A Man walks from his house to his local store; we hear his heavy breath and his heavy steps. His hand, sometimes scratching his beard and sometimes swinging by his side, holds a morning paper, which flies onto his doorstep every morning. He looks from left to right as he crosses the road. He wears a vest, his Christmas bathrobe, from his family, his slippers and pyjamas. One slipper falls with a step down off of the curb. This morning traffic seems heavy, but so does every morning; this doesn’t leave any indentation on any of these “well dressed mornings“.
        He rounds main and 3rd street at 8:34 a.m. His watch has stopped and so has he. The hand with the paper oscillates passed his ear, rattling a watch he received for father’s day. We see him walk on, pause, notice a limozene, he turns down his mouth, turns his head, and then continues to the local store. Kid on bike. Man in car. Woman walking dog. Stray dog. Old lady. Old shoe. Old sole. Lonely soul. Lost Man; without. Oh sorry where were we… A Man reaches his local store from his house; we hear his hefty heart and his heavy mind, the door of the store rings. A Clerk sits uninterested and pops a bubble in his gum, whilst reading a magazine about fashion- fashion is his passion. He sighs and rings up another customer’s shopping on the till, the customer smiles and walks out. 
      A Thief is in the corner of the store eyeing some canned goods, Del Monte peaches we think. A Man who remains heavy stands abreast of the refrigerator and stares at 37 brands of orange juice and 16 brands of milk. A Man with a broken watch and slippers on cannot remember what he was told to buy at the store that morning. He stares. Just as comprehensible as his wrist apparel is broken, he sees his wife mouthing something in his ear but no words sound. He still stares, confused. 
      The Clerk and the Thief share glances which flusters the latter, forcing him to knock a pack of Oreo© cookies, which contain 96 k joules of energy per 100g, to the floor. The Thief hurries to the counter and orders a slushy; we believe lime is his chosen flavour. A Man stares at 37 brands of orange juice and 16 brands of milk, he has not moved for three minutes, his watch does not know this. A Lady in the corner thumbs through a realty magazine, as she is looking to provide a new house for her new family. A centre fold advertisement leaflet falls from the magazine, her mind and her body stoop to the level of the floor, to question the meaning of the advert and to pick up the stray piece of card.  A foetus turns and kicks for the first time, as he is hungry and his mother has not eaten for two hours…….then mother lets out a scream- AAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!!! - as she sees a Thief pull a gun from his pocket and point it at a Clerk who drops a lime slushy…we believe. Still, a Man stares at milk and orange juice whilst his local store, which he walks to most days, is being robbed. “Hands up!” said the Thief, 4 peoples hands went up. The heavy Man just stares. Half-fat; skimmed; low fat; semi skimmed; full-fat; unskimmed; low cholesterol; Dairy Reader’s choice; 2% fat; Johnstone Dairies; Soy extract? “Hurry up, Man!” said the Thief. There’s some with pulp, some without, Californian, freshly squeezed, one with colouring, one without. “All the money from the till! Come on!” the Thief ordered to the Clerk. There is Tropicana™®©, Del Monte©, save mart’s own, OJ’s ok™, contains 90% orange juice, where’s the other ten? “Hurry up!” said the Thief. The other people’s hands who’d gone up were old and wrinkled so were their eyes and faces. These were the eyes that had seen a world at war, friends die in their arms, the coffin of their son lowered into the ground and these eyes were, now, not only astonished to see that marathon had been changed to snickers but a boy younger than their grandchildren had stolen at 8:37 a.m. from a store that a Man walked to from his house; he was staring at milk and orange juice. The Old Woman was tearful. The Old Man’s hand quivered, it has been doing that since the operation. A Clerk gave $567 and 28 cents to a young Thief, who ran out of the store smiling. His heart quivered and jumped, it has been doing that since his operation.
       A police constabulary received a phone call at 8:38 a.m. that morning, from a young Clerk whose dream it is to be a fashion designer, concerning a robbery that occurred one minute previously. An Old Man and Woman rushed to the aid of a troubled Clerk, he was terrified. A Lady who was trying to buy a new home, incubate a child and get a promotion all in the same day in her already hectic and neuroses filled life, decided to not aid the very same Clerk, who was terrified. The Old couple fretted and fussed, asked and prodded, and after a settling minute all were holding coffee waiting for an Officer to respond to the call from his precinct concerning a robbery which had now had a 2 minute afterthought. There is so much to choose from how anyone can make a choice of which orange to drink. Are my needs as a consumer being met? Should I be nervous about the fact that every potential shopper of the establishment has been staring at me for 6 minutes and 23 seconds, thought the Man who had walked from his house to his local store. An Officer of the law entered through the hand- mark stained door, whilst an old Man, an old Woman, a Clerk and a pregnant Lady were staring at a Man who was staring at a fridge. 
       “Ahem!” they all looked round, “may I help? I have a report of a robbery this morning? If you can all try and remain calm and remain in the building, I’ll need to get to all of you and get a statement. If you are going to be late to any engagements please phone now so we can get this mess out of the way quickly and you can be on your way. Thank you. Now son, what’s your name?” asked the Officer. The store Clerk peered up through his long darkened hair the same hair that his parents admonish as he used to “have such nice blonde hair,” and told him his name. “Son is your store Manager in at the moment?” he asked. “No” he replied, “he has the weekends off….” the Officer interrupted, “do you record your surveillance cameras out back?” The store Clerk nodded having remarked that the Officer’s gun looked like the one his father has in a shoebox in his closet at home. “I am going to have to get a look at that before I leave,” said the Officer, who, as his training would suggest, assessed each person in the store, however he assumed that each had something to either fear or protect. As the old people had no one to call they had gone first. “He was a tall fella…” the Old Man said, “No, Harold he was no taller than you are….” interjected his wife, “exactly,” continued the Old Man, “like I was saying he was a tall fella with dark hair and he had a fairish complexion.”
“No, No, no, Harold, your getting all wrong…he was a small guy with dark skin and…”
“Ma’am, this’ll be a lot quicker if you let your husband tell me what he saw…thank you, continue Harry.” The pertinent smile followed the Officer’s suggestions, the smile that she had seen from her husband far too often the kind she had tolerated and she knew smugness was one of short- comings that she accepted and loved. “Anyway, he had a mustache and short hair and he was tall.” His wife rolled her eyes. “Right, now, ma’am could you tell me a description of what you saw, including a description of the robber?” asked the Officer.
“Of course…well by the time I heard the scream and turned around it was all too late. I saw Harold with his arms up and the fear and terror in his eyes, my hearing ain’t so good, so I just did the same as he did. Then I saw the Robber,” whilst looking at her husband, the thought of if she had been a good wife flashed as she sneered to her loves direction, “he was not as tall as my husband suggested, maybe a little taller than him… and he was a black kid, no older than 20, and then he ran out the store with the money.”
“ok…” said the Officer, “I think that about does it for both of you, your free to go, but should we need you to identify the perpetrator in a line up or by mug shots, would you be willing to do so and testify as witnesses in court?” the old couple nodded there seemingly cool heads and wandered the small, miniature, corridors of small produce and overstocked aluminium shelves.
      We hear a pregnant Lady’s account as being different. As the Officer approaches she is on the phone crying to what we can only assume to be her husband, she hangs up, and says that she will call back. After she is prompted and reassured by the Officer she begins. “ He was tall,” she started in a panicky manner, “well yeah defiantly tall, he had a black hooded top and jeans and then I just saw him pull out a gun on the Clerk and I dropped my magazine turned away from it, from them, put my hands on my head and crouched down,” she imitated her previous actions and continued with increased trepidation, “ and then, and then,” she takes heavy breaths as she feels tears form in the ducts of her eyes, this seemed to happen in moments of fear or confrontation, she wondered how she would cope when the baby came, “and then….. I heard shouting, and… and…” she put her hand to her mouth. Officer Cofax reassuringly interrupted, “its ok don’t worry take your time, its ok”, she continued taking deep breaths, “well it was just so terrifying and I am in an emotional state anyway,” she said pointing to her bump. Officer Cofax again, reassuringly said, “Please ma’am take your time I know if you prefer I can come back to you when you have had a drink of water and calmed down?”
“No, its ok, its fine…” she sniffed and continued, “and then after the shouting and I heard the register, till sound and then he was gone, as quick as that.”
“Can you tell me anything else, anything even if you don’t think it is important?” Officer Cofax asked, “Well…umm…err. Oh when he was walking in the aisles I am pretty sure I saw the gun showing out of his pocket….yeah…”
“Really?” the Officer said with practiced intrigue, “Are you sure, you are sure you saw his gun?”
“Yeah I am sure, well yeah pretty sure…” she retorted in defence rather than assurance, “pretty sure?” the Officer searched.
“Yeah I think I saw his gun,” she said now more in the attempt to convince herself. “Ma’am I am going to have to ask that you are 100% sure otherwise I will have to assume you are lying. Are you, without a doubt sure you saw the gun?” The Officer said with bent head, leaning body and raised eyebrows.                                
“Well I can’t be 100%, 100%, you know nothing is that absolute… I have a good idea that I saw the kid’s gun as he was walking to the register.” She said.
“You said, though before, when he was walking the aisles? You saw his gun when he was in the aisles. No?”
She searched for a beat, “Yeah …of course, when he was in the aisles, yes, yes…”
“Ma’am you are not sure that you saw the gun, are you?” Officer Cofax interjected, “No, she said, I am not sure I saw the gun….” The Officer sighed and wrote the words he heard from the pregnant lady, on his jotters pad that he bought from the same chain of store not three days ago, it cost 85 cents.
      An Officer told the lady that she was free to go, but as she waddled back to the magazines she questioned her own life. If I am not sure about my sight or memory then how can I be sure of anything? How can I be sure that I am going to do the right thin when it counts? How am I going to cope, she thought? She stooped to pick up a bag. We hear her sigh and shrink within herself. 16 minutes and 54 seconds, of staring at a Man who was staring at a fridge fell into the sight of Officer Cofax whose training would suggest that he should question everyone in the store.
He sees the Man staring at a fridge, who has now dropped his newspaper, and ventures to talk to him. “Excuse me sir, can you comment on any of the events that occurred here this morning, obviously between 8:34 and 8:37?” No reply. “Excuse me sir? Sir? What are you staring at?” No reply. “Sir, Can you hear me? Sir? Do you know what happened to day?” No reply, then a blink. “Sir do you realise that it is an offence to not act in compliance with the law? Sir? Sir I need to know if you saw anything today?” Two blinks and no reply. “Sir if you are not cooperating I am gonna have to take you in for further questioning. Sir? Do you understand what I am telling you? If you do not comply then you will be arrested. Hablas usted Ingles? Tu comprende? Senor?”
No answer from a Man who had not been challenged in a while, who had been staring into stagnancy, for a while. This has become his grounds for rest, where he seemed most comfortable, most himself. The irate Officer scoffed and returned to his squad car which had on its side “to protect and serve.” It was white with black trim and a gold emblem above the motto.
     An 18 year old boy in a factory in Illinois had painted a motto on to a car said to his friend, “The cops are not there to protect you they are just there to beat your ass down, I swear they are government strong men, sadists, they would much rather see a kid who smokes weed behind bars than save that very same kid from being shot. I swear man its all money. The police force is a business like any other if they see profit because they put another person in jail they are not gonna care. They need to cut crime off at the source…themselves. I’ll show ‘em I’ll keep painting these cars, amass a huge fortune and take over the police force and fire ‘em all.” 
      Officer Cofax opened the very same door and called the station, “yeah this is Cofax, can we get an APB on an Afro – American male, 5-10, 180 pounds, wearing a green hooded top seen fleeing the scene of a crime at 8:37 am, possibly armed and presumed dangerous. I am also gonna need more time to check out one of the witnesses.” Officer Cofax breached the local store once more. Ring-a- ling. A Lady, an Old Couple, and a store Clerk swung round to see a police Officer approach a Man who felt heavy. Officer Cofax comes to a Man who stares at a fridge for 21 minutes on the morning that his watch his stopped. “Sir you are going to have come with me if you do not answer me, it will be taken as an obstruction of the law and you are impeding this enquiry. No answer is not acceptable.” The Officer waved his hand in front of the Man’s face and to his surprise the Man did not even blink, just fixed on the fridge. The Officer turned his head around and asked the others in the store if they had heard him talk or react to anybody and in between their shopping and sobbing and racing heart beats, they had barely noticed our blue heavy morning Man.
      We see a Man’s eye lids get heavier and dim as if a light had gone off. We see long sigh foot shift from an inpatient Officer. We hear the longest dragging of slipper and on 25 year laminate flooring of a local store, as a Man, who walked from his home to a local store, is escorted out and into a squad car. Slam! A car door shuts. Slam again, a mind shuts. The Man was now ensconced and embedded. His thoughts were couched somewhere between silence and unconsciousness. We hear nothing. We see slow blinking. A slow non- register of strip malls, diners and unnecessary coffee parlours. Starbucks™, Coffee café©, Café Rico™, Costa Café™, Starbucks™ again. So many choices are my needs being met as a consumer? A shoe store, an office stationary store, a train station, a gas station. The police station. It is the considered conglomeration of navy blue and white: white offices, black phones, grey cabinets, grey and blue painted metal, red brick, red signs, yellow mugs, buzzing lights, switches and controls, dark wood, desks, 2000 feet of pipes and electrical wiring, chequered floor and of course the blue and white - each breath of colour and artefact reinforcing a semblance of authority… it means nothing.
      As the oak brown doors fling to, there, ushered in, is a heavy Man who can not hear his footsteps proceed with thuds of towelling on marble; it is pathetic and modern. His family got him that bathrobe; he is seated as Officer Cofax approaches a different desk and a different Clerk, this one is a Woman, her dream is to live on a beach. “Officer Cofax, your wife called she said not to worry that she’ll pick up the kids from school today. Oh and your brother called he said to call him back.” Officer Cofax laughed through his nose. A Man was then lead to smaller room with two tables and four chairs in it. In the far corner there was a disused filing cabinet which had the date “1998 county judgements Jun-Aug.” The Man was made to sit; this Man began to stare at the almost blank filing cabinet, as he had done with the fridge. The room was soon filled with two more Officers, who were quickly informed of the situation by the over capable Officer Cofax, who promptly left. The Officers circled and encompassed, glanced, judged and swayed, ever shown by a finger placed on pursed lips. They both wondered. One spoke, “Sir, we are Officers Marks and Peterson and we deal with special cases in reference to psycho analysis, to determine the action taken with certain um…well cases.” Marks smiled with a degree of self awareness, this was of no concern to the blue bathrobed Man who did not divert his attention to the men’s suits. Italian cut, one grey, one black, very smart, more authoritative than a street cop’s uniform, these seemed more imposing.
      Peterson placed a tape recorder on the table, “for the record, suspect refuses acknowledgement of Officers Marks and Peterson. “ Now can you tell us why it was you did not head Officer Cofax’s warnings and did not respond to his line of questioning?” Yet, again, sadly we see one underdressed Man not responding. Shirts: both cobalt blue with matching silver cufflinks. Ties, one red, one grey, double Windsor I believe. Glasses, Calvin Klein®™, with crocodile trim a summer collection of last year’s model, $495. “For the record subject refuses to answer line of questioning,” said Marks as he turned to Peterson and wondered: he wouldn’t even noticed me if I fell down a flight of stairs in front of him, I give and I give and I just do not receive an iota, wait a minute does that not sound a bit……
Peterson continues, “Mr…uh sorry I did not catch your name, Mr?” Not even a nod seen from the heavy Man, Peterson continued to no avail; the tried and tested hand waving in front of eyes, the arm tap, the hand raise and of course the inevitable drop…nothing. A mini conference was held in the corner of the room. We see whispers behind the veil of a hand; we see surreptitious glances, like school girls at an underage drinking party. A minute, then, “Sir, do you have any family we can contact? - Someone- a relative that we can notify them of where you are? Someone, who can speak for you….Sir?”
“Ok this one is gone, there is nothing there. Subject is unresponsive, deemed to be unharmful-” Peterson shines a small light into the eye of the heavy Man, all but the tiniest of dilation, creates the semblances of life. “-and unresponsive to stimuli. Ok lets….(sigh) Can you go get Cofax?” Peterson said to Marks, he left and returned promptly with the Officer. “Hey Bill….Uh I dunnow what to do with this one, he is not responding to anything, do you mind taking him down to psyche for further evaluation we don’t have the tools here to do anything send his file with him too, and notify us when you get there, thanks.”
The always dutiful Officer complies and leaves with the Man. A conversation continues behind them, “You always do that!”
“Do what?” Peterson asked,
“Shut me out!”
“Shut you out?! What are you talking about; you know you are always….” Then the voices became muffled. Outside was hotter than inside and shockingly bright for a winter morning, and bright for a Man who had not registered another human for one hour. One hour ago a young Thief was holding up a local store at gun point. An hour and 18 minutes ago a Man was walking from his house to his local store, an hour and ten minutes ago the same Man started to stare at 37 brands of milk and 16 brands of orange juice, now he is being taken to a hospital psychiatric ward for further evaluation. Now he is staring at out at retail stores that sell small objects that think they have feelings and importance. Little packages wrapped into expectancies:- if I buy this then I will be…if I purchase this my friends will think…if I get this then I’ll get that girl to think….I fear this so this thing will comfort me….I am scared.
      The Man’s arm was jogged onto the button for the electric window to wind down, as the car passes over the city’s neglect to fix a pot hole. His hair ruffles in the wind, and some enzymes pass into the duodenum to brake up some nitrates. Officer Cofax peered into the rear view mirror as he heard the window wind down, “Ah in the land of the living finally I see, Hey! Good to have you back!” No answer. “So what was all the silent treatment, back there, hey?…” No answer, “Don’t worry. Sometimes I don’t feeling like talking neither…” No answer, the seemingly sympathetic and always dutiful Officer doubted his enthusiasm for the awakening of the morning Man who had lost his watch. The Officer’s eye noticed in the mirror, “Objects may appear larger or closer than in real life”, his mind then reeled into the thoughts that we can assume an Officer would think of “real life”. Maybe real for him, is the quiet existence he leads, ferrying himself in his car, to and fro, to buildings and outdoor parks, that he seems to trust and only question at rare moments of drunken fraternal incredulity, or that time when he smoked a joint. A smile came across his face - it was a proud smile, a self congratulatory one, as if he had won a prize. The Man used to wear that smile as if someone had patted him on the back.
      Two men who had once treasured their pride, just then drove into the parking lot of a local hospital. One of them did not like toast, but ate bread. One of them had never seen Star Wars, and when all surrounding him were in modern shock, he felt embarrassed. One of them had been water skiing, one of them had not been to Disney Land, one of them had no father, one of them wet the bed till he was ten. One of them let people walk on him like a door matt, the other killed his cat, one of them liked silly limericks, one of them did not care about….any way none of that matters.
      Ahem… the second linoleum floor heard the sound of slippers that day in front of the third desk. This one was occupied by a man whose dream it was to become an actor. He sipped a can of coke and thumbed through a file pertaining to the allergy prescription of “Albert Murray, 142 West One drive,” he was allergic to grass pollen and dusts. The Clerk directed Officer Cofax and a subject, who’d witnessed a crime, which happened at 8:37 this morning, down the hall to through the second double doors on the left to the psychiatric ward. A Man who wore grey pyjama bottoms as well as a blue bathrobe sat in a black leather chair with oak coloured arms. As he sat and did not dot his eyes around the room to the paraphernalia of illness, getting better and precautionary posters and white walls, Officer Cofax had gone into an unmarked door to talk to doctor about an uncooperative Man. The Man dressed for morning did not hear a cough, then a second and third and fourth and then soon what was to be heard as a coughing fit from the Woman, who had crutches and a Manic Depressive Disorder. The Man did not even perk an ear, to the cacophony.
      Cofax emerged from behind the door with a brown skinned man in a white coat, Cofax said, “Sir? You are in good hands now Dr. Cohen will take of you now, and hopefully we’ll never see each other again.” He smirked and started to walk away, “See you later then, Ted!” the Officer said, “Bye Bill!” said the doctor, with a raised hand, who had given up the piano to get a real job. Dr. Cohen said, whilst heaving the Man from his seat by his arm, “Now lets see if we can’t fix you up,” and he guided the Man into another room.
      This room was smaller and brighter but colder. It was white and had one chair to the side of a desk with another larger chair behind the smaller space and computer separating them. To the right of the desk was another chair completing a chair triangle. To the left, and against the wall was a bed with disposable thin paper on top, and above was a lamp attached to the ceiling. Dr. Cohen was soon joined by another man who had contrasting yellowy red skin. The heavy morning Man did not register. Asides from the colour of their skin and Doctor Cohen’s shoes being untied, both doctors were the same; white coats, stethoscopes around their necks, blue ties, white shirts and beige khakis and “Muccabe Comfortable Moccasins™©”. The Man’s eyes darted to the flaw…floor, as one of the doctors spoke to address him. “I must get new slippers,” may have run through the unperturbed mind of the morning Man, otherwise the only sounds that could be heard in the sanctity of sterility that saturated the room was the saddest sound: a processed protruding hum from a 12 year old neon strip light which was only purchased to save money on leather chairs with oak coloured arms. We can only imagine what the doctors must have thought; a Man comes from “God knows where” and does not even acknowledge two upstanding doctors, he must be disabled in some capacity.
Both doctors ruminate ponder and wander outside of the room for a while, they return. As Dr. Cohen points his miniature torch to shine in the eye, and as a pupil shrinks by nanometres, he finally says, “Sir if we are going to help you, you are going to have to co-operate with us and tell us what the matter is? If there is something you can tell us?…. Don’t worry we won’t bite.” A hearty practised laugh left Dr. Cohen. Again there was no reaction. A stethoscope slipped up the grey and white t-shirt to the place of the heart, it pumped with regular slow timing, it felt fat and senseless. Two sighs came out of the doctors, nothing from the Man. Who could have thought that someone could not focus on the world for that long? What kind of person does that take? Would they have to have lost something or would they be gaining something else? Would they have something or would something have left them…. I don’t know. Where were we? ….The chair closest to the door squeaked as Dr. Cohen got up got up, his coat, which was polyester, washed three times - by himself his wife and the hospital - and was a brilliant white, swung round his waist as if it were a cape. The coat with Dr. Cohen in it exited the room.
      The other doctor Clone felt slightly awkward in the room, the fact that nothing was registered seemed to be rather unsettling. A tapping of foot and a folding of arms, he repeatedly glanced towards the morning Man, anxiety rising every time he looked. He had never been in someone’s company where he’d done nothing; people he had come in contact with have always done something. He carried on this dance and arrived at a point of comfortability, the door, he joined Dr. Cohen’s cue. He came out with eyes wide and shoulders raised. “What?….I have never seen anything like this? What do we do?” asked the Clone. “I’d dunnow; I have never really come up against like this either. He’s not catatonic, because he has, although extremely limited, some reaction to stimuli…it’s as if he is there but not at the same time…its weird,”
“yeah,” parroted the Clone.
“I guess,” Dr. Cohen continued, “we could place him a ward and test him, scan him?”
“But he poses no threat, can we just do that?”
“Well if he is harmful to himself, yes,”
“But he is not…”
“No….unless?”
“What?”
“Well this is a bit of a long shot and we would have to check this Heart…”
“his heart? …”
“Well would it be deemed harmful to oneself, if that person did not recognise or talk to a loved one. The guy had a wedding ring. He may be divorced but I think it is worth a shot?”
“Hmmm….I dunnow….well….”
“Regardless we need to notify next of kin, and he’s got to have had some kind of family, or indeed a wife. So I say we get the ‘loved person’ then we can see later if we can admit him. Call Cofax and see if he can’t track down this guy’s family…where did he say he found him…at a gas station…tell the Officer to look around there. He can’t have come far he’s a wearing a bathrobe for Christ sake.”
“Ok…but if we….” The conversation fizzled out to murmurs as they quick marched to the front desk, to call Officer Cofax.
       On their way they had passed a male toilet. Inside was a middle aged Orderly in blue scrubs, sometimes shuffling his feet from side to side and sometimes humming a tune in his head, Heart of Glass by Blondie, we believe. On top of the tunes and scalp was the fading sense of hair that the Orderly was trying to comb over. There a little to the left, oh there, he thought. Gotta get the hair right gotta see if Julie’s here today, she’s so hot I would just love to squeeze….oooh. Gotta look good for Julie, gotta to look my best, so she’ll notice me, gotta look so good so I can attract Julie, gotta attract Julie so I can fall in Love®™. Gotta fall in Love just gotta. Never been in love but I know it must be pretty good other wise everyone would not go on about it, he thought. Love….he paused to think again and ruminate on what the word actually meant to him. Love...? Hug, embrace, Caress, kiss, suck, lipstick, red, heart, Valentines Day, card, Christmas, Santa, giving presents, Christmas lunch, New years, party, party hard, streamers, dancing, good-times, beats, tunes, melody, music, love song, crying lonely, heartbreak, glass, shatter, split up. Oh errm….
       ….As a balding Orderly questioned love, a Man who did not register the world or chose to ignore it, looked up from staring at his feet. He looked to the door that had been left ajar and we think he may have considered upon who’d exited and if anyone would enter. Down the hall and to the left Officer Cofax had been reached by Dr. Cohen and his Clone, yet – as dutiful and efficient as Officer Cofax is- he was already trying to find relatives of our blue morning Man. Twenty metres previous - with doors and corridors leading to undisclosed locations - to the front desk the Orderly had finally finished, he readjusted his trousers and left the swinging doors of the toilets. Behind him the faucets were still running hot and cold water with paper jammed in the plug hole.
      He had a new song in his head: “Zipidee doo Dah zipidee day I feel sorry for the Man who is gay. Zipidee doo…..” and so on. His white slip on shoes gummed the black and white linoleum floor of the 1963 born psychiatric hospital, the shoes screeched as he made a left turn towards the elevators. A Lady with curly blonde hair and a red knee length skirt, that she got in a sale in a near by mall, stood in the open elevator door. She pushed the button for the third floor. The doors started to close as an Orderly with navy blue scrubs and a comb-over bounded into the elevator wilfully avoiding metal on skin.  
         What’s he trying to cover up she said to herself, eww he’s sweating he’s got huge sweat patches, I am moving she thought. The lady with curls moved to the other side of the elevator, peering at the digital display above the doors. It said “1”. She sighed. The Orderly could see his reflection in the aluminium backing that the buttons were on, he thought he looked disgusting. The large voice urges him on: C’mon she is right there, he thought, just talk to her, you see her everyday, c’mon what have you got to lose, a joke, c’mon, make her laugh you’re funny, you can make people laugh?… Loser, you fatty, you fat ugly blob, you’re really ugly you have not got a hope in hell, you have less of a chance than I do, and I have no chance and I am you; says the smaller voice. Bing! The 3rd floor made itself known to the elevator and its occupants the female one got out and walked towards the cafeteria, the male one slumped back into a corner. The doors closed and he went downstairs… unloved.
       Julie who was just in a lift with a repulsive Orderly, picked up a blue cafeteria tray, which she liked the markings of,  and chose a chicken Caesar salad, priced at $7.75 and an OJ’s OK!™ orange juice, which is made from concentrate. She found someone she knew and sat down opposite her. The woman looked up, “oh hi Julie,” she said,
“Hey Karen,”
“You don’t sound too good anything wrong?”
“Well…I am ok….well….no not really Tom and I had a huge fight last night…”
“….oh I am sorry…” 
“…oh its ok. We are just going through a rough couple of months, but we’ll pull through we always pull through. It’ll be fine.”
“Oh well that’s is a good way of looking at it….” Searching now for conversation Karen continued, “….you err…going to the charity ball this Saturday?”
“You know I think I’ll give it a miss.”
“Why?”
“Tom and I are going to see his folks. I dunnow they are nice people its just that they seem so un-natural and forced, they go on and on endlessly about their trips to South America, what’s so good about the “Aztecs” anyway? Personally I think that-….” Man she talks about herself a lot, Karen thought, everyday it’s the same, I can never talk to her about anything asides from her, she never asks me how I am doing, I bet if I was to ask her a question about me she would not have a clue, next time I won’t even ask, “…- and that’s why the cousin does not even talk to her anymore, because they are always judging that side of the family as if they have nothing better to do, there is nothing great about them anyway. I dunnow its just…it seems like they don’t even realise their effect on together people let alone their own family.  And Tom is just as bad always putting them down at parties, even in front of them….oh wait…what did you ask me again…of right the charity ball, aren’t those things like really dull? I remember me and Tom…-“ God she is not even listening to me, how rude, Julie thought as she was talking, she is just staring through my forehead and shovelling chocolate mousse into her face, well I’ll catch her out. “…- And its always hard to pick out the right dress, especially when the aliens used it to spawn their own breed of dress people.” Julie smiles.
“What?” Karen asked peering up from her mousse.
“Oh nothing,” Julie said and smiled again, “Anyway…” Julie continued as always. And as always about his time the Security Man got up from the adjacent table, after finishing the same lunch he has everyday- grilled cheese sandwich and a root beer- and walks over to the bin, puts away the trash and heads for the elevator. He goes to the ground floor; the psychiatric ward to man his post. Everyday he sits at a large desk with a locked gate behind him, everyday he sees “unstable” people go in but hardly ever out. Everyday he hears screeching of shoes on black and white linoleum, everyday after 15 years at the same desk he can feel the black and smell the white, everyday looking at the same floor looking at the same locked gate. Fred does not write anymore…he used to…everyday.
      Fred passed Dr. Cohen and his Clone standing at the front desk talking with a police Officer. A Woman in a blue t-shirt stood next to the 3 men: she had a black handbag around her shoulder. Fred then, closer to his post, passed the toilets and then an unmarked door, where in sat a Man with blue bath robe on. Fred got to his desk looked at the clock on the wall looked at his watch and marked that each had the same time 1:16pm. He sat down and sighed. The heavy morning Man in a blue bathrobe, Hilfigger™ pyjama bottoms, a white t-shirt and slippers looked back from the open door to the floor. The Man 4 hrs and 42 minutes and 35 seconds ago had semi-witnessed a crime, 3 hours and 16minutes and 4 seconds ago the Man was taken to a police station, 1 hour 37 minutes and 14 seconds ago the same Man was taken to a psychiatric ward for further evaluation. He did not register any of this.
      The place where this Man was, we assume could not be found. This place could not be touched by the outside, it was a place that had been hidden and repressed and now through possible emotional displacement, this Man of inactivity and subconsciousness; we assume-….. huh, the door creaks. In pattered the steps of a nine year old boy who did not look nine. His form had become emaciated and withered. In both hands he held a clock and occasionally with his right index finger he twirled its hour hand. The young feet that had blue slippers comforting them stopped in front of the blue morning Man. The young eyes looked up the middle aged ones with inquisitive verve and judgment. The finger stopped dialling the hour hand. The eyes blinked. The hearts beat. The room stopped.
And with arresting calm the youth asked, “How are you?” A slow head turned as the Man’s eyes slowly came to; he blinked; and breathed heavily through his nose. With jaw clenched, his cheek bones ached; his eyes started to well up. He bit his lip and clearing his throat said, “I-I…ahem…..chhhemm….I am fine”. Slowly, dazedly, then, as one tear came out of the corner of his eye and crept down his cheek and onto his chin the boy said to him, as plainly and without any other motivation than to describe truthful matters between friends, “All of life is just passing the time.” The child smiled as his attention was drawn to outside, he dropped the clock with a clatter and ding, and he pattered out the door. The blue, overweight, unshaven, tired-out, underpaid, under-loved, maxed-out, burned up, left behind, un-thanked, pent up, drawn, pelted by life, morning Man stared at the contents of the floor: one broken clock.
      He then awoke! He looked at himself, blinking fervently: his hands, both sides, his feet, his legs. He saw in the two way mirror the reflection of Man, a Man, any Man. He knew it was himself, but at the same time he thought he could be anybody; Officer Cofax, Sgt Marks, the store Clerk, the boy, the Clone. He looked around and wondered what he was doing in a white room with a triangle of chairs. He wondered why the room was so white and doubted how he got there in the first place. He wondered if he’d walked, was walked, drove or was driven or if some benevolence had placed him there on a whim without his knowledge or consent. He got up and darted for the door! Outside?!
      There was a long corridor. Black and white tiling. A flood of information drowning and flailing, swam into a an already flooded brain: the lights, the sterile white, the walls, the people, the chairs with oak coloured arms, the telephones, the pamphlets- on how to avoid emphysema- the posters, the neon lights, the Woman with crutches still coughing, the scrubs, the bleeps, the tones, down the corridor, the pool of blood seeping from the male toilet door.
       He saw everything. Everything beyond belief or subliminal imagination, beyond the hospital and through to anything that had resonated or shrunken down to a manageable pill sized thought. Gulp! He sees the exit to the outside. He starts to run. His slippers fly off as he goes faster. He flings off his bathrobe. It flows to the floor. Black white, blue cotton. He runs faster and faster and faster and faster still. He steps in blood. Sprinting. He hears four different “heys” behind him as he speeds past the front desk. He does not care or chooses to ignore it. He runs even faster, arms pumping, neck flexed, stomach taught,               heart roaring…he is free! He is outside! His head darts left to right. He sees a coach; it says E90 west. He sprints further to get on it. In his periphery, he can see three Men and a Woman, who is carrying a black handbag, chasing him.
He gets on the bus, but is stopped. He has no money. No way of paying the coach driver. The Driver looks through his brow to the morning Man, more in curiosity, than expectancy. The Man’s brow furrows as he checks all of his pockets, and then he remembers; as his left hand pats his breast pocket. A $20 note from his wife!?    
      That very morning, before he left the house, she leant into him, ever so gently, and on her tippy toes, gave him a kiss on his cheek and slipped the twenty in his pocket. He touches his cheek. As it was put in, the Man took the money out, handed it to the driver and clambered to the back of the bus as it pulled away.
The four pursuers concluded their run, out of breath, the coach pulls away. Officer Cofax reveals his walkie talkie from his belt and calls in to the station, “Yeah…can…I…err…(breath)…get a trace on an E90…(pant) city bus heading due (pant) west…license 186WY566…yeah”. The Man peered through the back window of the bus as if to say goodbye to the Woman and sat down. He did not know where he was going or what he was going to do. He looked at the seats to the left and right and then he looked ahead. The road was long and already made.

      A Woman with crutches who stopped coughing and who for today was Betty, gets up from her seat in the hospital waiting room and walks herself to the toilet. As she nears the destination, she is not only astonished by her ability to suddenly walk, as she throws down her crutches, but she is also amazed by the crimson pool of liquid now covering the adjacent male toilet door. Betty, now Deirdre, walks around the pool, now knowing its blood, wailing, “Uh oh! Uh oh! Uh oh! Someone’s hurt someone is hurt someone is down, Uh oh! Uh Oh! Someone is down, broke his crown! Uh oh Uh oh!” The Clerk at the desk, who, just coming out of an Oscar acceptance speech day dream, fumbles around the front of the desk to hear what Deirdre is “Uh oh- ing” about. He runs to the door sees the blood, his eyes widen, puts his hand to the door and pushes it to. There… on the cold white tiles, lay the body of an Orderly who was in love with a Woman who worked in a pay roll department of a local hospital. She had curly blonde hair. Blood came from the hole his head, which showed his skull. The water from the faucet poured from the basin and lapped upon the side of the Orderly’s scrubs. As soon as the shouting began, the male toilet door, of the psychiatric ward of a local hospital, had a crowd of shuffling feet forming around its white and red base. Each set of feet clambered to get a better position, so the eyes could see what the actor/front desk Clerk was desperately, purposefully, trying to cover up.

               



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      Now an older Man, sometimes at a friendly gathering, sometimes- whilst steeling a quite moment, holding a chilled drink and with a sunny smile- will recite this story, his story…history…with quite reverence. He recounts of how the day was like any other day, he’ll wax- lyrical and exalt the ever due praises of the small boy, who is now a Man living with another Man in Washington and has since got over his Leukaemia. He’ll lament over the life that almost was but never came. He’ll talk and listen with a bent head, the pose he always had adopted to fain interest or really listen, (only those very close to him could tell the difference.) Yet only once, once has he ever felt the true gravity of what could have been, or maybe what should have been. The one time, the only time, was on that bus driving to difference. Possibly leaving an existence of mis-understandings and malcontents, but possibly not. He shifted his hands, looking to the others looking at him in his pyjamas, only thinking that he could not go back, and a new place, a new town a new name, a change of identity and life would be the real wake up, or the cover up of the old life. That is the best he could do. And in quieter moments, deep in his head, when he felt truly alone, at this glitzy, dress-in-slick-black, party for example, he will always wonder… why.
      People will politely look to their left and right, sometimes for reassurance, but mostly to see if anyone else is as astonished as they are, to suddenly realise that the Man who is telling them this story, of how he “woke up”, ran out on his wife. “You did the right thing,” they say. He’ll agree, moving the story on to a humorous episode from/with his new life/wife. And they, the others, denigrate, behind veils of lap dog approval and warrant the notion of saving their social face for laughing hysterically at someone saying an inappropriate swear word.
“You would not believe it…It was on the fucking lawn!…” and then they bark back, “HAHAHAHAH!” With tittering admiration and foreign tongue, they finish off with, “oh he is so funny, Gerald he must come to our party.”
      So sophisticated, so new, so loved, so fully appreciated, full-up, content, under-worked, built- up, relaxed and oh so fat, the Man must leave the party. He and his new wife shake a few new hands, throw some waves and whisper fake excuses, as if deathly quiet apologies over a crimson red open coffin, to say goodbye. As they leave, the Man sniffs the thick Mediterranean salt air, clasps his spouse’s bony hand, looks back to the burble of people in the room and finally, with a self congratulatory smile… heads home.