Were someone to tell me that they knew of a society of critters so despicable that even the youngest of their offspring were unpleasant, I would think they were about to tell me of a town of serpents, reptiles, or insects or such. I would be wrong. No, that honor belongs squarely to the seagulls of Bleakerton. This I'd discover firsthand when I joined my dear friend T-Yay on a record-hunting excursion to the horrendous aforementioned township. Before I continue the tale of our trip to Bleakerton, however, I think it best to give a bit of back-story for those who are not familiar with T-Yay...or Bleakerton.
T-Yay is a black Labrador, and manages the Record Emporium in our own beloved Xanadu Forest. He wears a black leather cabby cap upon his head, and a brown leather record satchel upon his shoulder. Within his satchel he carries always a handful of acorns, a compass, at least one bag of Skittles, and record albums of course (if he's returning from a successful mission). T-Yay's nose is so well-trained that he can smell quality vinyl from no less than miles away, which we in the forest are all very thankful for.
Bleakerton lies on the northwestern coast of Interterrestria, a dirty industrial community from corner, to corner, to corner. It is the only true port we have in Interterrestria, and it's often said in our forest that if it can't be grown then it comes from Bleakerton. Bleakerton and its filthy seagull inhabitants are the butt of many traditional forest jokes, but I won't share them here.
On with the story: One day as I was flipping through the "new arrivals" section of records in the emporium, T-Yay asks me if I'll lock up when I'm finished, as he's just received word of a good stash of records in Bleakerton and needs to head there right away. I'd never been to Bleakerton and always imagined all the terrible things critters said about it were exaggeration, so I suggested I might join him on the journey; thought it might be fun. T-Yay did his best to dissuade me--for my own sake he was careful to explain--not that he wouldn't enjoy my company...but I was insistent, T-Yay gave in, we locked up the Record Emporium, and off we went to Bleakerton.
It was nearly a full day's journey, and I was tired when we arrived, though also a bit overcome with the sheer dinginess of the town--it was suffocating. If forced to describe Bleakerton, I'd say it was a cross between Oliver Twist and the 3rd ring of Hell. There were seagulls everywhere, of course, and not a single one I spotted seemed to carry the least bit of pleasantry in its expression. T-Yay told me we were headed to a district by the port often referred to as "Chicanery Row" by the locals. I joked, "Let me guess, that must be the industrial district." T-Yay didn't laugh; just flipped through a notepad and reminded me to watch my step.
It was about this time I remembered I was thirsty, and ducked into a bowling alley I had just spotted--before T-Yay could stop me. I thought they'd most likely have soda, or at least something refreshing there to wet my lips with. I was wrong. They had no soda, nor any bowling balls, or pins...or even an alley. What they had there were several stacks of used mattresses, from wall to wall. Though the soiled mattresses did nothing to quench my thirst, they did disturb me enough that I forgot I was thirsty. I suppose in Bleakerton, one might consider that a successful venture.
T-Yay tugged me back out of the "bowling alley" and gave me a long lecture about not wandering off. He said something to the effect of "things aren't what they seem in Bleakerton" at some point in the lecture, but it escaped me somehow when I had spotted Tom's Burger Stop. "Yes," I thought to myself, "that's what I need--a good burger. Surely this place will be what the storefront says it is." T-Yay almost grabbed my arm, but then backed off and sighed as he followed me inside. I suspect he remembered how stubbornly dense I can be at times, and knew I'd have to learn my lesson in my own foolish way.
What I saw when we entered "Tom's Burger Stop" is a vision I've fought long and hard to remove from my memory--unsuccessfully I might add: as everyone else but me might imagine, there were no burgers there--no food at all, in fact. No, it seems I discovered seagulls have strip clubs too [If you've never seen featherless seagulls dancing in the most inappropriate ways, I highly recommend you keep it that way]. I was stunned and turned to T-Yay, who had sat down on a stool behind me, snout down, and paw upon his forehead. I remember clearly what he said to me as we exited the God-forsaken place: "Maybe now you'll listen to me and stop going into places I don't tell you to." I promised I would obey, and I meant that promise. I really did.
Though I could see no distinction between where we were and where we had been, I believe we had entered Chicanery Row not long after that--T-Yay told me we were almost to the place where we'd be staying that night. I spotted a large building with faded and flaking paint upon it that said "The Gulliday Inn." I turned to T-Yay and oh so cleverly exclaimed, "Let me guess: that is not where we're staying tonight."
Once again, T-Yay either didn't notice my humor, or maybe just didn't care for it: "Very good, Kev, maybe you're finally catching on. No, the place we're looking for is Uncle Tapa's Auto Repair--just a couple more blocks there to the left. And no, it's currently a motel; no sort of repairs are done there at all." Then T-Yay chuckled, presumably at his own attempt at what he considered a clever joke. It occurred to me that moment that humor is not a universal language.
At any rate, we managed to make our way safely to "Uncle Tapa's" and as we neared the entrance, T-Yay cautioned me to keep silent the whole time and to follow his lead. I nodded in acknowledgement. T-Yay pushed open the door and the little bells strung along the side jingled. Moments later, the fattest seagull I've ever seen wobbled his way to the counter, scratching his backside and mumbling something I'm likely glad I couldn't understand.
T-Yay slid a slice of bread out of his satchel and placed it on the counter. "I'll be needing a room just for tonight, Lalo--preferably one with a lock on it."
While I was silently considering whether "Lalo" was his actual name, the disgusting seagull (he also stank of something rotten, though I can't imagine what it'd be) spoke: "Two slices."
"Very well," T-Yay replied and placed another slice of bread upon the counter.
The seagull snatched the two slices of bread off the counter and told T-Yay, "I don't know your friend, he can't stay here." T-Yay nudged me, likely sensing I was about to open my mouth, and silently placed another slice of bread upon the counter. The seagull snatched that one up too, and said, "I don't think you understand me; this isn't about money. I don't know your friend, and people I don't know...don't...stay...here," tapping his shoddy wing upon the counter with the last three syllables.
T-Yay stepped just a bit closer to the counter and calmly said, "The kid's got pumpernickel."
"He does, does he?" asked the seagull with a raised brow, then pretended to not be impressed by this. T-Yay nodded to me, indicating I should go ahead and place a slice of pumpernickel upon the counter...which I promptly did.
The seagull looked at me coolly and said, "Two slices."
T-Yay raised his voice and interjected, "Lalo, this is pumpernickel we're talking about. Be reasonable."
Lalo was not the least bit intimidated. "Very well, three slices. Wanna keep talking?" T-Yay shook his head gently, and gestured for me to place the additional required slices of pumpernickel upon the counter, which the seagull snatched even before I'd let go of them. "Second door on the left," Lalo ended, "and don't oversleep."
Though I feared what our room might look like, I was anxious to get to it so that I could open my mouth and speak to T-Yay again. The room did not disappoint; it was much like what my fears imagined it would be. I was a bit surprised, however, that there were actually covers on the bed, though they were just crumpled up in a ball on top of the bed. No matter: visions of the soiled mattresses at the "bowling alley" from earlier had already assured me I'd be sleeping on the floor that night. I was also surprised that there was a window in the room, which turned out not to be a window; rather curtains hung upon the dingy wall, as I discovered shortly thereafter.
I could find no way to make myself comfortable in the room--not emotionally or physically--though sheer exhaustion did eventually afford me a bit of sleep. In the meantime, T-Yay had curled up on the floor too, and eased my mind a bit by explaining much of the confusion surrounding Bleakerton. I had already gathered that Bleakerton would have a worse crime rate than any city I could name, but T-Yay shed light on that too. It turns out that though the framers of Bleakerton's constitution allowed for the passage of laws, any form of law enforcement within the township was strictly and wholly forbidden by the very same constitution. One could commit a crime, but there was no way to punish them for it.
This is the reason T-Yay gave for the Bleakerton businesses not being what the storefronts said they were: basically, since crime couldn't be punished, the seagulls realized of course they could just take whatever they wanted at any time, including homes and businesses. If Uncle Tapa, for instance, decided he no longer wanted to do auto repairs, he need only round up a few of his friends and they could take over the laundromat (though it likely wouldn't have been a laundromat anymore by the time they'd gotten to it). Even if Uncle Tapa decided to turn it back into a laundromat once again, there'd be no point in changing the signage, because it would be only a matter of days before another group of seagulls would come and take the laundromat from Uncle Tapa, and he'd have to find more friends and another business to steal. Absurd and confusing, I know, but it was a comfort hearing T-Yay's voice ease me into a state of sleep.
TO BE CONTINUED (I'm too tired to finish the story tonight, but will try and wrap it up in the next day or two. Please check back soon if you want to read the rest of the story). Thank you for being there. Kev oxox
T-Yay is a black Labrador, and manages the Record Emporium in our own beloved Xanadu Forest. He wears a black leather cabby cap upon his head, and a brown leather record satchel upon his shoulder. Within his satchel he carries always a handful of acorns, a compass, at least one bag of Skittles, and record albums of course (if he's returning from a successful mission). T-Yay's nose is so well-trained that he can smell quality vinyl from no less than miles away, which we in the forest are all very thankful for.
Bleakerton lies on the northwestern coast of Interterrestria, a dirty industrial community from corner, to corner, to corner. It is the only true port we have in Interterrestria, and it's often said in our forest that if it can't be grown then it comes from Bleakerton. Bleakerton and its filthy seagull inhabitants are the butt of many traditional forest jokes, but I won't share them here.
On with the story: One day as I was flipping through the "new arrivals" section of records in the emporium, T-Yay asks me if I'll lock up when I'm finished, as he's just received word of a good stash of records in Bleakerton and needs to head there right away. I'd never been to Bleakerton and always imagined all the terrible things critters said about it were exaggeration, so I suggested I might join him on the journey; thought it might be fun. T-Yay did his best to dissuade me--for my own sake he was careful to explain--not that he wouldn't enjoy my company...but I was insistent, T-Yay gave in, we locked up the Record Emporium, and off we went to Bleakerton.
It was nearly a full day's journey, and I was tired when we arrived, though also a bit overcome with the sheer dinginess of the town--it was suffocating. If forced to describe Bleakerton, I'd say it was a cross between Oliver Twist and the 3rd ring of Hell. There were seagulls everywhere, of course, and not a single one I spotted seemed to carry the least bit of pleasantry in its expression. T-Yay told me we were headed to a district by the port often referred to as "Chicanery Row" by the locals. I joked, "Let me guess, that must be the industrial district." T-Yay didn't laugh; just flipped through a notepad and reminded me to watch my step.
It was about this time I remembered I was thirsty, and ducked into a bowling alley I had just spotted--before T-Yay could stop me. I thought they'd most likely have soda, or at least something refreshing there to wet my lips with. I was wrong. They had no soda, nor any bowling balls, or pins...or even an alley. What they had there were several stacks of used mattresses, from wall to wall. Though the soiled mattresses did nothing to quench my thirst, they did disturb me enough that I forgot I was thirsty. I suppose in Bleakerton, one might consider that a successful venture.
T-Yay tugged me back out of the "bowling alley" and gave me a long lecture about not wandering off. He said something to the effect of "things aren't what they seem in Bleakerton" at some point in the lecture, but it escaped me somehow when I had spotted Tom's Burger Stop. "Yes," I thought to myself, "that's what I need--a good burger. Surely this place will be what the storefront says it is." T-Yay almost grabbed my arm, but then backed off and sighed as he followed me inside. I suspect he remembered how stubbornly dense I can be at times, and knew I'd have to learn my lesson in my own foolish way.
What I saw when we entered "Tom's Burger Stop" is a vision I've fought long and hard to remove from my memory--unsuccessfully I might add: as everyone else but me might imagine, there were no burgers there--no food at all, in fact. No, it seems I discovered seagulls have strip clubs too [If you've never seen featherless seagulls dancing in the most inappropriate ways, I highly recommend you keep it that way]. I was stunned and turned to T-Yay, who had sat down on a stool behind me, snout down, and paw upon his forehead. I remember clearly what he said to me as we exited the God-forsaken place: "Maybe now you'll listen to me and stop going into places I don't tell you to." I promised I would obey, and I meant that promise. I really did.
Though I could see no distinction between where we were and where we had been, I believe we had entered Chicanery Row not long after that--T-Yay told me we were almost to the place where we'd be staying that night. I spotted a large building with faded and flaking paint upon it that said "The Gulliday Inn." I turned to T-Yay and oh so cleverly exclaimed, "Let me guess: that is not where we're staying tonight."
Once again, T-Yay either didn't notice my humor, or maybe just didn't care for it: "Very good, Kev, maybe you're finally catching on. No, the place we're looking for is Uncle Tapa's Auto Repair--just a couple more blocks there to the left. And no, it's currently a motel; no sort of repairs are done there at all." Then T-Yay chuckled, presumably at his own attempt at what he considered a clever joke. It occurred to me that moment that humor is not a universal language.
At any rate, we managed to make our way safely to "Uncle Tapa's" and as we neared the entrance, T-Yay cautioned me to keep silent the whole time and to follow his lead. I nodded in acknowledgement. T-Yay pushed open the door and the little bells strung along the side jingled. Moments later, the fattest seagull I've ever seen wobbled his way to the counter, scratching his backside and mumbling something I'm likely glad I couldn't understand.
T-Yay slid a slice of bread out of his satchel and placed it on the counter. "I'll be needing a room just for tonight, Lalo--preferably one with a lock on it."
While I was silently considering whether "Lalo" was his actual name, the disgusting seagull (he also stank of something rotten, though I can't imagine what it'd be) spoke: "Two slices."
"Very well," T-Yay replied and placed another slice of bread upon the counter.
The seagull snatched the two slices of bread off the counter and told T-Yay, "I don't know your friend, he can't stay here." T-Yay nudged me, likely sensing I was about to open my mouth, and silently placed another slice of bread upon the counter. The seagull snatched that one up too, and said, "I don't think you understand me; this isn't about money. I don't know your friend, and people I don't know...don't...stay...here," tapping his shoddy wing upon the counter with the last three syllables.
T-Yay stepped just a bit closer to the counter and calmly said, "The kid's got pumpernickel."
"He does, does he?" asked the seagull with a raised brow, then pretended to not be impressed by this. T-Yay nodded to me, indicating I should go ahead and place a slice of pumpernickel upon the counter...which I promptly did.
The seagull looked at me coolly and said, "Two slices."
T-Yay raised his voice and interjected, "Lalo, this is pumpernickel we're talking about. Be reasonable."
Lalo was not the least bit intimidated. "Very well, three slices. Wanna keep talking?" T-Yay shook his head gently, and gestured for me to place the additional required slices of pumpernickel upon the counter, which the seagull snatched even before I'd let go of them. "Second door on the left," Lalo ended, "and don't oversleep."
Though I feared what our room might look like, I was anxious to get to it so that I could open my mouth and speak to T-Yay again. The room did not disappoint; it was much like what my fears imagined it would be. I was a bit surprised, however, that there were actually covers on the bed, though they were just crumpled up in a ball on top of the bed. No matter: visions of the soiled mattresses at the "bowling alley" from earlier had already assured me I'd be sleeping on the floor that night. I was also surprised that there was a window in the room, which turned out not to be a window; rather curtains hung upon the dingy wall, as I discovered shortly thereafter.
I could find no way to make myself comfortable in the room--not emotionally or physically--though sheer exhaustion did eventually afford me a bit of sleep. In the meantime, T-Yay had curled up on the floor too, and eased my mind a bit by explaining much of the confusion surrounding Bleakerton. I had already gathered that Bleakerton would have a worse crime rate than any city I could name, but T-Yay shed light on that too. It turns out that though the framers of Bleakerton's constitution allowed for the passage of laws, any form of law enforcement within the township was strictly and wholly forbidden by the very same constitution. One could commit a crime, but there was no way to punish them for it.
This is the reason T-Yay gave for the Bleakerton businesses not being what the storefronts said they were: basically, since crime couldn't be punished, the seagulls realized of course they could just take whatever they wanted at any time, including homes and businesses. If Uncle Tapa, for instance, decided he no longer wanted to do auto repairs, he need only round up a few of his friends and they could take over the laundromat (though it likely wouldn't have been a laundromat anymore by the time they'd gotten to it). Even if Uncle Tapa decided to turn it back into a laundromat once again, there'd be no point in changing the signage, because it would be only a matter of days before another group of seagulls would come and take the laundromat from Uncle Tapa, and he'd have to find more friends and another business to steal. Absurd and confusing, I know, but it was a comfort hearing T-Yay's voice ease me into a state of sleep.
TO BE CONTINUED (I'm too tired to finish the story tonight, but will try and wrap it up in the next day or two. Please check back soon if you want to read the rest of the story). Thank you for being there. Kev oxox
RSS Feed
