the two boys are adolescent versions of themselves.  they are on the couch on the ground floor being lazy slobs.  they ask me if i know the Blue Man.  What? I ask them.  They say, yeah, we saw a blue man fly through here earlier.  he was super fast. and as they’re describing it i see what they saw.  some version of Sub-Zero dashing through like a ghost. of course that’s how they would see the blue god, not recognizing him for what he is.  Yes, i tell them, I know the Blue Man.  they want me to bring him back though i’m not sure it was me who brought him here.  it could have been a servant. they’re going to drop acid that night and want to ask him questions.  they’re already giggling, not knowing divinity of the self, let alone of others. i tell them they’re fucking stupid. when has anyone ever enjoyed themselves on acid? no, i won’t do it. it would be a waste.
i am walking back home in the dark.  i have a frozen pizza with me and the weather is still and hot.  the houses are lit in suburbia and the road curves for no reason at all other than it looks prettier, richer.  the houselights barely reach the sidewalk or the street.  i take a bite of the pizza, wanting to go home as slowly as possible.  i forget that it hasn’t been cooked because it has warmed up in my hands.  it’s still dry and crumbly and i spit it out.  i’ll dip it in the developer when i get home.  hopefully the boys haven’t fucked with the dark room.
When i get back the boys are still on the couch. i tell them i’m going to the dark room to dip the pizza and they tell me i can’t.  they tell me the cops are coming.  what? why?  they point to a little boy riding a big wheel through the house.  Is he ok? i ask.  where did he come from?  they tell me they’ll explain later.  but they refuse to tell me anything now.  i never see the boy’s face, only the back of his head, his hair in a perfect bowl cut. straight out of an 80’s horror movie.