Summary: The Fool - At the start of any grand undertaking, we are reborn.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I can breathe. I can think. I can be, 

 “You need a plan. And you need one fast. You’ve got until prom to turn things upward. Here’s your job today: Make Fang happy - watch them. How does 'she' speak with you? How does 'she' breathe? How does 'she' feel in your arms? How do you feel in 'hers'? Within cells interlinked.

Imageboards haven’t done you a whole lot of good, but they have given you a pulse on the abstract. Your head is in layers, thin onion skin ones – like that one movie”.

 

     What’s the goal here? I’m out of my depth, guy.

 

    “You’re literally me. For real. You need a gauge to measure your relationship. You’ve never actually thought about it, you just knew you were a couple. Feel things out. Observe. If you’d actually let me stretch my legs out, you’d have figured out that what’s happening is much bigger than any old high school fling. It’s your foundational myth – this is where you become a man”.

 

     Jacket? On. Mind? Scattered. Figure of my affection? Ready to run. Yeah, it’s go-time.

Fang readjusts herself and sits up on my mattress. Alright, let’s test this out:

  What’s this look she’s giving me?

 

“Look into Fang’s eyes. Windows to the soul right? Observing you, there’s some comfort, but look deeper: Their unsure. Unsure about you, and unsure about themself. You should know, you’re returning those eyes in kind. It’s not possible to reassure the ptero, but you can share those feelings together. So open up”.

 

     Okay, here goes nothing, “Hey, what’s going on big guy”?

 

“Well, it’s the thought that counts at least”.

 

     She blinks a few times before her eyes return to mine, “Huh? oh-I’m just feeling out a tune”. Well, I got something, 

 

“What’s it sounding like”? 

     She pauses to think about it, and then responds, “Seems like soul – not exactly my style, but I still dig it”.

“Soul. SOVL. Sol. The sun. Make connections; everything’s connected. The broader you can think, the better you can do – for them and yourself”.

 

        I’m giving myself a headache. Before I can get my thoughts organized completely I hear her speaking aimlessly under her breathe, “...’S goin on with’m… Me? …wha”?

 

   “What was that”?

 

        She raises her eyebrows at me and her face is painted in surprise once more, “Just! Just… You’ve still been really quiet is all. I’m not used to it”. Man, I was mumbling that much?

 

“When one door closes, another opens. New problems solved – others created. You’re not the best at navigating awkward situations, so catch them before they happen. Don’t bear your soul to Fang, but let them know that things are going to be changing around here”.

 

       I collect myself and start to speak,

 

“Yeah, I’m probably not going to be doing a whole lot of mumbling for a bit. But that’s not important; Let’s get some fresh air”!

 

“That’ll do, Anon. That’ll do.”

 

     I take her hand and pull her to her feet. For the moment, she’s at ease. We both need some fresh air. Let’s get going.

 

  “Alright, we’re on our way. Our destination: Anywhere but skin row. Let’s have some fun, Fang”.

 

    “From one world to another. In one moment, bare, dark and dingy, only room for small comforts. That’s your apartment. When you’re in there, you’re back in the womb – things are numb and quiet. In the next moment, you’re born again: harsh lights, nasty smells, worldly friction. This is reality, you should learn to love it, you’ll get nowhere if you treat it as though it is chafing against your soul. Fang’s holding your hand – anchoring you to the real. The other hand? That’s all me, baby. I’ve got your back Anon. Let the world settle around you; colors become shapes – become people and things. Everything you thought you knew is painted in bright new colors. You’re a child again, taking in the great big world. Isn’t it all so beautiful? No Kurdistani boulder-throwing forums compare to the majesty beyond hyle. Now, again:

       Breathe in. Breathe out. Crisp warm air racing down your trachea – filling your lungs, like a warm hug coming from the inside of your chest; a symbol of the love this world has for you, and your first clue as to what love really is”.

 

     Hand in hand, me and fang walk briskly in lockstep. Then, we’re trotting happily down the streets of skin row. Soon enough, we’re galloping our way out of the ghetto. What’s going on? It all feels so unreal – like a dream. By the time we stop we’re completely out of breath, Fang’s giggling, a wide mirthful grin spread on her visage, “Are we racing now anon? Let me catch my breath for a second”! This is perfect, just two kids prancing around town. I should probably slow things down, though.

 

“I need a minute, too. I’m not even sure what just happened”.

 

     When Fang steadies herself, she reaches into her pockets and takes out her menthols. She lights one up and takes a long drag before extending it to me. I take it without so much as a word.

 

“Wait a second there. Take a closer look at that cigarette”.

 

     I do. Nothing about it really stands out to me, except for its… Lack of filter?

 

“Exactly. This is a lucky cigarette. You know what that means don’t you”?

 

“..Dude, why’re you just holding it in your face”?

 

     I look at her, and back at the cancer stick, take a quick drag, and then I answer her, “It's got no filter”.

 

“So”?

 

     I take another drag, the sharp sensation of the menthol stimulates my nerves, “It’d be bad luck to smoke another today”.

 

“Bull”.

 

“You better believe it. And while you're at it, respond to this post or your mother dies in her sleep”. She snorts and flashes me a playful look.

 

“Whatever, dweeb”.

 

     We stand around the street for a while longer, passing the cigarette back and forth. It’s a wordless exchange but there’s a passive conversation of the body going on. I imagine it’s gone something like this:

 

“Hey, you're still, like, the Anon I know, right? My Anon”?

  That was a few shifts in my direction, a quick look, and a passing of the cigarette.

“Of course. I’ve always been your Anon. Always have been, always will be, no matter what”.

  That was a calm look into her eyes, a pensive smile, and a long drag of the cigarette.

“I’m not so sure”.

  That was her looking down at her feet, after meeting my gaze.

“Does it get much more Anon than this ”?

  That was me trying to balance the cigarette on the tip of my tongue.

“Fair enough, dork. I’m convinced”.

  That was her chuckling, snatching the cigarette, taking one last drag, and stamping it out.

    “There you go Anon, forty-something minutes down, some handful of hours to go. Now, pay attention to them. Fang's relaxed, Fang’s happy to be with you. Are they having their doubts? Sure, but not any less than the ones you’re having. You know where you can have a good lunch? Moe’s. Now keep doing what you’re doing: Having fun”.

 

     We walk down the street, more relaxed. There’s the occasional back and forth between her and I, what music we’re listening to, how annoying this or that is, whatever. She does a whole lot of mumbling too, but I’m not pressing on it. Eventually, by divine providence, we make our way around Little Troodon – we’re just in time for lunch.

 

“You think Moe will feed us even if we’re playing hooky”?

 

She turns to me with a grin, “He better, I’m starving.”

 

“That’s the power of suggestion Anon, decisions and agreements made before they are even spoken about. A tool of charisma, one of trust, too”.

 

     Making our way to Moe’s, I notice The packed-up ramshackle of tents and booths that is the marketplace, though not as vibrant in the evening, there’s still a whole lot to love about this place. Finally, I see it: Dino Moe’s.

 

“Good thing I skipped out on breakfast”.

 

     She mouths out what I can pretty clearly recognize as ‘dweeb’ or ‘dork’ as we close in on the entrance. Not that I need to be much of a lip reader to know she’d say that regardless. I open the door, and it hits me.

 

   “Smell that? That’s more than just sustenance, that’s art, that’s passion, that’s love . Let’s do this one more time: Breathe in. Breathe out. Freshly baked breads, the sweet tangs of tomato, the sharp scent of cheese, among other things. Contemplate the aroma; the olfactory sensations alone are enough to fill your stomach. Look around: bustling life, smiling faces, satisfied diners, waiters and waitresses rushing about, and cooks tending to their craft. Now listen: Jokes, jeers, old friends catching up, new friends being made, saints and sinners, chefs and diners, and the waitress who’s been trying to get your attention for the last minute or so”.

 

     I snap back to reality, “Sir? I don’t have all day”. Fang gives me an incredulous look.

 

“Oh sorry! We-um, we wanted to see if the manager is in. Moe”?

 

     The waitress gives a sort of disappointed glower before nodding and making her way through the building. A few minutes pass. And a few more. And then I see him, I’d recognize that silhouette anywhere. Moe strides towards us, a toothy grin plastered on his face, “Gee, if it ain’t my favorite item”! He gives a belly laugh as he pulls Fang into a hug and punches me in the shoulder. He takes a step back and looks at us, “How you’s kids doin’”? Fang answers, “We’re all good, Uncle Moe”. He raises an eyebrow, “Ya coulda fooled me punk, skippin’ school an’ all”. She sucks in air through her teeth, “yeah…” The carnivorous guido clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “Ah, school”.  His grin comes back and is directed right towards us, “I neva needed it eitha. Why don’t you two punks get yuhselves a seat”. He guides us to an empty booth, before I sit, Moe plants his hand on my shoulder, “Lemme steal ya for a sec, kid. You don’t mind none, do ya Lucy”? She does a double-take at the name, but she reacts nonchalantly, “Go for it”.

 

     He drags me towards the kitchen, “We’se gonna have a little chat, you an’ me”. Oh shit, I’m going to die. 

 

“This is all according to plan, Anon. We’re sitting pretty – Everything will be alright in the end”.