A quiet hush, a me-ma-me, and a clearing throat – all wisps slicing the quiet preparation behind the curtain. On it’s other side things are vibrant and full of life – youth dancing and feasting in celebration of 
another happy season, these things take so long year to year. The lights are dim, but spirits are high. The butterflies are well alive in everyone’s stomach as they stand silently with eyes closed, they mentally prepare – lines, lyrics, jokes, timing – timing is everything. Not every act is given three full stages across in which to perform, but ever since they were signed by a man in Topeka they’ve had a regular thing going here nearly every day. It’s a rough gig, but they love it. There’s the announcer, almost time. Heads tilt back with those eyes still closed, pulling deep nasal breaths into the lungs – socks will be rocked, possibly knocked, yes there is possible sock rock knocking. You can hear the dead lights quietly whir into place, and the clink of the stage curtains unlock and prepare to part.
… 
Having freelanced for a goodly set of years now, I’ve been required to scrummage a chicken bone or two from the mighty internet machine phenomenon known as Craigslist. If you aren’t familiar with what exactly Craigslist is – allow me to lay the information over your brain in moist strips in an elegant way that wasn’t suckled thoroughly from the welling teat that is Wikipedia, much. Craigslist, in it’s basic form, is an online bulletin board used for finding jobs, apartments, missed connections, furniture, or to learn of community events. There are many, many more categories, but largely they involve entertaining your personal fetishes with other twisted deviants just like yourself, and a variety of other listings that boil down to some form of costuming and/or anonymous sex. It was birthed into this world in the mid nineties by Craig Newmark, a fresh arrival to San Francisco, and he created the simple website as something for his friends. It then blossomed into a hydraulic behemoth – iron jaws unforgiving, digital information passed to here and there, ever sniffing the crotch of society for anonymous encounters. It was the same tale that most internet gazillionaires endure – they make something so rudimentary, something to simply share their love of carpet samples to the world, then the next thing they know they’re snorting snow off the chest of some strange woman who’s after their billions from their empire – “karpetzter.com – A social home for digital social carpet samples online universe data.”
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A quick note: The following work of fiction is a conclusion to part one, the tale of a rubber thumbed recluse named Mr. Friendly. As before, it’s a little more dark than the fare you may be accustomed to from your humble author, so I’d like to caution the more sensitive readers / listeners. Maybe skip this one if you’re squeamish, have problems with violence, or are unable to come to terms with spoilt bananas. Otherwise, please enjoy.
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Autumn was relatively certain that her heritage was German or Scottish, but she preferred to shop like an Italian. Crisp air. Grey sky. Chilly. Baking soda. Bananas – finally, a good price. Such tiny effort was necessary to raise the fine strips of sinew below Autumn’s cheeks, those little ones that bared a white smile and melted Jonas’s heart. So little. Grocery shopping was easy – a stress free activity where the little price tags and nutritional labels did all the talking for you – Autumn loved this. She looked forward to the tiny samples, chatting with the old ladies wearing hair-nets and holding out various little somethings on various little toothpicks. Eat. Browse. Two hundred and thirty calories, no, this one has only one-eighty. Autumn’s red hair drew a stark image over the cold white of the freezer isles, as she walked past her breath painted fog over fish sticks. Six dollars, two for the price of one. Better get that one. The young man behind the plastic dome of deli meats stood and watched her, thin plastic glove over one hand. Red hair, really quite red. What a thin girl, tall too. Pastrami was six dollars a pound today. Her dress was pretty. Macaroni salad. Cole slaw.
She ran her finger tips over the oranges, double checked the price on those bananas, then decided it was time to check out. Autumn liked to read the covers on the tabloids – the ones everyone stared at as they waited to buy your groceries. “Madonna divorces.” “Giant man-baby attacks town.” “The Jonas Brothers play the Kid’s Choice awards.”
“Jonas. Always liked that name,” Autumn thought to herself. “I wonder what he’s up to tonight? Probably nothing. Probably sitting and drinking iced tea.” Autumn smiled when reading that name – Jonas – and that smile remained with her for the entirety of the time her groceries were scanned.
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