The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 25

Early The Next Morning.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!” wakes me up. Slayer is a poor choice for a cell phone ring tone. Sun is up, blinds are open. Eva is gone. I slap my hand at the night table until I paw the phone back to me.

“Hoosis?” I grunt. “What time is it?”

“11am,” says a nasally voice at the other end.”

“Whosis?” I repeat. The phone is cradled in my neck as I slap the table to find my glasses.

“Simon Magus,” says the voice, a little surprised. I guess I should have known.

“Never heard of you. Why are you calling me this early on a Saturday?”

“Sunday.”

I’m taken aback. “It’s not really, is it?” I confirm this with the clock on the phone.

“Yeah, it’s Sunday. Back to work tomorrow.”

“Why are you calling me this early.”

“You told me to call.”

I swing my legs off the bed and think about sitting up. “I told you?”

“Mmm Hmm.”

“Must have thought I’d be awake. Who is this?”

“Simon Magus... I write for Regular Crazy.”

“You know what a hangover is, Simon?”

“Straight Edge!” he says proudly.

“That’s a horrible frame of reference. Why are you calling me?”

Simon  is getting a little frustrated. “You agreed to an interview with Regular Crazy.” His voice is getting higher. “You told me to call you at 11am Sunday!”

“Who is Regular Crazy,” I ask.

“It’s my zine,” says Simon Magus.

“Never heard of it. I agreed to this?”

“Yes sir. I called you earlier this week. You said you were busy and asked me to call back Sunday morning.”

“You thought I meant that?” I go to the window. My building is three stories and built atop a hillock. From my window I’ve got a view of the whole valley. “I usually get paid for this.”

Simon Magus coughs. “At this time, Regular Crazy is privately funded, with most costs going to printing. Once I sell some ads, I’ll have extra funds for compensation. Just a fanzine.”

“You sound like a second rate hack.”

“Excuse me?” asks Simon, shock in his voice.

“Have some confidence,” I say. “‘Just a fanzine?’” The kitchen is a mess with dirty dishes. I go to breakfast with Nepotism on Sunday mornings, but he’s always late, and an egg sandwich would settle nicely in my noisy stomach. “A fanzine is a weapon in the war against oppression. You’re assembling a sacred  missive. Fanzines let the kids know there is still hope, someone is still fighting for the little guy. You keep up the good work, and you be proud, hear me?”

Go to Part 26