Virtual Light

36. Notebook (z)

The city in sunlight, from the roof of this box atop the tower. The hatch open. Sound of Skinner sorting and resorting his belongings. A cardboard box, slowly filling with objects I will take below, to the sellers of things, their goods spread on blankets, on greasy squares of ancient canvas. Osaka far away. The wind brings sounds of hammering, song. Skinner, this morning, asking if I had seen the pike in the Steiner Aquarium.

–No.

–He doesn’t move, Scooter.

Sure that’s all Fontaine said? But he’d found her bike? That’s no good. Wouldn’t go this long without that. Cost an arm and a fucking leg, that thing. Made of paper, inside. Japanese construction-paper, what’s it called? Useless, Scooter. Shit, it’s your language. Forgetting it faster than we are… Tube of that paper, then they wrap it with aramyd or something. No, she wouldn’t leave that. Day she brought it home, three hours down there spraying this fake rust on it, believe that? Fake rust, Scooter. And wrapping it with old rags, innertubes, anything. So it wouldn’t look new. Well, it makes more sense than just locking it, it really does. Know how you break a Kryptonite lock, Scooter? With a Volvo jack. Volvo jack fits right in there, like it was made for it. Give it a shove or two, zingo. But they never use ’em anymore, those locks. Some people still carry ’em, though. One of those up ’side the head, you’ll notice it… I just found her one day. They wanted to cart her down to the end, let the city have her. Said she’d be dead before they got her off anyway. Told ’em they could fuck off into the air. Got her up here. I could still do that. Why? Hell. Because. See people dying, you just walk by like it was television?