Part 1 The telemarketer - Glimpse I

He awoke suddenly, the screeching of the subway breaks still echoing in his ears, yet the rhythmic balancing of the subway cart was eerily soothing.

As he looked around, confused, at the old wooden chairs, he noticed an illuminated plaque on the upper part of the cart's front facing wall. The small, orange, L.E.D.s changed from the word "NEXT" to the word "LOXLEY".

The chair he was sitting on was made from a hard wood with a shape meant to straighten the back and when he moved his hand, he touched what appeared to be his leather backpack.

He was alone in the cart the dark train cart. The lights that should have illuminated the interior weren't working and the only occasional light source was from the tunnel's maintenance lights. Dim, cold, and pale lights that cast long ghost like stripes on the interior as the train rushed by them.   

Eventually the lights came back on, and he got up and stumbled to a map of the subway network, as the cart swayed and swung, but after looking at it for a while he noticed his face in the window. The dark exterior of the tunnel made the window into a rudimentary mirror so he could see he was wearing a brown leather jacket with a blue shirt. And after looking down, he was surprised to notice his beige pants and, on his feet, brown leather boots that were almost to his knee.

The train stopped and the oval wooden doors on the right retracted and so he got off.

In front of him was a small coffee shop, seemingly embedded into the brick wall. The pattern of the brick was convergent to a point on the top of the station from where a electrified chandelier hanged in an comic attempt to illuminate the area. Additional lanterns were on the walls leading to the circular staircases of both sides of the station and on the entrance of the coffee shop.

He had never seen a red brick subway station, but the small square yellow tiles that paved the floor, he was sure he had seen before. They were worn down as if rivers of people had eroded them in time.

"Le Pink Trabant" was the name of the cafe and the sound of laughter and people talking suddenly seem to come from inside. Yet after pulling the french stile door he saw that the cafe was empty, the only sound he could hear was of the entrance bell that was hit by the door.

As he stepped further into the cafe, past the entrance archway a cold air came from the left side and pulled him into a darker part of the establishment where the light did not reach.

Walking deeper into the darkness a ray of light hit his eyes from the right.

- There you are! A woman said. You were so late I thought you weren't going to show up.

Her warm voice filled the room and she hugged him as an old friend would after a long separation.

- Come have seat. She continued to say. The bright orange light of the morning sun peered through the laced curtains and fell on the young woman's silver blond hair.

- I have good news. She said smiling while reaching for her cup. The tea set was of beautiful pure white china with bright red raspberry motifs. She was wearing a light peach colored suit with an odd looking little white fox on her shoulders.

He never liked dead animal skins.

- My uncle has agreed to fund your expedition, isn't that great? She spoke.

- Aah? Came his first response. I suppose it is.

She was about to sip from the cup, her pink lips just about to touch the brim when she stopped to laugh. She had a sweet laugh and her light grey-blue eyes closed slightly when she laughed.

- Full of enthusiasm as always, can't you smile for me once? But where are my manners would you like something to drink or eat? This cake is wonderful, it's forest berries cream and the turkey sandwiches here are delicious. And with a flick of her hand a waiter appeared.

As she engaged in a conversation with the waiter, he noticed her long white fingers had black nails that probably were assorted with the black pearls around her neck, ears and hair pins. She wore a wine-colored blouse with cleavage that peek through the white fluffy fur that seemed to merge with her long platinum braided hair, giving her a rather formal look compared to himself. "Her overall features are round and soft, but her face is too long for a woman" he thought, and she was too tall for his taste.

Before he could say what he wanted to eat the waiter had turned around and disappeared through an archway. Plants were hanging over it and only now he realized that plants were all over the place, at the bar, in every window, table and separee fence.

-You know you must put on your best clothes and give a great show? She asked rhetorically. You'll have to impress them. Your long dandy chestnut hair will impress any girl but not these men, also I insist you get a shave. The whole rugged adventurer look is charming but ...

-What, a haircut … and shave? He answered in a distracted tone. 

-I will miss your hair, but such lush locks will probably intimidate the bold and ageing.

-Did you just call my hair dandy? My hair is not dandy ...it's well kept. I'm sure you of all people can appreciate that.

-Indeed, I like all things lush. And then she smiled with a trace of malice.

Don't forget, we’ll meet at...

THE INFERNAL RING of his mobile and he was back in his bed, cold sweat in the damp morning air. He managed to shut the alarm off when a cold wind blew from the window. He fell back into the slightly warm bed. The paint was peeling of the ceiling and the painted over dampness of some leakage was penetrating from beneath.  

Outside the grey city of Donetsk lay brooding under smog from the nearby demolitions. The ruling party had vowed to not enter the year of 2312 without improving the infrastructure and removing old shameful scars from the city, as if the new year would wait for them. 

His small room had a cheap carpet on the floor, a grimy carpet, that every time he stepped on it he vowed to clean it, but always would return home so tired that he never did. His whole world was tired like him, no refuge from this feeling, everything reminded him of his miserable existence and for a fleeting moment he remembered how on the news young healthy people were suddenly dying in their sleep with no explanation, baffling the scientific community. 

"Maybe they found a way to disconnect and leave this life, painlessly, quietly" he wondered in solemn silence. "Maybe they would be kind enough to share their secrets with me if I asked them nicely, but how do you talk to those beyond the grave?"  

In the cold and damp embrace of his bathroom he looked and pondered "Another day, same routine, still balding, still getting fatter". He was brushing his teeth in front of the mirror while running his fingers through his hair to see how far the hairline had receded. The prognosis... not favorable, but the day of the dead was coming, the rare occasion when looking bad was good and when the dead walked the earth more literarily.