fuck this job.com

He opens the door and Patty is standing there looking concerned.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What? No. Nothing.” Simon looks around nervously. “Come in.”

Patty checks out Simon’s apartment and slowly folds her arms.

“How did you get in?”

“I followed somebody in.”

Simon is busy trying to make the place more tidy. “You’re not supposed to do that. How did you find out where I live?”

“I looked you up in the phone book.” Patty gazes out the window. The view is surprisingly good. “I’ve been worried about you. Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah. No. I’m not.” Simon sits down on the sofa and puts his hands between his knees. “No. Not really.” Patty sits down beside him.

It’s late when Simon returns to his apartment building. He’s never done so much physical labor in one day. His hands feel raw. He wonders if this is what people call “blistered?”

He had helped to unload a truck load of food that had been donated by local markets. Then he had done what he could to set up a new tent and carry some old tables inside to use as a kind of distribution center to hand out the food.

“Don’t try to solve the problems of the world, Simon. Just look in front of you, and put out your hands, and do that. Whatever is in front of you, do that,” Josh had told him while they carried bags of rice off of the truck.

The bullhorn turns out to be held by a skinny man with dark hair and a beard, who’s standing among the fountains and concrete of Corporate Plaza talking about something called “Dignity Place.”

“If you would like to come out to Dignity Place, you’ll see that we have a well-run, clean and orderly village. It’s true there are tents—but we have proper sanitation facilities and we understand hygiene. This place is not a dump or a ‘hobo jungle’ or anything like that. The police are trying to shut Dignity Place down. There are people in this city who just don’t care about others. They want Dignity Place to disappear. But the people won’t disappear. They will be living in the streets again, just like they were before Dignity Place was born. If you want to contribute or volunteer, just talk to anyone handing out flyers. We’re going to need all the help we can get to keep Dignity Place alive!”

Simon stands up, walks over to the counter and places the pentagram on the counter. Then he turns around and walks to the door, looking neither to the left nor to the right.

“All righty then. I’ll be seeing you. Thank you for the drink.”

“Oh sure. I’ll keep it for you here. If you change your mind, I’ll give it back.”

Simon walks up to the door and sees a reflection in the glass. It’s huge, dressed in ragged monk’s garb with a hood hiding it’s face. Simon takes a big breath and walks through the door. He walks along for a block or so before he dares to look at his reflection again. It’s the same. Instead of the little guy he has seen for nearly thirty years, he sees this—thing. He saw it before at the Sackanut office, and it spoke to him then. Now, it seems to just follow along, mimicking his every move.

Simon wakes up and looks around at the interior of his apartment like he’s never seen it before. The sun is shining brightly—it must be nine or ten o’clock. He doesn’t even wonder about the alarm. He must have forgotten to set it.

He takes a leisurely shower, shaves carefully and puts on a completely fresh set of clothing with his best looking sweater to top it off. He thinks for a moment about his job but only for a moment. He was supposed to be there hours ago. He carefully makes his bed and takes the stairs down to the street. The air is a little warmer than he expected, but it’s not too warm. He walks deliberately to a bagel shop and stops in for breakfast.

Simon is leaning back. Just as he is about to fall, his feet come off the floor and he’s traveling back out through a window and into the cool air. He twists around, trying to see where he’s going, and just as he’s looking in the direction he’s traveling, he’s stopped again. Now he’s in an office. It’s a plain little office in a modern low-rise building located in an industrial park with freshly stomped turf and sickly green trees.

A skinny young man is talking to a young woman with stringy hair. They are all alone in the early morning. They are gazing at a computer monitor.

Simon can barely feel the night air rushing past him. He knows he is high up, because the wind is clear and the lights of the city below are faint. Then his stomach drops and the world rushes up, and he sees tiny golden lights in the windows of a stately old mansion nestled among oak trees. He barely has time to think about trying to slow down when a thick Persian rug is suddenly under his toes. He stares around, wide-eyed, at the subtle opulence of the place. A huge stone fireplace crackles quietly, and a tall, thin, serious looking man with only the remnant of a ring of white hair on his head sits in a large leather chair and puffs a cigar. A younger man enters the room carrying a brandy.

Simon looks at the blinds covering the window. The window is open a little, and the voice outside is shouting things that sound unreal.

"Help! Help! Ow! Help! I'm being robbed!"

Simon looks at the window and it seems as if a light is on in his apartment, but he can't tell which light is on. It's weird. His apartment is on the second floor--too close to the street for most people and so he pays lower rent. He hears the shouting. It just doesn't stop. Only one voice. Young. Male. Simon wonders if he should call the police. He looks at the alarm clock. Three twenty. He takes a step towards the window and suddenly he feels as if something is gently pushing him from behind. He is afraid but, for some odd reason, he isn't breathing hard and his heart is not pounding. In fact, he isn't breathing at all.

In the early morning light of May in the town of Balistica in the Pyrenees, a gang of boys is working to dig a new well. The oldest is twelve, the youngest, Orlando, is six. Their friend Raymondo runs up to join them.

"Are you going with Stephano to Jerusalem?" His face is red and his ear is bleeding. He barely hesitates before he races down the road to catch up with a crowd of people who have already left the town. The boys look at the muddy well and think of how much more work it will be to finish. They all know what it's like to be beaten. They drop their tools and chase after him.

Simon leaves the building in a daze. He is tired physically and mentally. He sits down at the bus stop in front of the building. He hears somebody speaking over a bullhorn. Either the protestors are still protesting or the police are still announcing. Either way, he can't understand a word their saying. He just sits and listens. The traffic on this street seems to be almost back to normal. Simon sits at the bus stop with the solemn determination of someone who has ridden the bus quite a lot. He's resigned to waiting. He does feel that he has been waiting an awfully long time when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

Two Sackanut guards and somebody in a suit come to speak with Jennifer at nine o'clock. There has been a weird feeling in the air all morning. Jennifer hasn't been talking loudly about Simon--which is unusual. Usually she carries on loud conversations about him with other people, overlooking the fact that he can hear everything she says. Today, though, she hasn't said a word about him.

That is, until the three men from security show up. She almost gleefully escorts them to Simon's cube and they politely ask him to go with them. Simon goes with them, although he doesn't know why. Most of his assignments are mysterious in one way or another. They travel up one floor to the basement, where the Sackanut office is located. They escort Simon into a windowless room where two men show him their FBI identification. For two hours, Simon explains what he's been up to for the past two days.

When he gets home, Simon takes a long, hot shower. For some reason, he leaves the pentagram hanging around his neck. Then he sits quietly in his apartment with the windows open and listens to the noises from the street and polishes the pentagram with a paper towel. Eventually, he takes a nap and wakes up feeling bloated and listless. He doesn't dream. He takes a walk down to the corner grocery store and buys some lettuce. He makes a salad and watches the Game Show Network. He finds a single beer in the back of the fridge and he drinks it. He pulls an old paperback from the shelf and sits down to read for a few minutes. The title is "Holy Blood, Holy Grail." A friend gave him the book years ago but he only read the first few pages before he lost interest. Now, however, he finds himself fascinated. He reads until it gets dark and he has to close the blinds. Then he keeps reading until he falls asleep. He sleeps more soundly than he has in years. He dreams of trees and grass.

Simon is startled when Patty rejoins him. She can't help but smile a little at his appearance. He looks like a rumpled hamster.

"There is orange juice and iced coffee in the fridge. If you get hungry there is cereal in the cupboard and the milk is still good I think. There is some soy milk in there too." She waits for Simon to respond but he's unresponsive. She kneels down beside him.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"A little. I want to thank you again for helping me."

"I'm going to go to bed now. If you need anything or have a problem, just knock on the door."

"Okay."

Patty hesitates just as she is about to close the door behind her.

The commotion outside lasts into the night. Stern male voices shout orders over loudspeakers. Nobody comes into the shop, although a couple of guys wearing motorcycle helmets jump down into the stairwell for a moment and then climb out. Simon finally regains the ability to open his eyes, and sees the half-empty bottle. He doesn't usually drink, but he wonders if the alcohol might have an anesthetic effect? He takes a drink and coughs, then gags. Lord, it tastes worse than he had imagined. He tries a small sip. He discovers that if he let's it stay in his mouth for a moment, saliva dilutes it so it doesn't burn so much. The two women don't seem to mind if he drinks it. By the third or fourth sip, Simon is staring to feel the effect. He now finds that he can stand up, open his eyes and speak with some measure of control.

As soon as Simon steps out onto the street, he knows something is wrong. There are no cars on Third Avenue. At five o'clock it should be bumper-to-bumper. But a lot of horns are honking somewhere, and police and fire truck sirens are wailing. He hears shouts but he can't determine where they are coming from. And there is this strange, peppery, rotten-egg smell in the air...

Simon looks down the street but doesn't see anything. Then, he senses that something big and menacing is coming up behind him. He turns his head and is frightened to see a mob of motley people, many of them wearing helmets--hockey helmets, bicycle helmets, motorcycle helmets--running full-tilt down the street right at him! Suddenly they rush past, jostling him and nearly causing him to fall. He watches them run down the street, around the corner and disappear. He turns around to look up the street and is surprised to find that a person dressed entirely in black combat gear with body armor and a huge transparent shield is now standing right in front of him. Good! A police officer! Simon feels his heart rate slow down a little. Behind the officer's visor, is a small, friendly-looking female face. It reminds him of his cousin Amanda's face and he remembers that he should send her a birthday card soon...