This Message Will Self-Destruct

I did my first work for Lizzy today. It was easy. No customers. Steph didn’t come in. She left a message and said she’d be out dancing with Wren and Jack. I wanted to say: don’t tell me that shit. It just makes me actually want to work for Lizzy, instead of having nowhere else to go.

My mom loved seeing me working at home with a computer. She would so much rather have a nice, respectable son who works with computers than someone who essentially has a huge ray-gun he points at people with inadvisable scribblings on them.

I like the ray gun.

I searched Craiglist. I found a guy who had posted an ad looking for people in the New York area, people like him, people with a funny mark.

This is what his ad said:

Seeking travelers to the borough of Palimpsest. Unexplained spontaneous tattoos? Bad dreams? Find me. Please, find me.

I liked him, a little. It sounded like a real ad. Like you could buy him and take him home and keep him in your closet. I used the admin passwords Lizzy gave me to delete it, and my own brain to follow the poor guy around the web, where he’d posted in half a dozen places Lizzy also had access to. I deleted everything. I felt really bad by the end, like I’d betrayed someone. After all, I post about this shit, and for some reason Lizzy lets it stand.

I added “Sorry, brother” to the various automated notifications and removed it when I was finished. He’d get my message, and a few hundred other poor souls selling Viagra where they shouldn’t or harassing some girl who never wanted anything to do with them. But they wouldn’t understand. Just the guy with the bad dreams. That’s what this is all about, I guess. The people who understand. What they can see that others can’t. In that sense, I’m just as good as they are. The ones who travel. I understand, even if I don’t.

When the day was over, Lizzy came to the door and paid me. I didn’t want money. She nuzzled in close to me and kissed me, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. She grabbed and pushed at me, unbuttoning my pants. I let her, and just like I thought she would, she backed off, looking sly. She thought she was teasing me. But you have to want someone for teasing to work. And if I just told her to take her blood money and shove it, I might still have a chance with the girl I did want. Who understood, and probably better.

But for some reason, I didn’t. I guess it was nice to be mauled, even a little.


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