Street Feeling

8 - The Structure

Krankenescargot was closed on Sundays. Frankie stood at the top of the stairs, staring at the indented entrance door anyway, looking at it, tapping their foot impatiently. They waited for Wooden Soldier. Or Elliot would be fine too, they supposed. A light drizzle had come earlier in the morning, melted the snow to gross mush, made the streets and sidewalks slick and cold and wet. It was just before noon now and it was still the same way. Slick and cold and wet. Like a dying slug, they supposed. From around the corner, footsteps pattered, limping, stumbling. They turned their head.

A tall, familiar figure arrived in the same alleyway they were in. It was Elliot, hair looking worse than the previous night, one sleeve rolled up. ...Bleeding... they couldn't help thinking to themselves, their gaze fixated on his wrist. The smell of it was potent, enough to make them realize just how hungry they were. They tried their best not to think about it.

"Where do you think Melea lives?" They asked, getting straight to business.

"Not even a hello or anythin', huh?" He laughed, seeming out of breath. "I dunno. Why would I know that?"

"OK. Uh, hello." They said awkwardly, waving at Elliot. "What about Wooden Soldier, perhaps?"

"Did'e even leave the club?"

Elliot descended the stairs, ear pressed to the door, hand cupped around it. Predictably, Frankie followed, but they did not have to do something so primitive as to brush against cold metal in this weather. They could hear clearly what was behind the door.

The lonely sound of clomping footsteps and a high voice calling, "This Is My Station! This Is My Station!" Came from inside.

"You're strong, yes?" Frankie asked Elliot. "Kick it down."

"Why would I d'that."

"It's locked. Let's go inside."

"'Ts not locked," he said. He turned the knob and opened the door rather miraculously. Frankie was left silent, staring at the entrance which led into a dark, lonely place. It was hard to see anything with no lights on. "Told ya."

They wandered inside, the dance floor empty where there was once busy, flamboyant, gaudily dressed people. Now there was only the memory of where they had once been, marked with littered trash, napkins and glass and paper cups scattered across the floor. Their footsteps produced an echoing sound across the floor. The artsy interior, full of bright colors and abstract architecture was now muted with grays and blacks in the dark. In the middle of the desolate nightclub was the same giant automata, usually towering, usually colossal. But in the middle of such a large area, it looked small.

"This Is My Station! This Is My Station! This Is My Station!" It said over and over. "I Am With The Portable Discotheque! I Wonder When She Will Arrive! This Is My Station! This Is My Station! Hooray! New Station! And This Is It! This Is My Station!" It clomped happily around in a circular pattern.

"Ay!" He shouted, getting its attention.

It came to a standstill, silent for a second, looking around. "Who Goes There?"

"It's me, Elliot. And the one with the fangs."

"Elliot And The One With The Fangs! My Dearest Friends Who I Met Only Yesterday! I Could Not Stand Our Distance!" It bounded toward them, shaking the ground. "I Have Been Recharged And Moved To A New Station! This Is It! Right Here!"

"We heard," Frankie said with a blank expression. "Where is Melea?"

"I Know Exactly Where She Is! But I Would Like To Express My Joy In Being Reassigned To A New Station! I Was So Lonely In Twenty-Ten! And Now I Am Here, Where People Compliment My Style! 'Hey, Nice Outfit,' They Say! Even Though I Am Not Dressed In Costume! I Am Here, At Krankenescargot! I Am So Happy!"