The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Fourteen Sounds Grayish Purple

I'm standing on a deck. I move around the guy with the wand and orb so I can get a better view of the water. But that's not the sea in the distance that I smell. No, that's the Hudson. I'm standing on the deck outside the bar of the Holiday Inn in Manhattan looking across the river at the sinister black buildings of Brooklyn. I'm crying. Very strange. I mean, I thought that was what I was supposed to be. A radio announcer. At fifteen I was already an addict. I'd steal the family radio from the kitchen at night and smuggle it upstairs so the slow rhythm of American radio rock 'n roll stations could creep in and out of my bedroom in the dark. Finally they got tired of having to come fetch it in the morning and made me build my own. A Heathkit. It wasn't art but it's only a piece of crap if it doesn't work. Hooked to the bedsprings with a length of wire, it did.

I'd listen to my idols for hours. I wanted to be a voice in the night just like them. Now, seven years later, I am. And here I am. A few beers under my belt. On the deck of the Holiday Inn, NYC. Home to one of the biggest, most famous radio stations in North America. Millions of listeners. A launching pad to fame. They've flown me in and offered me a job. And there I am. Alone. Crying. It's all I'd ever wanted to do, the only thing I'd ever done. Then the surprise. A surprise I suspected but didn't know I'd been waiting for. I realise not just that I don't want the job but that I don't even want to be in the business anymore. It's all gone. Completely deflated. Just like that. Can't get away from the job, from the people, fast enough.

"So, what, you just stopped doing it? Lost all interest in your career?"

Couldn't answer right away. I was feeling kind of tired. An odd, different kind of tired. Not sleepy. Dopey. Top heavy.

"Ya, guess I was ahead of my time. Just as well. The radio business finally fell behind the herd and got eaten by the stock market."

"But that was your... your dream."

"Well, it was a stupid dream. Got mangled by management. In the end I think I was almost ashamed of it."

She looked puzzled. Something I thought age would have withered.

"And there was nothing else you really wanted to do?"

"Nah. I'm not sure which one of us asked for it but  after our separation, ambition and I never saw each other again."

"But you must have done something."

"Oh ya, sold real estate for a while. Hated it. It's like being a cop. You always get to see people at their worst and you're always to blame. Quit after two years."

"Then?"

"Then I got my inheritance. A rich uncle. It was, I swear to God. Or whoever keeps your sacred oafs."

Oafs? Stupid muddled mistake. But she didn't seem to notice and I kept going.

"Not a lot. Monthly check from a trustee. Did a little of this, a little of that to get by. Then married a lawyer. A very good lawyer. Met when she represented me once. The rest is her story."

I yawned. I could feel it coming on but couldn't stop it.

"Nine."

She was starting to look concerned again. Maybe even more.

"Hurry up!" she said, and threw another card in front of me. The Four of Cups.