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Dare Da by Dei
Dare Da by Dei
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"Who are you?"
She's a fine car and you're happy to have her. Feel her idling vibrations through the palm of your right hand, which you have on her steering wheel. Your elbow is on her warm metal skin where it meets the rubber lip of the window sill. Inhale: it's her leather and the air of the race track -- warmed over fumes and oil and asphalt, cut through with brake fluid and gasoline. Smile and promise her the checkered flag. Smile all the while looking at your asker. Smile and answer: "The person who's beating you, of course."


"Who are you?"
Cease hoicking the fresh ice slimy crates of packed mackerel and grin as you hold out your hand to him. Wipe your hand down on the rough front of your overalls, once, as if only just remembering. He will refuse it. They always do. "I'm with Capt. Jack here, helping pull in the catch. Pleased to meet you." Offer your hand again, with your smile wider than ever and he will back off, curiosity satisfied and uneager to make closer acquaintance.


"Who are you?"
It's best to be busy, to send the cloth wiping over the counter though it's already clean, hold glasses to the light to check for smudges, touch the remote so that the music is first a little too loud, then a little too quiet. All during this, glance at him in little snatches, take him in in pieces, as if you'd like nothing more than to be talking to him, if only you didn't have so many things to do. "Well, Jill isn't here today so I'm just taking care of this bar for her. Usually, I play for this local band but, ..." Watch his eyes start to glaze and finish off with "...and would you like something to drink, sir?"


"Who are you?"
Mostly animal and mineral with a trace of vegetable, if you please. Squirm; it takes the eyes away. And choose your words. "Looking for bugs...seen any?"
He appraises as he thinks of what to make of you.... He smiles and shakes his head in negation. "You're a funny little boy."
There, he has named you to his satisfaction and he gives you a quarter to reward himself for his cleverness. Funny Boy. Watch him go, go round the corner and send the quarter spinning after him, until it chips a tiny powdering of brick off the corner he just went round. And you're a Stupid Little Man. Two can play the naming game.


"Who are you?" he asks.
Strike the match, hold it almost cupped in your palm while the flame flares through its mini-explosions of phosphorus and sulfur until it catches the wood and burns steady, then raise it to your face so he sees it framed against the dark. "Galaxy Security. G-Force." Snuff it out between fingers, it is painless on the skin of your glove.
"What's your name?"
"That's hardly important from your point of view." You are behind him; strike the gun out of his hand. He will not resist: in his eye, you were still the afterimage *over there*...

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