Conversation · Idiot Doom Spiral

"Gertrude Het may have been the first to witness the Headless FALN Rider, but she wasn't the last, oh no..."

"That's super spooky."

"Yes. According to legend, young Gertrude Het had to endure years of psychotherapy before she was able to look at a horse or tracksuit again... And she's one of the lucky ones." He takes a sip from his bottle.

"I don't know, what?"

"A headless man, wearing a FALN tracksuit, riding a horse. That's right. It's the Headless FALN Rider. "

"Rumoured to be searching for his legendary FALN cap that went missing when he lost his head."

"The Headless FALN Rider?"

"Excuse me, are you telling the story, now? No? You're not? Well then..." He scoffs.

"It's the Headless FALN Rider. A headless man wearing a FALN tracksuit. Riding a horse. In search for the FALN cap that went missing -- when he lost his head."

"The Giant of Koko Nur?"

"What? No! I told you this is a Martinaise legend. It's a man..."

You got a smoke on you? If yeah, you should light up, help set the scene...

"Hey, Spiral-Boy, you gonna share that?" one of the other bums interjects.

"Don't call Abigail!"

"Shut up, guys, I'm telling a story here." He turns to you. "Something happened to you. Something happened to me, too -- my actual name is George, but around here... you already know..."

"I was a once a reasonably high-net-worth individual. A founder slash junior partner at a high-concept creative services agency. When my story begins, I had just landed a major contract with an insurance firm..."

"Go on."

"I used the profits from my agency to finance what I called a 'cultural incubator' -- abstract value generation, value per person, high-concept stuff..."

"I developed the paradigm, worked within the paradigm. But the burden of leadership weighed heavily on me, so I went jogging every so often to keep myself sane."

That's right. Getting a good run in's important to maintaining your physical and mental health.

Speaking of, when's the last time you did your laps, porkchop?

"I could probably use a good run myself."

"It helped, truly. With my trusty Sansarique Lickra(TM) tracksuit I felt like I could conquer the world..."

"But now dreams are worn thin, much like my tracksuit," he says thoughtfully, brushing dust off his shit-stained pants.

"What happened?"

"One day I left on my evening run. As you may know, it's impossible to clear your head when you're distracted by the sound of keys jangling in your pockets." He shakes the bottle and makes a ringing sound.

He's right. It's incredibly annoying.

His eyes are clouded, his dilated blood vessels encircling his irises like stinging brambles.

His eyes are your eyes.

"So I removed the keyring and put the keys for the front gate and the apartment into different pockets, to stop the jangling, you see. At least that was the plan..."

"I was halfway done with my usual lap when it started to rain. The reality situation became very wet, very quickly."

"How wet are we talking exactly?"

"It was a day not unlike this one here..." You both glance skyward.

"I made my way back home and discovered that I didn't have the key to the front gate -- I'd mixed it up with the key to the letter box. Which was useless."

"Naturally, the situation required me to climb over the gate, which I did. There was no climbing down, because I slipped and landed on my ass."

(Say nothing.)

"Reality was looking rather grim, just then -- me lying on my ass in a mud pit in the middle of a heavy shower. But when life knocked me down, I always got up..."

"So I made my way across the yard. Standing in front of my apartment door, fumbling with my pockets, I realized that I'd also forgotten my apartment key!"

"You've got to be shitting me!"

"I wish I were, Tequila. I wish I were." He turns his head towards the skies. "Instead of my apartment key, I'd taken the key to the office."

"Okay, so what happened next?"

"I rang my neighbours' buzzers. It was late, and most of them didn't even answer. Those who did assumed I was trying to sell them something and hung up before I could even explain the situation..."

"People are naturally wary of ad men, you see. One moment someone chats you up, five minutes later you've bought a box of edible lingerie and a strap-on. I don't begrudge them, especially since I was known to be one of the best..." He pauses meaningfully.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

"Just then I experienced a moment of clarity: I still had the key to my office! I could wait out the storm there..."

"But when I reached my office I remembered that I'd asked one of my producers to change the locks that day -- and since I hired only the best, he'd already done it, and I couldn't get in..."

"Anyway, long story short, life spiralled out of control. I haven't gotten into my apartment for years, and my girlfriend left me because she didn't want to date a homeless man. The company, well, you see where I'm going with this..."

He pinches his thigh as if to check whether this reality is the reality.

"So, now you've heard my tragic tale. What do you think? Like nothing you've ever heard, huh?" He takes a long swig of his drink.

"I'm almost homeless myself. Doesn't seem so bad."

"The hobo lifestyle definitely has some perks -- not having to pay rent, first and foremost. Not being responsible for twenty other people is nice too."

"But that charm wears off pretty quickly. Before you know it, you're wearing a shit-stained tracksuit and spending your days picking tare."

"Look on the bright side -- you've got one hell of a story."

"Yeah. Maybe I've exaggerated certain parts over the years. When you tell a story too often, it begins to take on a life of its own..."

"But what matters is that it's true to my subjective experience. Anyway, that was all the story one bottle gets you." He looks at it. "Almost empty this one..."

Truly, he has the soul of an artist.

"I've only been a hobo cop for a few days now, but it doesn't seem so bad."

"You do realize all of this is your own fault?"

"I don't remember you being such a dick before, Tequila..." He takes a slow, despondent sip from his bottle, then looks out across the bay toward the glittering lights of La Delta at night.

"That doesn't mean you're wrong, though... Anyway, that was all the tale one bottle gets you." He turns his eyes to the bottle. "Almost empty this one..."