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It is I, Zebulon, the disembodied spirit. Look, we now know how Marianne came to be here. We know the rigors of her unspeakable crossing. Each and every 'elf' and 'cherub' got here the same way. Imagine how the small ones cried. And we will come back to her. I don't know when. But we will. For now I must take you to Tomas.
It's fifty degrees Fahrenheit in Philadelphia. And right now it's one thirty a.m.. The Center City streets are quiet. Sunday nights are like that. And I do not care where you go. Float up to Gotham. You'll see. Mortals rest before the work week starts. And even though every day is a Labor Day these days, Mondays are still different.
Steam rises from sidewalk vents. Most restaurants are closed. Posh mannequins peer out from artful tableau. And although I've never seen any of them come to life, I'm told it does happen from time to time. Baylah has seen it. If you're new here, you probably don't know her, but you will.
The 'enemy' is here too...the vampire killer. Watch out for the dogs. They're a giveaway. Huge, feral beasts with bright orange eyes. Do they bark? No. They just stop and stare, never blinking, never moving..... until he gives the signal.
Another disembodied spirit told me they mauled a hooker last week, only she wasn't a hooker, just some dumb girl in over her head. I mean who hails down a taxi on a service alley? How stupid could she be? That's another thing. Stay away from dark green paneled vans. You know the color. You see it all the time. Old Camry green, they call it. He uses one. The 'enemy.' I mean. What? You want to know if she lived? No, she did not live. She was mauled. Do you even know what that means? It means her cheek was ripped off. Her teeth were exposed. Her hand was crushed. I can't tell you how many fingers she lost. Who can count fingers!? It was all a bloody pulp! And don't ask me what they did to her pee-pee. You know some dogs have an instinct for that. Some a them are real animals.
Look at the huge, yellow clock, way up there on top a City Hall Tower. Philadelphia's Big Ben. I like to look at it. Don't it look like cheese? Sometimes I float up there. One time a jumper sailed right through me. Felt a big punch a pathetic, child-like regret as soon as he pushed off. Heart goin' over two hundred ticks a minute. God damn, rotten shame...
Tomas is up on Arch Street. Cops don't mess much with the bums over there. Ain't so gentrified. Not where he is. Big old stores. Nothing fancy. Just stores. Got a bus terminal nearby. You get the picture. He sits with 'em some nights. The bums, I mean. Buys 'em six packs a Tom's Hard Lemonade, or whatever you call it. Yeah, they know he's a vampire. They don't care. One night he gave out a whole mess a gift certificates good for luxury over-nights at the Four Seasons. You know. He's got 'familiars.' He gets things. Don't know what they did when the bums showed up. Another time he gave a guy a whole 'flat' of hundreds. That's five thousand dollars. It was a kid. He felt sorry for him. One old bastid got a Breitling wristwatch. Another got a almost new set a false teeth. And they fit pretty good.
Tomas likes the bums. He takes care a them. Got these little glass vials. Actually empty tubes from old free samples a perfume. Vampires got lots a shit. Fills 'em with dribs and drabs a his blood. Gives it to the sick ones. Liver cases. Stuff like that. They know what it is. But they drink it. They're glad to get it. Makes 'em well. You know Philadelphia street bums live four times longer, on average than street bums in cities what ain't got no vampires. No 'good' ones, I mean. They go 'Yo, Tommy! Look who it is!... He sets down with them. Maybe hands out a few blankets, some burgers from an all-night joint. If it ain't too windy, they play cards. But sometimes he just tells stories. They like that... Stories about Old Spain, or Vaux Hall. I think that's in London. It's crazy. People walk right by him. They don't even notice.....
But he notices them, 'cause remember, he does kill people every once in a while. And if he wants to, he can maul 'em up just as bad as them dogs..... provided they deserves it.....
Listen to how I'm talkin'. Disembodied spirits get like that sometime. We suck up crap from what's around us. Maybe tomorrow night I'll pass through your place? 'Cause even right now... I can see you, but you can't see me.
You'll know if I'm there. Sometimes your legs get a little bit itchy.....
So, 'scuse me now. I gotta float down that alley. Tomas tellin' stories 'bout Byzantium......and Zebulon kind a like that place.....
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please hit the SHARE button. COMMENTS are greatly appreciated. Good night and thank you for your time...
It's fifty degrees Fahrenheit in Philadelphia. And right now it's one thirty a.m.. The Center City streets are quiet. Sunday nights are like that. And I do not care where you go. Float up to Gotham. You'll see. Mortals rest before the work week starts. And even though every day is a Labor Day these days, Mondays are still different.
Steam rises from sidewalk vents. Most restaurants are closed. Posh mannequins peer out from artful tableau. And although I've never seen any of them come to life, I'm told it does happen from time to time. Baylah has seen it. If you're new here, you probably don't know her, but you will.
The 'enemy' is here too...the vampire killer. Watch out for the dogs. They're a giveaway. Huge, feral beasts with bright orange eyes. Do they bark? No. They just stop and stare, never blinking, never moving..... until he gives the signal.
Another disembodied spirit told me they mauled a hooker last week, only she wasn't a hooker, just some dumb girl in over her head. I mean who hails down a taxi on a service alley? How stupid could she be? That's another thing. Stay away from dark green paneled vans. You know the color. You see it all the time. Old Camry green, they call it. He uses one. The 'enemy.' I mean. What? You want to know if she lived? No, she did not live. She was mauled. Do you even know what that means? It means her cheek was ripped off. Her teeth were exposed. Her hand was crushed. I can't tell you how many fingers she lost. Who can count fingers!? It was all a bloody pulp! And don't ask me what they did to her pee-pee. You know some dogs have an instinct for that. Some a them are real animals.
Look at the huge, yellow clock, way up there on top a City Hall Tower. Philadelphia's Big Ben. I like to look at it. Don't it look like cheese? Sometimes I float up there. One time a jumper sailed right through me. Felt a big punch a pathetic, child-like regret as soon as he pushed off. Heart goin' over two hundred ticks a minute. God damn, rotten shame...
Tomas is up on Arch Street. Cops don't mess much with the bums over there. Ain't so gentrified. Not where he is. Big old stores. Nothing fancy. Just stores. Got a bus terminal nearby. You get the picture. He sits with 'em some nights. The bums, I mean. Buys 'em six packs a Tom's Hard Lemonade, or whatever you call it. Yeah, they know he's a vampire. They don't care. One night he gave out a whole mess a gift certificates good for luxury over-nights at the Four Seasons. You know. He's got 'familiars.' He gets things. Don't know what they did when the bums showed up. Another time he gave a guy a whole 'flat' of hundreds. That's five thousand dollars. It was a kid. He felt sorry for him. One old bastid got a Breitling wristwatch. Another got a almost new set a false teeth. And they fit pretty good.
Tomas likes the bums. He takes care a them. Got these little glass vials. Actually empty tubes from old free samples a perfume. Vampires got lots a shit. Fills 'em with dribs and drabs a his blood. Gives it to the sick ones. Liver cases. Stuff like that. They know what it is. But they drink it. They're glad to get it. Makes 'em well. You know Philadelphia street bums live four times longer, on average than street bums in cities what ain't got no vampires. No 'good' ones, I mean. They go 'Yo, Tommy! Look who it is!... He sets down with them. Maybe hands out a few blankets, some burgers from an all-night joint. If it ain't too windy, they play cards. But sometimes he just tells stories. They like that... Stories about Old Spain, or Vaux Hall. I think that's in London. It's crazy. People walk right by him. They don't even notice.....
But he notices them, 'cause remember, he does kill people every once in a while. And if he wants to, he can maul 'em up just as bad as them dogs..... provided they deserves it.....
Listen to how I'm talkin'. Disembodied spirits get like that sometime. We suck up crap from what's around us. Maybe tomorrow night I'll pass through your place? 'Cause even right now... I can see you, but you can't see me.
You'll know if I'm there. Sometimes your legs get a little bit itchy.....
So, 'scuse me now. I gotta float down that alley. Tomas tellin' stories 'bout Byzantium......and Zebulon kind a like that place.....
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
please hit the SHARE button. COMMENTS are greatly appreciated. Good night and thank you for your time...
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