the present. The industry
didn't want to hear that, so the harassment continued.
"Of course," Lionel Walter said, "We're careful who we let down here.
Industry spies all over. They'd love to shut us down."
"So they can take over," Paul said absently, "More profits that way."
Ms. Laurie relaxed in a mud bath. She sighed as the cool, sticky mud
enveloped her figure. Beside her, Chi Fang stared at the ceiling.
"Only the best mud," She said. Ms. Laurie glanced at her.
"The best mud?"
"Imported from central Europe."
"Mud," Ms. Laurie commented dismissively, "Is mud."
"Typical American reaction," Chi Fang said, "Find some reason to
dismiss it, no matter how small. No wonder the whole place is
sliding."
"Sliding where?"
"That's the rub, innit?" Chi Fang put two cucumbers over her eyes,
"Sliding where? Back or forth?"
"Time," Ms. Laurie muttered, "Will tell."
Robert McCarthy stood in the hotel lobby. He was watching a US Army
jet flying overhead.
"The war continues," he said to Paul Wright, who watched the jets
disappear.
"They can't get along with anyone," He continued.
"It's not a question of can't," Paul said, "It's more a question of
won't."
-More later (Yes, that is a threat)..