How I Feel
How do you feel? Like you could give Jacob tips on wrestling the supernatural. You have a Gallardo in a shade of color so optically caustic even the blind take notice; over a million Instagram followers; occasional invites to mid-level club openings; and you were this close to getting cast in that show on Bravo. You still can’t believe your mother told you to stay in law school, that your fame was only temporary. Temporary? You went viral over a year ago, you’re here to stay.
The coins have taken over your dreams. It’s become an obsession, an unholy need to gather some sign of progress. You know you’ll never reach the princess: that’s clear to you now. It was just a ruse to give you purpose as you ran along, collecting the damn coins and killing those poor creatures; you still shudder at the thought of crushing them beneath your feet, the screams they make as you leap up to stomp yet another. You’ve tried ending things before, of course: hurdling yourself into pits or the maws of fire-breathing plants; yet you always find yourself reappearing healthy and regenerated, somehow still alive. You haven’t seen Luigi in years. Sometimes you find a bloodied scrap of his green jumpsuit along your own path – but you have to go forward, always forward, never back. The gold coins are the only thing that are still real to you, your only companions in this nightmare.
You cheerfully ring your bike’s bell as you pedal past your cheese-monger, M. Picard; he waves back, beret askew. The air is crisp today, a gentle breeze diffusing baguette-smell and strains of accordion music throughout the city. Nestled in your vélo‘s front basket lies a particularly hideous garden gnome; back from circling the world, it’s come time to return it to your friend. Your lips rise a little as you pass by the Musée de l’érotisme and make a right turn up the hill, dappled shadows flitting over you as you pass beneath the trees solemnly lining street en guard. Here we are: Joseph and Georgette are just leaving the Café des 2 Moulins and you can see Amélie inside with a slight smile that hints at mischief.
Party On My Mind
Yo Yo Honey Singh, Shefali Alvares, KK
Your publicist had said it would be a good networking opportunity: a collection of Bollywood’s hottest stars taking a boat out of the Royal Bombay Yacht Club to cruise the harbor. You’ve been trying to get Bad Boy Records India off the ground for years now, so of course you agreed. Then you arrived and boarded only for nobody to recognize you – you! Hip-hop mega-star, film actor, entrepreneur! As the boat cut through the sludgy water, you went to console yourself with an entire platter of samosas, which of course got grease all over your suit. You had looked down to start dabbing at it with your monogrammed kerchief when a highly-choreographed dance number broke out on the aft deck, an enthusiastic participant of which knocked you overboard. Now you sit bobbing and watching the mega-yacht cruise away, everyone too involved in the party to notice your absence. The Taj Mahal Palace Hotel sits upon the shore in the distance – you’d be able to change there if only your luggage hadn’t been impounded by Customs. A lone, pure teardrop falls into the filth of Mumbai Harbour as you swim slowly back to shore.
While I’m Alive
You never chose the silly string game; the silly string game chose you. You’re now the largest distributor of synthetic-based resin aerosol in the American Southwest and have earned the right to proudly strut around Scottsdale. Yes, you had to leave your dream of being a Deep House DJ behind. Okay, so it took years of struggle in the anarcho-capitalist world of silly string sales before you were even breaking even. Yeah, Karen left you and took the kids. Agreeing to give up all of your visitation rights stung, but it had to be done: she knew too much about Rick’s murder and look, that underhanded bastard needed to die or you would’ve never broken into the Phoenix market. It was worth it, though. Your current girlfriend owns the city’s Chili’s franchise – who ever thought you’d be half of a power couple? You’ve gone from silly string to pulling the strings in this town.