During Nicey's internal, self-inflicted paranoid meltdown, two nebulous characters drove by the gate for the seventh time.
One is the brains, the other the brawn.
"So far we have seen two dudes leave the property."
The Brains oily voice oozed.
"Hell yeah brotha!"
There was no real reason as to why he had chosen the property with the metal gate. He and his companion where simply driving through another set of country roads.
As they did.
See if they could "debrief," as they called it.
"Release the tension." "Give some conviction to the friction."
The Brawn adored The Brains, valued his friendship, known each other for thirty seven years, bonded over a number of shared interests.
One interest was professional wrestling.
The retro shit.
None of this model GQ stuff that was airing on the TV these days. Nah, that shit was corny as hell. For these two it was back in the day when wrestlers were 'fat', 'ugly' and terrorizing. It was the point. Then it got John Travolta-ed, pretty- boyed up and sanitized.
They found it boring, despised the fact that wrestling fans were now privy to backstage gripes and drama.
Ruined the illusion, ruined everything.
See.
For these two guys, their entire public facing faces was Kay Fabe, the ancient secret, a golden code. When the audience use to believe that the wrestlers were not just embodying a character, but actually were the character they portrayed.
It was not a soap opera, but reality TV (when people believed it was real).
Sworn enemies, best friends, all true.
No no.
Who they were to their co-workers, was their Kay Fabe.
To their family.
"Friends."
Neighbors.
All Kay Fabe.
Here on their bi-annual sojourn was them returning to their truest of forms.
"Boys trip," of kindred spirits.
"So there is the guy with the glasses that came with the young tan guy...then the low cut blonde one."
They had been driving by, then back again yesterday.
The Brains let The Brawn choose, this time, which car to follow, as Brains chose the last time.
"I am so amped!"
Brawn's moist turquoise eyes, wide with wild desire.
"Settle down, we are still in the stalking faze."
Brains knows Brawn, he too is teetering on the edge of the roller coaster drop, but for their hobby they needed focus and patience.
"We need to stick to the choreography of this ballet."
Cracking his thick tree trunk and roots neck by leaning his plump head to each shoulder.
"Calm yourself."
He smiled.
So fond he was on Brawn.
Realest of lads.
YOU ARE READING
Four Paths with Bigfoot
FantasyNicey Joyce is a thirty eight, recently unemployed and in a decade long relationship with a cantankerous visual artist. Feeling stifled in her one sided relationship, Nicey's confidence is eroded. Complacent about her initial goals and desperate for...
