Dream of the Dragon

January 5, 2012

WZW 1452

by Justin

Several hundred seagulls guarded the gates of what appeared to be a trash sorting facility. No signs named the place, no address could be seen to guide a visitor. The gulls rose and fell like waves of arrows atop every rooftop, flapping madly when large trucks rolled up to the central warehouse laden with treasure.

To the credit of the city, none of the characteristic smells of rot and chemicals wafted out. Although that may be indicative of some terrible and unsustainable efforts to keep the operation inoffensive.

A long, stumbling, and stupid endeavor to break fewer laws resolved itself today, owing much to the gracious professionalism of one woman trumping the trollishness of another. The moment was memorialized by seven characters, blue hammered into white: WZW 1452.

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January 4, 2012

Unlocking Charm.

by Justin

A yellow Grand Cherokee parked outside the convenience store wore the license plate CUREOUS. The license plate reminded me of my father and his choice of HEEL EM, which was a nod to his profession as doctor and his alma mater of UNC Chapel Hill. CUREOUS may be a variation on that theme, though more suitable to some hotshot, misanthropic diagnostician.

The unnaturally blond woman behind the counter tossed the following nicknames my way, all in the span of one minute, and all as charmingly as you can imagine: Sweetie, Honey, Darling, My Love. That last one accompanied the request that I sign the credit card receipt.

I walked past a small, silver sports car parked in a driveway some 15 feet from the street. The rear mirror rocked a single decal with a single word: Alohomora. I’ll grant that the letters were both small and distant, but even after careful scrutiny (from the non-trespassing vantage of the road) I could only see Alohomora.

The Unlocking Charm is, of course, extremely useful, but simple bewitchments can guard against its effects. Over Christmas my niece shared a special affection for that spell. “I just realized how much I love saying Alohomora,” she said. “It’s just really fun to say.”

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January 3, 2012

Sand tears and cockatrice kisses.

by Justin

MJ #3

Chicago visited the streets today. The wind off the ocean gusted at 40 mph and drove the temperature into the low 20s – enough to bring the first real nips of winter. The 10-foot spray of one inlet’s fountain lost its symmetry, bending hard to the south as if its hose were kinked.

A stone fawn (kissed by a cockatrice) crouched behind the weathered picket fence of a small yard, looking out across the street.

The following small sign marked the entrance to a restaurant, hailed locally as a great seafood dive: “Future National Historic Site.” It’s simple enough to be overlooked, as respectable and unassuming as a monument marker. But it inspires so many questions! Has this site been recognized by some national committee, and now it just awaits some formal opening? Are papers processing? Is someone betting that something of great historic significance will happen there? Did someone from the future plant it as a joke? A fortune-teller’s prediction? A prank? Where can I buy such a sign?

Odds are there was some famous landing of early settlers thereabouts, now celebrated by cheap drinks and seafood. The sign offered no elaboration.

Icarus cries sand tears most days – the product of launching himself wide-eyed at fallen frisbees. If he fails to catch it out of the air, he jumps into the beach itself with equal abandon. After each attack he coughs up a handful of slimy sand and his eyes are ringed by little crystals. The tears show up hours later, most often after a nap. Usually it’s one for each eye, a mixture of sand and salt water that solidifies at the edge of his tear duct like a soft stone.

This evening, for the first time, a sand tear formed and rested below the center of his eye.

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