11. He woke up at 10:20 a.m., the brilliant morning sun shining through his octagonal window. He got himself ready for work and left by 11:00.
He walked to work, not thinking about anything and arrived to the office while it was still closed. It wasn’t entirely unusual for him to be the first to arrive at the office. It was why he had his own key. Sometimes he would come to the office after it was closed, but there was usually someone there at this hour.
He took out his key and slid it into the lock. There was a car pulling into the parking lot. It was one of the office workers.
Inside the office, the desk worker got her things in order, straightening, opening, closing, looking at things while he slipped into his coveralls and removed the paint bucket from the filing cabinet. On his way out, he almost said that he would see the office worker later.
He walked to the wall and only needed to walk a few meters to his work station. He could see scaffolding set up around where the hole was. It looked pretty elaborate. He opened the lid of the paint bucket and began painting. His movements were the same as always and as he painted he began to put himself into a trance. Up and down movement of the body, up and down movement of the hand. Up and down movement of the body, up and down movement of the hand. His breathing synchronized with his movement and he began to see something in his mind’s eye. It was some kind of stone building in the woods somewhere. It was a pleasant vision and he let himself gaze upon it as he painted line after line of white paint. He noticed that if he moved his head, the vision corresponded, panning over the landscape. And then a car passed by and the sound of it returned him to his task at hand. That had never happened before. He’d daydreamed and thought about other things or nothing. But he’d never seen anything so vivid. It was as if the building had been right in front of him.
He continued to paint in the same manner but the vision did not appear again and he had almost forgotten it by the time he took his lunch break. He hadn’t brought a lunch with him and planned on just picking something up at the gas station.
Inside the gas station he wandered up and down the aisles looking for something slightly edible. He picked up a can of cream of mushroom soup and took it to the counter. There was no one there. There was a stool where someone usually sat and a paper cup half full of soda with a straw sticking out the top and a candy bar wrapper. But no worker. He saw something tucked under a stack of binders. It was one of the worker’s magazines and it had been folded back on itself so that the pictures faced out. There was something about the pictures that resonated inside of him. They weren’t pictures, they were drawings. He leaned over the counter to get a better look at the pictures. The lines and swirls of the drawings didn’t seem to depict anything even though they obviously were supposed to be in the shape of tangible objects. But as he looked at the pattern of black and white and black and white, his breathing began to shallow and he felt a familiar dizziness. Like when he had begun to hallucinate at the wall.
The girl came behind the counter and grabbed the magazine out of his hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d gotten a hold of it.
"What do you think you’re doing?" she said.
"Where did you get that?"
"Are you going to buy something or what?"
He picked up the cream of mushroom soup can, standing back on the proper side of the counter and said, "Where did you get that?"
She scanned the soup can and told him the price. He held the money up but did not give it to her.
"What is that?"
"It’s just a comic book. Are you going to pay?"
He kept looking at the comic book which she had shoved into her bag. But he could still see a corner of it. He had lowered his hand holding the money and she grabbed it muttering to herself under her breath.
She handed out his change and he said, "Where did you get it?"
She exhaled and said, "Theca."
"What’s that?"
"Are you going to take your change?" He took the change and put it in his pocket.
"What’s Theca?" he said.
"The Comics Archive. It’s a comic book store, obviously."
He felt as if his entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Something had just occurred that was outside his ken. There was some sort of connection between his experience at the wall and the one in the gas station. He just knew if that girl hadn’t come out when she did, he would have had a vision similar to the one he’d had before. And the drawings in that comic had brought it on just like his painting had brought it on previously. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before which worried him a little. Maybe the paint fumes were starting to get to his brain.
He opened the can of mushroom soup and spooned it cold into his mouth. He decided that after lunch he wouldn’t go back to work. He would go home and rest. Maybe tomorrow he would be free from the visions and feel better.
When he went into the office, there still was only the one worker behind the desk and she was just looking at the pages on her desk and not doing anything. He took off his coveralls and put the paint bucket in the filing cabinet and walked through the office but the office worker at her desk still did not move. She didn’t even notice when he closed the door and the brass bell clamored away.
He walked home, rubbing his temples where a slight headache was beginning to insinuate itself. He walked south and then east and turned north before realizing he had turned around and was not heading home. He really did need to take a break. He concentrated on where his feet were taking him and managed to make it home where he closed the door and sank into his bed closing his eyes.
next
He walked to work, not thinking about anything and arrived to the office while it was still closed. It wasn’t entirely unusual for him to be the first to arrive at the office. It was why he had his own key. Sometimes he would come to the office after it was closed, but there was usually someone there at this hour.
He took out his key and slid it into the lock. There was a car pulling into the parking lot. It was one of the office workers.
Inside the office, the desk worker got her things in order, straightening, opening, closing, looking at things while he slipped into his coveralls and removed the paint bucket from the filing cabinet. On his way out, he almost said that he would see the office worker later.
He walked to the wall and only needed to walk a few meters to his work station. He could see scaffolding set up around where the hole was. It looked pretty elaborate. He opened the lid of the paint bucket and began painting. His movements were the same as always and as he painted he began to put himself into a trance. Up and down movement of the body, up and down movement of the hand. Up and down movement of the body, up and down movement of the hand. His breathing synchronized with his movement and he began to see something in his mind’s eye. It was some kind of stone building in the woods somewhere. It was a pleasant vision and he let himself gaze upon it as he painted line after line of white paint. He noticed that if he moved his head, the vision corresponded, panning over the landscape. And then a car passed by and the sound of it returned him to his task at hand. That had never happened before. He’d daydreamed and thought about other things or nothing. But he’d never seen anything so vivid. It was as if the building had been right in front of him.
He continued to paint in the same manner but the vision did not appear again and he had almost forgotten it by the time he took his lunch break. He hadn’t brought a lunch with him and planned on just picking something up at the gas station.
Inside the gas station he wandered up and down the aisles looking for something slightly edible. He picked up a can of cream of mushroom soup and took it to the counter. There was no one there. There was a stool where someone usually sat and a paper cup half full of soda with a straw sticking out the top and a candy bar wrapper. But no worker. He saw something tucked under a stack of binders. It was one of the worker’s magazines and it had been folded back on itself so that the pictures faced out. There was something about the pictures that resonated inside of him. They weren’t pictures, they were drawings. He leaned over the counter to get a better look at the pictures. The lines and swirls of the drawings didn’t seem to depict anything even though they obviously were supposed to be in the shape of tangible objects. But as he looked at the pattern of black and white and black and white, his breathing began to shallow and he felt a familiar dizziness. Like when he had begun to hallucinate at the wall.
The girl came behind the counter and grabbed the magazine out of his hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d gotten a hold of it.
"What do you think you’re doing?" she said.
"Where did you get that?"
"Are you going to buy something or what?"
He picked up the cream of mushroom soup can, standing back on the proper side of the counter and said, "Where did you get that?"
She scanned the soup can and told him the price. He held the money up but did not give it to her.
"What is that?"
"It’s just a comic book. Are you going to pay?"
He kept looking at the comic book which she had shoved into her bag. But he could still see a corner of it. He had lowered his hand holding the money and she grabbed it muttering to herself under her breath.
She handed out his change and he said, "Where did you get it?"
She exhaled and said, "Theca."
"What’s that?"
"Are you going to take your change?" He took the change and put it in his pocket.
"What’s Theca?" he said.
"The Comics Archive. It’s a comic book store, obviously."
He felt as if his entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Something had just occurred that was outside his ken. There was some sort of connection between his experience at the wall and the one in the gas station. He just knew if that girl hadn’t come out when she did, he would have had a vision similar to the one he’d had before. And the drawings in that comic had brought it on just like his painting had brought it on previously. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before which worried him a little. Maybe the paint fumes were starting to get to his brain.
He opened the can of mushroom soup and spooned it cold into his mouth. He decided that after lunch he wouldn’t go back to work. He would go home and rest. Maybe tomorrow he would be free from the visions and feel better.
When he went into the office, there still was only the one worker behind the desk and she was just looking at the pages on her desk and not doing anything. He took off his coveralls and put the paint bucket in the filing cabinet and walked through the office but the office worker at her desk still did not move. She didn’t even notice when he closed the door and the brass bell clamored away.
He walked home, rubbing his temples where a slight headache was beginning to insinuate itself. He walked south and then east and turned north before realizing he had turned around and was not heading home. He really did need to take a break. He concentrated on where his feet were taking him and managed to make it home where he closed the door and sank into his bed closing his eyes.
next