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Bubi and Conquest (part 3 of 3)
Posted on May 3, 2017
part one is here A cat zipped from under one table to another. It had been outside. ”It isn’t any fun to be a poor kitty in a downpour.” In the back of the prata place, on something like an altar, is an aquarium. A teaspoon of red tetras circle in the corner, and a bland piranha paces back and forth. The altar is covered with artificial grass. Pink cloth flowers are tied to the tree branches that are stacked around the aquarium. Like everything else here, everything’s big except a little naked doll standing in a circle of plastic roses. “Bubi! How are you?” I take two steps towards the aquarium and sit back down with the doll. “Bubi, this is Mysteriouswomanpool. Mysteriouswomanpool, this is Bubi.” She is obviously happy to see the doll and relieved that no one is watching. I lean Bubi against the clear plastic bag of buns that have black lips. “I met Bubi years ago, when I lived in Minnesota. She used to go out with a classmate of mine, a Norwegian hockey player named Bjorn Free Vikingstad. In the summers we often enjoyed banana and ham pancakes.” She laughs a big laugh and I laugh a bigger laugh. Together we laugh very very bigly. I quit while I'm ahead. “Bubi must go back to Minnesota now. We can call her later, though.” I push my empty glass to the edge of the table, she does the same. Now, the place is empty. I count coins and put them on the table.” “Three eighty boss.” He slides the coins onto his palm. We walk out into the heavy rain, down the slope of Jalan Pahang. Our inkblot shadows float on a river of silver fingerprints. Despite our hopes, we’ll be back here in a few hours, when the sky will be blue and rich with the smell of freshly baked banana bread. The laundry shops will be busy, the tailors will be arriving and the trendy two story cafes will still be closed. The cracks and potholes will be dry. The people who work here will again wonder what is wrong with us; same clothes, same three plastic bags. Now, though, we cling together against the cold ocean of night, plodding through glistening nets full of streetlights, neon and stars. Flowing, flowing, everything’s flowing toward the Great Attractor. She taps my elbow and I pull her closer. “Can we call Minnesota?” she says.