Conversation · Tommy Le Homme

"Sinister presence? Wow... that sounds really bad. I hope that doesn't happen to my marriage."

"Whatever it is, one thing is for sure -- it's not my ex-wife."

"Still -- a shadowy figure. That sounds pretty bad. I hope that doesn't happen to my marriage..."

For some reason, sire, he pays no heed to your objection. Continuing instead as if it were your ex wife. Strange...

"No, it's the great white ghost that eats the world."

"A great white ghost? Wow... that sounds really bad. I hope that doesn't happen to my marriage."

"It followed me into this world when I awoke. I think it may be a planar hunter."

"Planar hunter? Wow... that sounds really bad. I hope that doesn't happen to my marriage."

"Yeah, actually not. Let's change the subject."

"Sure man, no problem... and thanks for this. It's good to talk to someone. I know it wasn't easy to ask." He smiles. "I hope you find your way through your own troubles."

Perhaps it would be a good idea to show yourself some of that empathy, from time to time? Just a suggestion. Carry on now.

"Deora?"

"Deora-of-the-Seven-Seas. It's on the other end of Le Caillou, pretty much -- on another island, called Laurentide, off mainland. We've got a little place there. I can almost hear my kid laugh, when it snows..."

"Really, you can tell me."

"Man." He sighs. "I don't know what to say. Not much anyone can do... there's no helping an absence, you know?"

"Hell, I get longing. I've felt something similar since I woke up."

Blink rapidly.

The road disappears, it is but a mirage... before you stands a tall lorry driver with sad eyes.

Shake off the daze.

You may ignore the labyrinthine pathways, but you will never be freed from them -- they are carved into your soul.

Ease into it, don't go too far. This seems like a personal matter...

"Hey, Tommy -- spill the beans. What's troubling you?"

"Man, nothing's troubling me. Just the usual lorryman tropes and hopes: the road and the rhymes. This jam ain't helping either..." He looks around.

That all the beans you got, Tommy? Damn. It really is hard to talk man to man...

"MY MAN, I WANNA KNOW ABOUT YOUR SOUL!"

"Cool, cool... We all want to know each other, know each other's woes and all -- but people, man, they have slippery souls..."

Just like that -- he slips out of your reach. It is possible the YELLING didn't help.

"Man, you look sad. What's going on with you?"

"I'm okay, man. Just... the jam's got me down. The fumes, the chemical rainbows, the tarpaulin stretched on the frames and the dull engines off..." The man recedes into his daze of words.

Maybe the full on direct approach wasn't correct? Damn, it's tricky business looking into someone's eyes and not doing it wrong.

"Tell me more about this... strike."

"It's like... whatever's going on over at the docks. Workers got a blockade set up. Making demands. No way in or out."

Going on strike would probably help you dodge a bullet or two.

"Maybe I should go on strike..."

"Maybe you should. Cops don't get paid much and the hours are long. Plus, you can get shot. Why not?"

"The RCM is a self-managing organization that operates on donations. We promote our own leaders. It would be like striking against your own... mother."

"Hmm. I guess you've got a point there."

"Yes -- but do continue. You were asking about the strike."

"I don't know my mother -- but I'd go on strike against her too. For my rights."

"Okay." The lieutenant's face betrays little reaction. "But do continue. You were asking about the strike."

"No -- your mother."

"I don't think you understand how that joke goes, but -- do continue. You were asking about the strike."

"What's the Union demanding?"

"Some pretty wild stuff, I hear. Like a giant new power-crane and half the company? I forget what exactly. Good on them, I guess..."

"I've heard talk there's a company rep in town too. Like... a strike negotiator type. They'd know what's up. Precise demands and so on."

"Ah, yes. From the Wild Pines...." He takes a note. "We'll meet her soon enough, I'm sure."

"Anything else I should know?" (Conclude.)

"Anything else?" He thinks. "Yeah, this ain't really my area of expertise. I just do my job and get paid. I have things to do and places to be. All of us do."

"All of who?"

"Us lorry drivers. Camionneurs. A few still hang around here waiting for this mess to end. Most have scurried off somewhere. To get drunk, or high. Or laid." He smiles awkwardly. "Not that I blame 'em, really."

"Not you?"

"Not my thing. Chasin' transient pleasures is a drag these days. I prefer the examined life now -- thinkin', reflectin', observin'." He glances down the road toward the horizon, a glint of... something in his eyes.

What's better than chasing transient pleasures? The more transient the better! When one's ended you can get on to the next one.

He tries his best to look nonchalant, but there's a rigidity in him, as if trying to conceal something warm and deep beneath a cool exterior.

"What do you think the company wants?"

"They want to keep that money flowing in, my man." He makes a 'ka-ching' sound.

He doesn't blame them. But he's not on their side, that's for sure.

"Care to spare some change for a working stiff?"

"Huh?" Sudden financial duties snap him out of his daze. "Oh. No, I ain't got any money. They don't want to pay for unfinished work."

"'They' who?"