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Uncle Joe died. Friends, Relatives, Strangers came to mourn. Hundreds.
I served as pallbearer with Father, Brother-in-Law, “Relatives” barely known (Strangers?). Metallic blue coffin. Like a shiny new car. Shame to bury such sleek merchandise. God-man Rep in vestments hoarsed his bland, generic eulogy:  Joe this, Joe that, Joe fill-in-the-blanks.
Harped successes of Uncle Joe: Detective Novel, The Missing Pomegranate; twenty years “thought provoking” columnist for defunct radical weekly, En Garde.  No mention of moments spent and lost.  Nothing missing known.

A cosmic mistake. What else but that? Botched, or straight out never-meant-to-be, time appointment between two seasons of another kind, misaligned, each its variant position in Time and Space, collided in some weird quirk (fate? fluctuation in the way of all things? cunning trick of Cosmic Mind?), resulting in blood-splashed vinyl, chrome and asphalt at the sharpest, though not the most dangerous, twist of Dead Man’s Curve.
Reason being questionable, we questioned whether reason could be reasonable (or questioned) at all.

The gold peak of the hundred-and-something-floor TKI obelisk stood five phallic stories — base shaft tip. Office and living quarters of the Heir. Base node of Dynasty: TKI Technologies; TKI Systems Subsidiaries; TKI Pharmaceuticals; TKI Chemicals; TKI Dereliction Deterrent Technologies (DDT); TKI Desktop Operating Systems; TKI PYRAMID Database. Root OS of Empire. Kit ’n caboodle. TKI Tower widest tallest hive of business in The City.
Plantman was summoned to work the indoor garden.

One evening after work Plantman saw a man in a rumpled uniform of sorts bounced out of the Cave Guy bar.
The man made a vain attempt to stand, then let his body crumble to the gutter. On closer inspection, Plantman was shocked to discover that this poor drunk was none other than The Manager of The CityPlex.
His uniform was soiled and unbuttoned, his hair uncombed.  He was a mess.
“Manager, can this be you?”

Creators collaborated under ultra-violet light.  Writers, artists, designers composed the mythic City, created the New Literature of The Nation. Comix, graphic novels, network animations.

Career peak at the suitably virile age of forty-two. Past becoming.  Don Coyote, The Star, had arrived.
The Star owned an apartment in The City. Plantman tended it year-round, entrusted with the key. When The Star was in The City, he and Plantman shared brandy, cigars, talk. As close to friendship as their relative stations would allow.
Epics of the Deep, Coyote’s first serious role not blasting trouble with an automatic, or bedding tough, winsome, wise-cracking femme fatales, might garner awards, he mused.

Starlette Nova landed in The City to promote—herself. Appeared on Television and Radio talk shows; nearly every newspaper and magazine in The City was privileged with an interview (questions limited to her stunning performance as “The Missing Girl”) and (no costumes or serious poses: five minutes of scripted ‘real time’) opportunity to photograph the starlet, Starlette.

Professor Alterkocher’s office was open to all always — even Summer hours. Room of his own. Read, thought, wrote, dispensed wisdom to The Young.
Plantman met with him one evening after work to discuss his famous new fame. Alterkocher wore his customary suit and running shoes, smoked his pipe. Hair unkempt. Beard-stubble — two days’ worth — gray-white-gray.
“Sit down, sit down,” said Alterkocher out of the pipe-side of his mouth. “Good to see you. Always good.”
“Good to see you, Professor. Long time.”

Epics of the Deep was the box-office sensation of the Summer.
Starlette Nova, who played “The Missing Girl,” and Don Coyote as “The Mad Cetologist,” covered every magazine that profiled celebrity entertainment interviews and idols of The Nation. Talk. Talk. Talkety-talk. shot straight through the eyes and ears of Citizen-consumers from sea to sea.  Powerful, powerful talk engendering excitement, illusions of important, almost Sacred Time, and a desire to spend money. To partake in or own part of the buzz.

Epics of the Deep, was a typical Big  Media over-production, but interesting in its implications: The Mad Cetologist gets hold of TKI Technologies’ Pyramid Human-Animal Language Translator (HALT), used to prove to vegetarians, “animal liberation” activists and other Viral Deviants, that while animals have a certain instinctual “intelligence,” they are far from human, and their liberation would not only result in a dearth of protein for the Citizens of The Nation, but the animals’ certain death from car accidents, starvation, not to mention immense health hazards caused allowing pigs, cows,