From: fabianb@tartarus.uwa.edu.au (Fabian Le Gay Brereton)
Subject: One night in the city
Date: 29 Aug 1993 06:59:33 GMT

Hi, this is my second post to a.c.c.

This story is sposed to be set in the chatsubo universe. In the next
installment I plant to introduce Buddha to Ratz and the gang. I'm a bit
unsure of how this all works. I mean do I leave the story hanging when
he enters the Chatsubo and wait for other characters to respond ? How
does it work ?

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 		_One Night In The City_

	Buddha waits, restless, listening, knows the mark's coming. He's
slouched against a wall in the shadows. He taps his feat in time to
imagined speed thrash dub, silently mouthing incoherent words. Too-long
adolescent arms hang at his side gripping a skateboard. He hears foot
falls approaching. He lifts up the board, holding it shoulder high. The
footfalls come closer as he slips from the shadows and rises up onto the
balls of his feat. Foot falls are closer, closer, closer, now. He steps
around the corner swinging, carving out a low flat orbit with the board,
driving hard, onto his toes, through his legs, through his body, arms
straining, stretched. WHACK, the leading edge of the board impacts with
the mans cheek. The little man goes down; eyes wide, jaw hanging off,
spitting meat and blood and bone and teeth. Buddha keeps spinning, out
of control almost tumbling over the body as it falls.	

	He steps back and and nudges the body with his cheap white
sneaker. A little bloke, crisp clean black uniform with medals and shit
on it,  shiny black boots, black crew-cut and half his face hanging off.
Buddha gets down on his knees and starts going through the guys pockets
when the ugly little fucker winks at him and attempts a grin. Something
goes SNICK, Buddha doesn't wait to find out what.

	Almost falling as he grabs the board he hits the road running.
Doesn't look behind him, just tucks the board under his arm and bolts.
As he explodes from the alley he crashes into some poseur in black
leathers, keeps running, careering through the crowd like a rogue
molecule in a gas jar. He wheels right towards the neon above the
'Underground Food Hall'.

	"Shit oh shit oh shit oh shit...", he keeps mouthing it as he
runs. The guy was wired or pumped or on some kind of bad shit, Buddha
didn't want any piece of that. He'd only been in Chiba city six months
but he'd learnt some things.

	He takes the escalator steps three at a time almost falling into
the food hall; all recessed fluro lighting, naked concrete walls, loud
conversations, too many mirrors, taped muzak, and the smells of frying
krill balls, sweat and sour pork, and microwaved nacho's. He stands in
the entrance, chest heaving. Only then does he risk looking over his
shoulder. It's clear. Laughing, relieved he scurries to a recently
departed table.

	He shoos away the cleaner who comes to collect the plates.
Scrapes an undersized  doughy lump of pork through the the sweet sauce
and forces it down, more gristle then meat. There's nothing left on the
other plate so Buddha lifts it up and licks off the remaining dribbles
of sauce. He drains the two short waxy mugs of Coke getting more ice
melt then anything else and looks around for more. That sailer was going
to be dinner. Nothing to it he slaps a blue derm (an opiate complex) and
a purple derm (a THC analog) to his neck. Nothing heavy just a mild
hallucinogen and a quiet downer to keep it honest. Leaning back on his
chair he lays his deck across his lap and lets the noises and colours
and smells of the hall wash over him like a comforting blanket.

	In a sonambulent haze he studies the detail on the underside of
his ceramic deck, using the sleeve of his blue coveralls to wipe away
the fine patina of blood. It's this beautiful naked lady, not porn
though, she's got long corn-yellow hair that she drapes over her body.
She's standing in this oyster shell that's coming out of the sea and
there's all these little people flying round. When you look really close
you can see this web of fine lines like tiny cracks in a tea cup.
They're not scratches though, the picture's covered in this weird
plastic shit. He can't skate but its the most beautiful thing he owns.

	She winks at him and he walks over to her,naked, feeling the
warm sand between his toes. Its not such a bad night after all.

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Copyright 1993 by Fabian Le Gay Brereton. Buddha's my first character,
be courteous. Comments appreciated.

--
 	Fabian Le Gay Brereton		"I was a big man yesterday--
	fabianb@tartarus.uwa.edu.au	 But you should see me now"