"Dim Corridors of Silence"

 

Neither of our friends could bear staying silent for much more than a minute in another person's presence, and so after fifty-nine seconds had barely elapsed they simultaneously spoke. 

"You know –"

"You know –"

"Yes?" said Addison.

"No, you go first," said Milford.

"No, please, by all means, after you, old chap."

"No, I insist."

"Well, only if you insist."

"I do."

"You know –" said Addison, again.

"Yes?" said Milford.

"Hmm."

"Go on.".

"This is embarrassing."

"No need to be embarrassed, Addison. Not with me. I am the crown prince of embarrassment."

"Well, here's the thing, Milford."

"Yes?"

"I've forgotten what I was going to say."

"Oh."

"So why don't you just go ahead and say whatever it was that you were about to say?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Please, feel free."

Milford paused, or, at any rate, he said nothing as they continued to walk along, and at the minute mark Addison spoke again.

"Why the hesitation, old man?"

"I'm hesitating," said Milford, "because I too have completely forgotten whatever it was I was going to say."

"Oh," said Addison.

"Not that it matters."

"And why is that?"

"Because I've never said anything interesting or original in my life, and I very much doubt that I'm about to begin now."

Addison now took the sort of pause the popular novelists he preferred would have described as thoughtful.

"May I say something?" he then said.

"Please do," said Milford. "Anything would be better than walking lost along these dim corridors in utter silence."

"What I have to say is only this," said Addison, his voice assuming the heavily George Sandersesque tone he reserved for his most profound pronunciamentos, "which is that once you start requiring yourself to be interesting or original you might as well just take a vow of silence like one of those monk fellows. Because, my dear fellow –"

"Wait."

"What?"

"Listen."

They both stopped.

"Do you hear that?" said Milford.

Addison cocked an ear.

"Yes," he said. "I hear it. A faint rumbling."

"An amorphous sort of mumbling," said Milford.

"A slightly sort of sinister grumbling."

"From up ahead there."

"In the darkness, yes."

"What if it's those guys?" said Milford.

"The douchebags you mean?"

"Yes."

"Could they still be after us?"

"Why not? Maybe they have nothing better to do."

"If they catch up to us," said Addison, "I daresay they will tear us limb from bloody limb."

"Yes, at the very least they'll thrash us senseless."

"Or," said Addison, "that just might be the sound of friendly people."

"I'm afraid," said Milford.

"So also I."

"As much as I find life tedious still I cling to it."

"As well you should, my friend. After all this might just turn out to be your night."

"Or it might turn out to be the night on which I am beaten mercilessly to death."

"So what do we do?" asked Addison. "Walk toward the sound of human beings, or retreat?"

Once again Milford paused.

The rumbling mumbling grumbling grew louder.

"I could be wrong," said Milford, "but it sounds to me like an angry drunken mob."

"The douchebags."

"Possibly."

"So we should retreat."

"Yes, I think that might –"

Ahead down the corridor the folds of darkness stirred, shadows took anthropoid form, and a voice echoed, shouting.

"Hey, it's them! It's those two cunts!"

Another voice shouted and echoed.

"Come on, boys, let's get 'em!"

Feet trampling, guttural cries.

"Oh no," said Milford.

"I think our questions have been answered," said Addison.

The time for conversation had ended, and the time for turning tail and running for one's life had come. Again.

And so on they ran, as fast as their unathletic legs could carry them, and as far, turning a corner to the right, and then another one to the left, and then they saw a staircase and mounted it, leaving it at the next floor and then ran down another hallway, but still they heard the distant shouting and the stamping of angry feet, and on they staggered wheezing and sweating until they came to another staircase, turning into it and stumbling almost falling down a flight, and on the landing they saw a door under a dim light fixture with a hand-painted sign that said in cursive letters

 

Do Not Enter

"Oh, thank God," said Milford, panting, sweat streaming down his face, and he put his hand on the door knob.

"It says do not enter," panted Addison.

"Fuck that," said Milford, and he pulled and twisted the knob. 

"Is it locked?" said Addison.

"Yes, it's locked," said Milford.

"Knock."

Milford knocked, and then pounded with his fist.

"Hello!" he shouted.

"Not so loud," said Addison. "The douchebags will hear you."

"Hello," rasped Milford, in a stage whisper, and he continued to pound on the door.

"Don't pound so loud," said Addison. "You'll give our position away."

Milford continued to pound, but less forcefully.

And then the door opened, inward, and a little old man stood there in shadows.

"May I help you?"

"Listen," said Milford, "excuse us, we know the sign says do not enter but my friend and I are being chased by an angry mob who want to kill us."

"To kill you?"

"Or," said Addison, "at the very least to beat us to within an inch of our lives."

Behind them and from up the stairs came the sound of tramping feet and shouting voices.

"Please, sir," said Milford. "That's them."

"Yes, I hear them," said the old man. "You boys certainly are in a pickle, aren't you?"

"Yes!" whined Milford.

"Ha ha," said the old man.

"We adjure you, sir," said Addison. "If you could just –"

"You young pups!" said the old man. "If it isn't one thing it's another! Very well then, come in if you're coming, and I daresay you had better be quick about it."

Neither Milford nor Addison had to be invited twice, and in they went, and the old man closed the door behind them.

{Please go here to read the unexpurgated "adult comix" version, profusely illustrated by the illustrious Rhoda Penmarq…}

"Onward Into the Dark"

 

The weedy man with the garnet toupée still sat on his stool by the doorway, smoking his pipe.

"What, you're leaving already?"

"Yes, well, just a quick one," said Addison.

"Oh, 'a quick one'," said the man, what was his name? Ben?

"Yeah," said Addison, "one and done, you know…"

"No, I don't know," said the man, yes, Ben was his name, Ben the Bore. "I'll tell you what I do know. Do you want to know what I know?"

"Sure," said Addison.

"What I do know is you yourself don't look like the one-and-done type. You look more like the drink until you run out of money or people to buy you drinks type to me."

"Um –" said Addison. Was he really that transparent?

"And as for you," the man addressed Milford, "you strike me more as the sit sullenly at the bar downing beer after beer until the bartender throws you out at 4 A.M. at which point you stagger into the nearest alleyway and pass out in a pool of your own piss on the cold cobblestones amidst the garbage and rats type."

"Uh –" said Milford. Was it really that obvious?

"What's the matter," said the guy, "this place not 'exciting' enough for you two?"

"No," said Addison, "it's not that –"

"Not enough brilliant repartee for you gentlemen here?"

"Look, sir," spoke up Milford, "we're just leaving, all right? There's no law saying we have to stay here, is there?"

"Not that I know of," said Ben the Bore.

"Well, then, good night."

"But can I just say something?"

"Okay," said Milford, sighing, for the twelve-thousandth and thirty-fourth time since he had awakened long ago the previous morning from a troubled sleep into a more troubled wakefulness.

"Why are you sighing?" said the man.

"Don't mind Milford," said Addison, "he sighs quite often."

"I hope I'm not boring him," said Ben the Bore.

"Oh, I'm sure you're not," said Addison.

"Am I boring you, Milforth?" said the man, to Milford.

"My name is Milford, and, yes, you're boring me," said Milford.

"Well, that's just too bad, young fellow, because I've got something to say, and you're going to have to listen to it."

"All right," said Milford, putting his fist to his mouth to stifle another sigh.

"I just want to say," said Ben the Bore, pausing and pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe at Milford, and then at Addison, "I only wish to say that I hope you two fellows don't think you're better than us."

"We don't, we assure you," said Addison.

"Then why may I ask are you leaving when you just got here?"

"We have to go somewhere."

"Where?"

"To another bar."

"Another 'bar'?"

"Yes."

"What other bar." 

"It's called the Hideyway I think."

"The Hideaway?"

"Yes, that's it."

"That's a Negro bar."

"Yes, we're aware," said Addison.

"You're not Negroes."

"Of that we also are aware."

"Then why are you going there?"

"Listen –" said Milford, "Ben is it?"

"Yes," said the man. "Ben. Ben the Bore. I'm surprised you remember my name. Most people don't. And I suppose you know why."

"Because you're so boring?"

"Yes. Which is why I am called Ben the Bore. Not Ben the Exciting Guy. Ben the Bore. And I am okay with that. But you were saying something? Or about to?"

"Yes," said Milford, "but now you've bored whatever it was I was going to say right out of my head."

"And for that I apologize. See? I may be a bore, but at least I'm polite."

"Uh," said Milford.

"Boring but polite, that's me," said Ben the Bore.

"Yeah," said Milford. "Oh, wait, now I remember –"

"Remember what?"

"What I was going to say."

"Please say it then. See, I said please, because I'm polite."

"Okay," said Milford, "what I was going to say was, and no offense intended, but what business of yours is it that we're going to a Negro bar or any other sort of bar?"

"Oh," said Ben. "Wow."

"What do you mean?" said Milford.

"What I mean is, wow, the arrogance."

"How is what I said arrogant?"

"Because you're implying that I am overstepping my bounds simply because I find it shall we say curious to say the least that two gentlemen as blatantly Caucasian as yourselves would want to go to a Negro bar, but you won't stay and enjoy yourselves here, with your fellow members of the European ethnicities."

"Here's one reason," said Milford. "It's that everything about this place is boring, and annoying, including you. The whole place reeks of tedium. Even the bartender told us we should leave."

"He did, huh? That's Joe for you. Well, I'm sorry he said that, and I will have to have a word with him. We can't have him scaring away customers that way. So, look, why don't you fellows go back to the bar and just have another drink, maybe get something to eat. If you don't want the baloney and American cheese sandwich on white bread special, you might consider the peanut butter and jelly on white bread, that's pretty good."

"Sorry, we're going," said Milford.

"So what you're saying is that it's really just too boring for you here."

"Yes," said Milford, "it's too boring here."

"That hurts," said Ben. "And you know why it hurts? It's because you two look pretty damn extremely boring to me. And if you fellows think it's too boring here, what does that say about this place? About everyone in here? What does it say about me? Yeah, I'll admit it, that hurts. That stings."

"But we really do have somewhere else to go," said Addison. "So don't take it personally."

"Right," said Ben. "The Hideaway. The Negro bar."

"Yes," said Addison.

"I wish I could go there," said Ben.

"Then you should go," said Addison. "It's really quite an amusing place."

"Yeah, I'll bet it is," said Ben.

"So go there sometime," said Addison.

"I did try to go there one time," said Ben. "They wouldn't let me in. And, you know, it wasn't because I was white, either."

"Oh," said Addison.

"No, it wasn't because I'm white. It was because they said I looked too boring."

"Let's go, Addison," said Milford, after a pause that was awkward even compared to all that had gone before.

"Sure, go," said Ben the Bore. "I won't stop you."

"Thanks," said Addison. 

"Don't thank me," said Ben.

"All right," said Addison.

"Just leave," said Ben the Bore. "But I will say this. Don't come back."

"We won't," said Milford.

"Enjoy the Hideaway. Enjoy the Negro bar. Enjoy the music, and the happy people. Enjoy your capability of experiencing enjoyment."

"We'll try to," said Addison.

"Come on, Addison," said Milford. He didn't want to have to touch his friend's arm again, but he would if it came to that.

"Okay," said Addison. "Good night," he said to Ben the Bore.

"I hate my life," said Ben.

Addison was rarely at a loss for words, but now he was. Milford broke down and gave his companion's arm a slight pat, and they went to the door. Addison opened it, Milford went through, and Addison followed him.

Outside in the dim corridor Addison took one last drag from what was left of his latest Chesterfield and dropped it to the floor.

"Okay," he said.

"Yes," said Milford. "Okay."

He went over and stepped on Addison's Chesterfield butt, grinding it out with the sole of his stout workman's brogan.

"I'm starting to wonder," said Addison. "If we'll ever find our way back."

"Me too," said Milford.

"I mean," said Addison, "should we just give up? Just keep going until we find an exit, and go home?"

Milford paused.

"No," he said. 

"Are you thinking of the ladies we left back at the Hideyway?"

"The Hideaway," said Milford.

"Yes," said Addison.

"Yes," said Milford. "I was thinking of them."

"I don't really want to go home either," said Addison. "So shall we continue?"

Right before them was the dim hallway leading back the way they had come, and to the right and the left was another dim hallway, ending in darkness in both directions.

"We should have asked for directions," said Addison.

"Yes, we should have," said Milford.

"We could go back in and ask that Ben guy for directions."

"Yes, we could," said Milford.

"But we're not going to, are we?"

"No, we're not," said Milford.

"Okay, then," said Addison. "Which way?"

Milford looked to the left, and then to the right.

"To the left?"

"Fine," said Addison.

"No, to the right," said Milford.

"Right it is," said Addison.

They hesitated a moment, and then, without another word, turned to the left, and walked down the dim corridor towards the darkness.

{Please go here to read the unexpurgated "adult comix" version in A Flophouse Is Not a Home, profusely illustrated by the illustrious Rhoda Penmarq…}