The Garrulous and Phonetic Clon Melt
Spent all day long right in the window, with the displays. Yesmam told me I was white with knuckles, fled out around the dangerous winos and loved too many men. Spilled a bottle of ink, found it somewhere that it shouldn't have been, haven't sold that stuff in years. Don't have a quill or anything. Knives and kind old ladies, singing. You can hear them when you press your ear to the load-bearing walls in the store.
Around the counters, where there's no shelf space left, bees barked, led us into the closet. Found Hemlock and Snyder, who we'd thought had long ago been made to be dead. They were, dead that is, in the closet there, because they probably couldn't get out. Sin. Nice calves and all, cartons of cigarettes were back there with us. But the door never shut.
Back in the window, right with the beads and mirrors. Clothing isn't in style, the window walkers walked by, framed in silouette, hairs in perfect places. Twelve naked turnstyles. Walking until the knees pop and crack. Whoever sold us this place had a lot of nerve, and was a good salesman. I talked to Stacy, who is still always hanging from the bars in the back, that are either stronger than they look or are just as strong as they look while she's lighter than you'd think. She doesn't eat anything hanging like that. Spoke to her, she told me she thought we never actually bought this place, could I remember it.
Could I remember it? That person was smooth, for sure, and maybe most of it is gone because we were tricked, but I know we bought this place. I told her as much, she laughed and blood came out. I can't look at her like that. Back in the window.
John was trimming the dust, waving that power tool around again. We're all saying he's going to cut something up pretty bad sometime, maybe one of us, but he won't stop long enough to listen. What? What? What? That's all. Up the window the thing won't get in, so I'm
The lines around the world got drawn in tighter while I was up there. I could watch the pens and the swarming lights. That sun is always hot. The swarming nights. The sweating knives. Yesmam still thinks I'm something to be told around and left there, there's a register but nothing to ring up and nothing to count and nothing to sell. No one ever comes in. Sold us this place with no door and we never noticed until we were all in here and he was gone. Window watchers walking by every once in a while look like they'd come in and buy something we might have if we could get anything into the place but there's no door for them to come in through. I just watch them watch us and when they notice me they get strange, but I'm not worried, I'll never meet one.
I can't count how many of us are in here, I just keep re-arranging these windows to make it look right. Doesn't seem like I mind that no one's coming in to buy anything, the only job I was ever given was to arrange this stuff to make it attractive, and I was smartly enough engineered that I can always tell how well I'm doing just by the looks of the window watchers walking by. No feedback required from inside the store. No connection to the registers or the cash flow. I'm a low-energy unit, the sun's enough. Language came later, I think from Stacy, always hanging back there. I can go back and learn when there's dark and no one walking by.
Spent all day up there today and some of the reactions were good but most were bad. The material destabilizes as time progresses in the sun that helps me. Faded and pale. Colors need to be bright and I know it but there's nothing I've been given to change the merchendise. John, with that machine, was supposed to help with the cleaning and the colors but something happened, he just keeps mowing and trimming out there with whatever he turned that thing into.