Street Called Main

Chapter I: Part III - Heaven & Hell

"So - he says to Sarah-"

Just then; Baxter, the tall; handsome - strapping - doctor, walked through the doors of the office meeting room.

"Ladies-"

"Don't call us that," replied Sharise; the black heavy-set woman sitting next to Genevieve at the table.

"I'm sorry?" "You come in here looking like some superhero of urban decay and for some reason you want us to fall at your feet, grovelling; just because you referred to us as 'ladies?'"

"That's not what I meant-" Baxter said, confused.

"Then what did you mean, doctor?" "All I wanted to convey on my part was a blessing in relation to having a good day-"
"A good day!? A good day he says-"

Sharise stood up; grabbing her coffee and flung it at the wall; nearly missing the doctor's big head.

The coffee: was decimated, as was the cup in which its contents were once apart of.

"A good day: for you - looks like pulling up to work in an Audi, or one of your Volkswagens - with your fucking coffee, of course-"

Baxter stood silent - puzzled and afraid.

"-even though we have coffee in the fucking break room."

"I'm sorry, I still don't understand-"

"Fuck off, Baxter! All you need to understand is how these patients of yours truly feel!"

The room: went silent.

Then: there was a slight tapping on the glass window which allowed sight into the vast room full of cubicles which separated work from the pantheon of work, so to speak.

"Let him in," Sharise said.

Baxter stepped backwards; slightly - and unhinged the door knob as to allow entry into the room. Only, Jackston, the senior advisor; stood just outside the doorway holding a file folder in both hands; clenched tightly to his chest, "Excuse me.. but Tim says we have a huge problem on our hands-"

"Get in here. Shut the door," Sharise replied.

Jackston entered the room as Baxter stepped to the side to allow passage into the meeting room.

Jackston entered and Baxter shut the door behind him as he did so. Sharise sat down first; adjusting her solid-violet skirt; Jackston second; adjusting his sport coat; and Baxter lastly; adjusting his white trench coat filled with pens and his lucky charm: a clay snail-figurine.

There was a brief moment of silence as the four of them all glanced at one another; then peering at Jackston; as he had mentioned he had some "important business," so to speak.

"Well? Spit it out," Sharise said to him.

"Right. Well: Tim says there's been an uptick in the negative sentiment or transactions, rather which have been occurring in the Boyle McCauley area of the downtown core in Edmonton, Alberta-"

There was another brief moment of silence; intruding.

"If I may-" Baxter, chimed in.

"You may not," Sharise interrupted, "Continue."

"Well: the long and short of all this is, that; there's a boy or rather; young male by the name of 'Chris,' who feels that not only is the government of Canada not doing 'enough' to help the denizens of his community, but rather seems to lack something we've all come familiar of; love."

Then: there was; another brief moment of silence which intruded into their conversation.

"Love? What do you mean, exactly?" Baxter asked him.

"If I may elaborate; Chris lacks something we've all grown accustomed to; via friends, and most importantly: family."

"He doesn't have a family?"
Genevieve; poised the question to Jackston; then peered at Baxter. Baxter noticed and squinted his eyes; then turned to Jackston.

"Apparently, not. Apparently: he truly believes in his heart-of-hearts that the entire world, so to speak: is his god-given and chosen family. In particular: major conglomerates and social media influencers; he sees them as parental figures in his life-"

"This guy sounds like a whack job. I say we hang him-"

"Not so quick-" Baxter interrupted, "He sounds a lot like.. me."

The room went silent, as Genevieve took a sudden swallow of her saliva down her throat.

"He sounds like.. he needs help."

"He sounds like he needs a therapist!" Sharise interrupted.

"Maybe he needs a therapist too, but until we find out: why - Chris is unsatisfied - we can't jump to conclusions, nor can we threaten his life."

Baxter relieved himself from the chair; stood up and adjusted his white trench coat once more, "He also sounds like he needs: a family doctor. The more we find out about him, and the closer we keep him in our network - the easier it will be to rid of not only the things that plague this earth, mainstreet, our street; but that of the thorns in the rose known as love."