Saturday, April 6, 2013


Jonathon and Sarah strolled about 'town.' He wore his pea-coat against the April chill. She had her long, black trench. The bars and bistros were filled. And there was a quiet grace about the place. The vampires were doing their job. Night-folk patrols combed the streets picking out the nits. No shadowy drug deals. No shake-downs. No burglaries.... or at least almost none. A guitar player sang sambas on the corner. And a magician conjured doves.

The tables weren't out. It was still too cold for that. But spring was in the air. So our life-eater enamoradas turned into a small, cozy spot for something to drink. Baylah was at the bar. This was her place and she was very proud of it..... Good evening - she said. What can I get you?...... Jonathon smiled and said - Surprise us..... So she came back with a venerable old, wax sealed bottle of Spanish sherry and two small antique glassed fashioned from green, Czech crystal.... Her 'man,' Rudy, came out to pour. Then the three of them sat there listening to the piano man, sing Kurt Weill..... Baylah said - It's quiet all over. Not just Center City, but other places too. Even 'the badlands' are safe. Kids can actually walk to the corner for a Slurpee and not get all shot up. I've been out. I know. That guy over there... the one with the crew cut and the young, pretty wife... he's a detective. He knows me. He knows what I am. You know, Jonathon. He's always known. Says burglaries are way down. Checks with the alarm companies. Nothing 'gone off' tonight.  Old ladies living alone can actually sleep.

Sarah said - But what do they do with them? The hoods, the thugs, the bad guys, I mean. They comb the streets. The pick them up. They got to put them somewhere...... Where?

Baylah said - Eastern State Penitentiary, the 'dungeons.' You know, where the tourists go? They put them there. Just them and the ghosts..... Two hundred years of voices in the night. Sort of like 'Scared Straight' for bastards who should of been scared straight years ago. And they call for their lawyers. They got cell phones. It's a mad house in there. A lot of them are crazy, as it is, you know. But it's dark. They don't have the lights on... Just flashlights. Vampires and flashlights. You can imagine. Some of them must be shitting themselves...

And it's funny how the media covers this. They talk to people. They interview a vampire or two. Never use the real name. Never say that. Oh, and they are so respectful, but always with an 'out.' Always with a little 'believe it or not' disclaimer at the end.  And they know it's true. They know..... Same like they do with aliens.

The younger ones are a little better. They get it. They're not so threatened. Carson Daly is still in town. He's pretty good about it. Vampires like him. And the elferinas love him. Charlie Rose wanted to interview Jonathon, but he doesn't want to do it. So they got this psychology guy instead to talk about mass hysteria. 

But people are catching on. They see! Some of them see! They've seen a killing, or a 'culling,' or whatever you want to call it. And you know what's funny? They know we got vampires in town, but they still don't know where Doctor Franklin's got his bureau.

It'll get out. You'll see. Soon all of them are gonna know. Blackie wants to do something at the first Phillies night game. You know Blackie. He's cool. They don't deal with him much. Jonathon and his crew, I mean. But he's all right. He's out there.

Sad thing is, there's a flip side to all this. Vampires hide from the sun, you know. The sleep, or at least rest during the day. And the cops can't take up the slack. They can't operate like night-folk do. Gotta stick to the rules. Can't hit nobody. Can't pinch nobody. Not real hard, anyway. Not out in the open. So now they deal drugs outside the SAVE-A-LOT. And old ladies hide in the toilet when PRICE IS RIGHT is on.

You know how it is. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

And for every thing, there is a season. And a time for every purpose under heaven. And Whopper Juniors are only a dollar twenty nine now. That's it. OK? It's done. We're done for the night. Go watch porn, you sons a bitches... Just lemme get outta here...

Who am I? I am the disembodied spirit of the guy Johnny Jump Up devoured alive up on the rooftops under a cold cheesy moon a few months back..... Yeah, I'm working as a narrator  now. So? You don't like it? Go to hell.

Hope he kills you too, you bastard.

thank you. for more wander through THE PLACE BEYOND THE PINES ... and your COMMENTS & LINKS are always welcome.

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