FOUNTAIN (or Art Has a Right to Children)

FOUNTAIN is a  literary satire by David Scott Hay (77,000 words) download a larger sample at http://www.amazon.com/David-Scott-Hay/e/B00535PD2W/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1 

All things DSH:

http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/david-scott-hay.html

Visit my blog http://www.dshrazor.blogspot.com or follow me on Twitter @DavidScottHay.

Contains

Chapter One: Junk Yard Dogs

Chapter Two: B

Chapter Three: The Exhibit 

Happy reading, my bent readers.

DSH

“It is self-evident that nothing concerning art is self-evident.”

-- Theodor Adorno

“Fuck art.”

-- Harriet “Jawbone” Walker

PART I: DESTRUCTION 

 Junk Yard Dogs

This fucking chair is going to kill me.

“Keep looking,” Jawbone says, digging through the collected junk in the bed of a rusting pick-up truck. There are curious watchers. Mexicans mostly with beat-up trucks, their beds built up simply and haphazardly on the sides with old sheets of plywood and wire and filled with a “miscellany”-- good word, thinks Jawbone, a miscellany of scrap metal. Anything from old appliances to unused pipe to too-lazy-to-repair furniture are piled high with this morning’s treasures found along Dumpsters and alleys. “It’s gotta be about yea big,” she says, putting a loose band around her dreads.  “Half moon. Crescent moon. I want it found, not fabbed.”

 “I don’t see nothing looking like that,” Hector says, wearing his MCA shirt, though untucked and now terminally stained with the juice of discarded fruit, oil, dirt, and grime.

“Keep digging.”

“No, I don’t see nothin lookin like that chair in dis picture.” Hector holds up a page ripped from a magazine sporting a cool modern Higby designed chair produced by Laxmie’s.

“That picture is just a suggestion,” Jawbone says.  Her ass itches.

She scratches it once, and then wipes her hands on her overalls. She hates the new pair. Two weeks and counting. She should wash them more to break them in. The other pair, my lord, that other pair was like slipping into an old love, comfortable, familiar and knew where to touch you and always took your call. The initial decision of jeans vs. overalls for the plumber vocation was an easy one. All the plumber’s crack jokes? And, well, it was true, you spend your day bending over and snaking drains your pants are going to slip, belt or no belt. And suspenders? Well, you can forget them, they’ll put your arms to sleep inside a country minute. And let me ask you this friend, do you really want your plumber at $64.99 an hour to spend one minute out of every ten hitchin her britches?

I think not.

So overalls it was. Been that way for her at Walker & Sons Plumbing for the last fifteen years (there are no sons, just her). But that’s her day job. Jawbone is attending to more important matters right now.

This fucking chair.

Hector pauses, staring again at the jagged magazine page. “I thought you said she wanted a chair just like this.”