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Dick Popgun and his personal assistant Lace Flowerpetal sit in the
shadows of a dimly lit fifth floor office and stare out into the night
at the seedy city below ~*
From only 2 miles, the bone white dome of the Capital Building
reflects in the wetness of their eyes like the ghostly glow of a
Greco~Roman moon.
A single reading lamp with a short light switch chain hanging from
it sits on a cluttered desk beside an old Olympia typewriter. _A siren
can be heard wailing in the distance. _Lace Flowerpetal applies
cherry red lipstick to her supple mouth with one hand, holding a
make~up compact mirror with the other.
"Lace" says Dick, " I like that dress you have on, where did you get
it?"
"Oh thank you, Dick, there was a sale today at Yvette's! Their
Retro~Rack has some interesting pieces and I thought a change
would do me good."
"Yes, Lace, it does me good to see you exercise your independence
in these dark times of subliminal mental persuasion. _I mean, look
out there at our beloved metropolis, you can almost see the weight
of the Propagandist Lies pressing down on the city like a lead
blanket, smothering the liberal life out of every man, woman and
child."
"Don't become too distracted by the tactics of the Corporate
Controlled Military Industrial Complex, Dick. _Remember, you have
your manifesto to complete and the elections can be affected for
the benefit of the People if you publish in time."
"You're right, Lace. _Let's get back to work."
Dick and Lace didn't notice the shady figure silhouetted in the
grungy, neon rimmed street below. Clad in a dark gray overcoat
with a wide brimmed hat pulled low over its brow, this menacing
element of the night moved stealthily as if on some covert,
disreputable mission. _Dick paced back and forth in front of Lace's
desk dictating the manifesto to her as her delicate fingers moved
over the letters on the keys in a flurry of sensual, rhythmic motion
giving type to his words, sentences and paragraphs. _Both blithely
unaware as the mysterious figure ducked into the dark blue alley
directly beneath Dick Popgun's office. _The shifting, shadowy
shape quietly sneaking up the fire escape to plant a musicbox
sized mechanism on the sill outside the window in immediate
proximity to the very desk where Dick and Lace are working so
intently composing the Manifesto of the Free Thinking People of
Earth. _Neither of them observe the dark figure, with it's eyes
glowing yellow like a cat's between narrow slits, as it sets a timer
on the small, red device then silently and rapidly descends back to
the dirty, dark alley below. _A few splash sounds of shoes in coal
puddles as the figure darts through the blue shadows of the alley
and rounds the corner of a brick edifice disappearing into the
shuffling crowds which throng the sidewalks of a rainy Friday
night in the tabloid city.
" Do you hear something ticking?" Lace asks Dick.
Listening with the concentration of a hound dog, head side
slanting as if to focus the sound keenly in the ear canal Dick
replies " All I hear is the rumble of the street life on a Friday night
in October. _A ticking sound you say?"
"Yes, Dick. _A faint ticking sound, sort of like the second hand on a
clock."
"I can't hear it?"
"Oh well, never mind, let's get back to work."
"O.K., Lace, now let's see, where were we, umm, what do we have
so far?"
Lace begins reading the body of text which shall form the
Manifesto of the Free Thinking People Earth and all the while the
tick~tock, tick~tock of the small red device right outside the
window continues the countdown to doom!
Lace's pretty red lips part and she reads aloud in her stout yet very
feminine voice,
" the Manifesto of the Free Thinking People of Earth
~~~~~~~~~~~
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