Rain Delay

[Kelan Bishop]

September 29th, 2017

11:45am

 

Bishop sat back in the plush leather chair beside the front counter of the tattoo studio, and stiffled a yawn with one hand. The other thumbed the far page of the book he was reading, turning it. He wasn't really sure why he'd picked up the book, other than he was bored waiting for his client to show up and that it had been years since he read it. Business was going pretty good, and he was considering expanding. New York seemed like a good idea. These days, it was probably the most populated city on the East Coast, but he wasn't really sure. He'd never been much further than Colordo, and that was back before the Nevus happened. The free hand reached up again, rubbing at his face. The harsh scrape of his stubbly cheeks reminded him, vaguely, that it was probably time to shave again. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to, this time. Then again, that was the same thought he had every time he realized that shaving might be a good idea. He would let it grow out for a little while, and then the itchiness would set in and he would pick and scratch at it until he couldn't stand it anymore. And then the razor would come out, scything t through the prickly hairs until they were no more.

 

Eyes glanced up at the digital clock above the counter, and he frowned: 11:45am. The client was pushing close to an hour late, and not a single word had been passed along to Bishop. Normally, he wouldn't give two shits about it. Today was a busy day though, and if this joker wanted to be an hour late, it was either going to mean rescheduling their appointment, or pushing everyone else's back by however long it took. And that was going to mean a lot of pissed off clients, and make for a long night. Bad enough that he didn't get to bed until almost 6am this morning. If he'd known the timeframe had shifted, then he could've spent another hour in bed next to that big breasted red-head he'd brought home from the bar last night. Not that he would've been doing much sleeping with that extra time, but that didn't matter. He would've had his hands full, literally and figuratively. He looked at the locked door that led to his apartment in the back of the studio and sighed.

 

Leaning back his head in the chair, he closed his eyes for what seemed to be just a moment, when the front door chime went off, announcing an arrival. Shutting down another yawn as it came up to the surface, he stood up to greet the person who came through the door.

 

"Afternoon, friend. Name's Bishop. What can I do you for, today?"

[Mana Aizawa]

It was about 11:45 AM on a Sept 29, 2017 morning in LA, but Mana didn't really know that.  Things (yes "things") had been tough for Mana--they usually are when one is slipping into churches to sleep and eating from dumpsters.  

 

Mana had been kicked out three bars that same day for "being under age." That was a joke since she was 23.  And she knew that there were 16-year-old kids drinking in those same bars, but Mana was now under 90 pounds, dirty, disheveled and homeless, and looked like a waif.  

 

Worse, Mana hadn't even wanted alcohol--she hated it--she wanted a handful of free pretzels if there were any.  

 

It was back to the dumpster to look for old crusts of bread.  The area was the Skid Row area near E 3rd and filled with all kinds of creepy old men and drunks.  

 

Mana strolled down the street looking mostly at the ground, but occasionally looking into shops through door windows.  She now stared in a shop door.  But, she was tired of getting kicked out of shops for being filthy, and out of bars for being allegedly under age, so she didn't open the door.  Plus, there didn't look to be any food in the place.  She just stood there looking in.  She was feeling too weak, too hungry, too tired to move along.  

 

She knew that sooner or later someone would say something, usually something mean, to get her moving away.  “Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie” was what went through Mana's mind.  That was her.  

[Mana Aizawa]

Mana had been standing in front of this door, standing for what seemed like a week.  Maybe it was only five minutes. Probably it was only five minutes.  Mana was a bit disoriented.  

 

It is possible she didn't know why she was standing in front of a tattoo parlor door in LA.  The most obvious explanation might be that she was expecting a handout--and in the best possible world a kindly grandmother would have stepped out through the door and handed Mana a fresh baked peanut butter cookie.  

 

Of course it is just possible that Mana wasn't really waiting for a cookie, but in fact she was expecting a savior to step through that door.  Maybe not a Pope, maybe just a Bishop.  

 

But that simply was fantasy.  

 

Mana slowly turned, looked left, looked right and went across the street to the brick building that might have been a storage facility--or maybe just a abandon structure and there, a few feet from a broken DosXX bottle, she squatted.  She looked really tiny squatting.  Mana focused for a moment and thought to herself, "I should walk to New York City."  Not the healthiest of thoughts considering the condition of the world.  

[Mana Aizawa]

Mana's blood sugar level had dropped dangerously low--not that she knew this.  She was dipping into a delusional state.

 

She had been staring at a tattoo shop for a while without it even computing that it was a tattoo shop in her brain.  Still in a squat, Mana noticed the broken beer bottle start to move and then an angel appeared.  The angel was a full-bearded man and Mana didn't like beards--not really.  The angel smiled a sort of sardonic smile, scratched his beard, and spoke:

 

"Go to the tattoo shop and kill the man inside."  That was all the angel said.  Mana didn't much like the angel but in her delusional state the hallucination seemed to possess some remarkable power to compel Mana to do as it asked.  

 

Mana rose from her squat, raced across the street, and despite the shortage of gasoline and the near absence of vehicles on the streets of LA, she was nearly struck twice by motorists who had to screech to emergency stops to avoid hitting her--horns blaring angrily at the crazy girl. 

 

Mana didn't notice. 

 

Mana had trouble opening the door, but finally got it open and burst into the shop.  She looked like a chimney sweep that hadn't bathed for a week.  

 

As she entered, a long haired and bearded man, (but not an angel)  spoke: "Afternoon, friend. Name's Bishop. What can I do you for, today?"

 

Mana attacked that man with her fingers, planning to scratch his eyes out and then, hungry as she was, eat his liver.  

[Mana Aizawa]

The best laid plans of mice and men (and of orphans) often go awry.  Mana's plan went astray when she ran smack into the tall, bearded man and had the feeling that she had run smack into the Great Wall of China.  She bounced off the man having done no damage to him at all, frowned, and crawled towards the door.  As she exited, having totally forgotten the command of the angel, she determined that she would walk straight to New York City where she imagined the dumpsters were overflowing with sushi.

 

Mana managed her way out and faced, what she thought was EAST, and started humming "Homeward Bound". "I'm sitting in a railroad station, got a ticket for my destination, . . . homeward bound, I wish I was, homeward bound, home where my thoughts . . . . "