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All that stayed active through the Albuquerque night were 7-Elevens, K-Stores, and the occasional gas station. All the malls and most of the markets were closed. The thought made him smile and smiling made him feel a little better.īy now the streets were pretty empty, the city’s solid citizens having retired to a soporific evening of contemplating the idiot box, voluntarily incurring the self-imposed death-state known as Prime Time without realizing it was a contradiction in terms. A thousand years from now some other dumb archeologists would find Seeth Ransom’s initials, and Piggie’s, and Delia’s, and prize them for the tie they presented to the bad ol’ twentieth century. What the hell was the difference between what he did and what the Indians had done? Probably some of those little stick figures, crudely colored and inscribed, were just as obscene as the marks he and his friends made.
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The straights called it defacement and wailed and screamed. It was a kick to scratch modern obscenities in the soft sandstone alongside the ancient drawings. He thought about hitching out to Indian Petroglyph Park on the northwest side of town. During such times he occasionally wondered if just maybe he might have screwed up his life. The only real problem was the boredom-long stretches of nothing to do, nowhere to go. When food or drink or the occasional recreational pharmaceutical was required, you shared with trusted friends. When you needed money you worked the odd job. Street life was an education unto itself. He told himself he wasn’t missing anything. That Seethless ceremony had taken place a year ago. Seeth had responded in kind, with the result that he and his alma mater had parted company prior to his graduation. Hyperactive, his high school counselors had called him.
Alan dean foster glory lane full#
He was pumped, full of adrenaline and suppressed energy and in no mood to close his eyes, even temporarily. If you showed too late you had your choice of sleeping standing up or lying down on top of somebody else. The bed, couch, and kitchen table would be occupied.
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Besides which, the place was probably full to overflowing by now. Trouble was, the day would be more boring than the night. He considered returning to the apartment, just giving up on the night and crashing ‘til tomorrow. He checked the watch he wore high up on his forearm so that his friends wouldn’t know he had the slightest interest in what time it was. Still, there was no denying the night was dull enough to bore a turtle. At least the world was compelled to take notice of him. The pleasure this provided was decidedly muted, but it was better than nothing. So he was forced to fall back on the old standby of giving passing motorists the finger and smirking as they pretended not to notice, speeding up slightly as they hurried on past, their eyes fixed unswervingly to the road ahead. He couldn’t even find a stray cat to kick around. It was always slow in Albuquerque on Tuesday nights, but tonight was worse than usual. There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes his whole universe for a vast practical joke