DM-R: The last leg of your trip to Los Angeles passes through hours of desert, broken by the occasional small community built up around truck stops. DM-R: the bus passes the settlements with greater frequency, you think you can see a brownish haze on the horizon ahead, the City of Angels' dirty halo. ***Bernard stares out the window at the passing terrain, bored after hours on a bus. DM-R: The Greyhound picked up a lot of passengers in Arizona, all headed to California and LA for various reasons, but no one is talking. Perhaps the desolation outside is getting to them too. DM-R: You can tell that the bus's ventilation is beginning to strain, and it's certainly unable to compete with the heat output of the passengers; you've been sweating for several minutes at least. ***Bernard pays no heed. Time spent in burning buildings has inured him to most heat. DM-R: After what seems like an unbearable eternity, the bus is entering the densely packed urban sprawl... And finally, it pulls into the station. DM-R: Your fellow passengers stand up and begin collecting their things to file out in a herd. ***Bernard waits until everyone has gotten off the bus. He's in no hurry. DM-R: The driver comes back in, ditching a cigarette stub. DM-R: (Driver) "Oh! I thought everyone got off. Are you connecting to Pasadena?" Bernard: "Ah, no. I should probably get off, was just waiting for everyone to clear out. Hate standing up, only to have to hunch down over the overheads, you know?" DM-R: (Driver) "Sure thing. Seeya." ***Bernard grabs his bag and steps out into the station. DM-R: It's refreshingly cool in the shade of the Greyhound station, at least, in comparison to the poorly ventilated metal box. ***Bernard glances around, looking for some place he could stop for a bite to eat. DM-R: There's a generic coffee shop across the street, next to a $1 Chinese place and a Denny's. ***Bernard inspects the contents of his wallet briefly, then heads for the $1 Chinese place, squinting at the sun as he steps out of the shade. DM-R: It's a vague, orange-brown smudge through the smog. DM-R: A bell on a piece of red string jangles as you push open the door to the $1 Chinese food place. DM-R: (Man) "Hallo! Wercome to Hong's may I herp you!" ***Bernard takes a look around. DM-R: He's standing behind the food containers, and has greasy handprints on his apron. DM-R: The place looks like it was converted from some other restaurant ages ago; the walls are faux brick from the floor to about hip height, where it becomes stucco, with recesses that bring to mind Mexican Villas. DM-R: A little shrine centered around a cheap color print of the Kitchen God is in the recess nearest the back. DM-R: The eating area is filled with little "seats four" plastic tables laminated with woodgrain; no one else is here right now. DM-R: The sole visible employee cleans his hands on his apron and stirs the orange chicken a bit while you glance around. Bernard: "Hey there. Can I get some orange chicken, some lo mein, and an egg roll?" DM-R: (Hong) "Okay. One item plate, with egg roll." DM-R: He grabs a paper plate before stopping to ask, "For here or to go?" Bernard: "Here, please." DM-R: He nods, and places the plate on a plastic tray, scooping your request onto the plate, then grabbing an eggroll from under the heat lamps with plastic tongs. DM-R: He slides it over the glass sneezeguard, and rings up your order. DM-R: (Hong) "Something to drink?" DM-R: There's a soda dispenser behind him, and the ubiquitous silver tea warmer. Bernard: "Some tea, please." DM-R: He scoops a small brown plastic cup from under the register and dispenses some hot tea, placing it next to your plate. DM-R: He gestures at the plastic tray containing silverware, chopsticks, and napkins. ***Bernard hands him a few dollars, grabs some chopsticks and a napkin, and retreats to a table with a view of the street. DM-R: Hong disappears into the back. DM-R: The orange chicken is too sweet and a little gummy, the lo mien tastes like soy sauce in noodle form, but the egg roll is somewhat palatable. Bernard: "Eh well. Can't win 'em all." ***Bernard looks around to see if anyone's left a newspaper laying around, realizing that he should probably look for a job and a place to stay. DM-R: There's a messy stack of Chinese newspapers on a table near the back, and parts of an LA times one table over from you, entertainment section on top. ***Bernard reaches over for the LA Times. DM-R: The cover of the entertainment section says something about some comedian unfamiliar to you making his triumphant comeback. ***Bernard shakes his head and pages through the paper while he eats. DM-R: You flip to the job listings. Well, they're looking for sheriff's deputies... And the fire department is always hiring. A couple of thinly-disguised glorified data-entry positions. DM-R: The leasing ads have a dizzying number of apartments and rooms for rent, prices all over the place, in neighborhoods you've never heard of. Bernard: "Right. Guess I better figure out where things are. Maybe I'll wander downtown." DM-R: You see Hong walk over to your table out of the corner of your eye, wiping his hands on his apron. DM-R: "You looking for place to stay?" Bernard: "Yeah, I am." DM-R: (Hong) "My sister, she rent apartment nearby. 400 dollar a month." Bernard: "Sounds good to me." DM-R: Hong chuckles. "Maybe you look first, it pretty small." DM-R: He grabs a paper menu, folds it open, and scribbles an address for you. DM-R: (Hong) "Go that way two block, turn left, Coronado is three more stoplight." Bernard: "Thank you." DM-R: (Hong) "You welcome." ***Bernard accepts the menu, stands up, disposes of his trash, drops his tray back where it needs to be, leaves the LA Times in a neatly folded pile on his table, and heads for possible new lodging. DM-R: His directions are good, and you soon find Coronado Avenue. The address turns out to be a five-story red stucco apartment building wedged between a gray-green one and a beige one. DM-R: The directions say to buzz Apartment 1. ***Bernard does so. DM-R: There's a faint burst of static, and you can hear some clattering of pans from the window above you, accompanied by some vigorous words in Cantonese. DM-R: *krsshh* "Hallo?" Bernard: "I was told that you have an apartment for rent?" DM-R: (woman) "Oh, yes, my brother call ahead. Come up to second floor." DM-R: The door buzzes. ***Bernard goes in. DM-R: There's a little Chinese woman in her 30s on the landing waiting for you. Bernard: "Hi. I'm Bernard." DM-R: (woman) "Hallo. I am Mrs. Lai. Apartment this way." DM-R: She walks up the next flight of stairs. ***Bernard follows. DM-R: She walks to the door of apartment 24, knocks, cocks her head to listen for a moment, then pulls out a keyring on a string. DM-R: It's a horrendous tangle of dozens of different-looking keys, and it takes her a few minutes to find the right one. DM-R: She opens the door onto a single cramped room, about 15' x 12', with a door off to the right. DM-R: Surprisingly, it's furnished, and has clothing and other personal items strewn about. DM-R: She holds the door open to let you in. ***Bernard looks around for anything resembling the giant swarms of cockroaches doing battle with armies of rats that his last apartment had. ***Bernard steps inside. DM-R: You see no evidence of vermin. Bernard: "Is someone living here right now?" DM-R: (Mrs. Lai) "No, he no pay, then disappear for 2 months. No answer phone, phone number on reference no answer." DM-R: (Mrs. Lai) "Laundry on 1st floor, take quarter." ***Bernard looks around some more at the various possessions and the furnishings. DM-R: A couple pair of faded jeans folded in a corner, a sweatshirt balled up in the corner, a small stand with a faded square outline on top, suggesting a television used to occupy this position. DM-R: A mattress directly on the floor, with a single rumpled sheet and blanket. ***Bernard gestures to the door. "Bathroom through here?" DM-R: She nods. ***Bernard takes a look DM-R: It's not *clean* but it's not filthy, and is only a little effort from sanitary. A plastic orange toothbrush is still perched on the sink next to a mostly-empty tube of Crest. Bernard: "Right. $400 a month, was it?" DM-R: (Mrs. Lai) "Yes. You pay up front, cash, ok?" Bernard: "Yes ma'am." DM-R: (Mrs. Lai) "Okay. You need anything, I am in Apartment 1. I pay for water and electricity, you pay for your phone. Trash is Tuesday. I give you this key for now, I have locksmith come change lock tomorrow, okay?" Bernard: "Okay." DM-R: Once you pay her, she unclips the key and hands it to you. DM-R: She leaves the apartment. ***Bernard closes the door, and begins piling the previous resident's possessions in a corner, looking for some clue as to his identity. DM-R: There's an unplugged mini-fridge in the corner. You worry about its contents. DM-R: You find a neatly-folded pile of college-ruled paper under the pillow. Bernard: "Hm, what could this be?" ***Bernard reads it. DM-R: The pages are really bad, angsty poetry. Poorly spelled, to boot. DM-R: Many of them mention a "Michelle." One of them even attempts to rhyme it with "seashell." ***Bernard shudders. Bernard: "Well, guess I should find a convinience store and buy some trash bags and food to last me until I can get things organized here." ***Bernard locks the door behind him as he leaves to do just that. DM-R: You find a little Chinese market on the corner, and a liquor store on the corner across from that. DM-R: The windows to both are covered with metal bars. ***Bernard heads into the Chinese market, picks up a box of trash bags, some instant noodles, and some shrimp chips. DM-R: The cashier looks at you warily as he rings you up. ***Bernard nods to him. DM-R: He turns his head towards the back of the store and sniffs curiously. DM-R: He shivers a little, then finishes ringing you up. ***Bernard raises an eyebrow and tries to see what the clerk was looking at. DM-R: Shelves and more shelves. You don't see anything out of the ordinary - for a Chinese market, anyway. ***Bernard shrugs, pays for his stuff, and heads over to the liquor store. DM-R: You hear a sneeze behind you as you leave. DM-R: A 40-something caucasian man looks up at you over his newspaper from behind the counter of the liquor store. Bernard: "Afternoon." DM-R: (cashier) "Yep." DM-R: He goes back to reading his paper. DM-R: He has a short beard, and his brown hair, streaked with white, is pulled in a scraggly ponytail. ***Bernard heads over to the inevitable section of the store containing mixers and snack food, selects a few items, and returns to the counter to pay. DM-R: He folds his paper open to the page he was reading and places it on the counter beside him. DM-R: Hunting and pecking, he punches in each item into the aging, yellowed cash register. DM-R: Halfway through, he gets a quizzical expression on his face, and says, "Hold on a sec." Bernard: "Sure." DM-R: He bends down to look under the counter, and you can hear the clink of glass bottles being moved around. DM-R: (cashier) *sniff* *sniff* DM-R: (cashier, rising) "Nevermind. That'll be $12.73." ***Bernard hands him $13, puzzled by the recurring sniffing. DM-R: The register opens with a *ding*, and he slides over a quarter and two pennies. Bernard: "Thanks. There some sort of cold going around? Guy at the market across the street seemed to be sniffing a bit, too." DM-R: The cashier scoops everything into a brown paper bag. ***Bernard takes his change. DM-R: The cashier regards you quizzically for a moment. DM-R: (cashier) "Nah, just smelled somethin', thought maybe somethin' under the counner was leakin'." *sniff sniff* "Smell that? 's very faint." ***Bernard sniffs. DM-R: You don't smell anything out of the ordinary in a liquor store. Bernard: "Heh. Well then. Have a good one." DM-R: (cashier) "Alright, you too." DM-R: He stops paying attention to you and resumes reading his paper, rubbing at his nose absentmindedly with an index finger. ***Bernard takes his purchases and leaves. ***Bernard decides to take a shower upon returning to his apartment. He's been on busses for so many days that it might be him. DM-R: The light streaming in through a gap in the curtain wakes you up. ***Bernard wakes in a tangle of blanket. Bernard: "Urgh. New place. Right." DM-R: You can hear street traffic through the slightly open window. Bernard: "Guess I should find a job. Cash reserves won't hold out too long." ***Bernard digs his last set of clean clothes out of the bottom of his bag, does various morning things, and sets off to find a firehouse looking for recruits. DM-R: On your way out, you notice that the liquor store is oddly closed, despite the posted hours. Bernard: "Hm. Guy may have been sick after all." ***Bernard goes to back to the Chinese grocery to find a paper, maybe a local road map, and coordinating. DM-R: There's an unhappy looking teenage Chinese girl behind the counter today. DM-R: The National Inquisitor's front page features a laughably bad model of a flying saucer shooting a Greyhound bus with some sort of beam, accompanied by the headline "Anti-Immigration Aliens Ignite Illegals." ***Bernard smirks, will grab a copy of that paper to read for later. Should be worth a laugh. DM-R: The girl behind the counter sells you your papers and a local map sullenly. ***Bernard smiles at her as he pays and leaves. ***Bernard opens up the Inquisitor. DM-R: You open the tabloid to the story. There's a picture of "the remains of Passenger 42," a human shape entirely wrapped in gauze, like a mummy, missing its head and part of its upper torso, where the gauze is charred black. DM-R: "Yesterday," the article reads, "a UFO attacked Greyhound bus 2271 headed to Bakersfield from Pasadena in broad daylight." DM-R: "Eyewitnesses saw a bright flash of light, similar to experimental death rays in use by the CIA." DM-R: "One man was incinerated entirely, leaving only a pile of ashes, while another is in critical condition at an undisclosed secret government hospital in the desert." DM-R: "The beam did not harm the structure of the Greyhound, or surrounding inorganic matter, proof of advanced alien technology." DM-R: "Government officials have declined any comment on the incident, and many of the passengers have already had their memories erased as part of the coverup." ***Bernard chuckles. "So someone burned their hand on a hot window or something. Slow news day, I guess." DM-R: It goes on to quote some "experts," with laughably invented names like "Doctor Wolfgang Toschelsnauzen." DM-R: The only thing that sticks out is that, coincidentally, Greyhound 2271 was the bus you took to LA. ***Bernard raises an eyebrow, doesn't remember anything. ***Bernard tries to think of anything odd that he smelled on the bus, or any screaming or something. ***Bernard wonders, but hell, nothing probably happened, anyhow. ***Bernard goes back to finding some place to work. DM-R: You find the address of a fire station looking for recruits, and figure out how to get there by public transportation. DM-R: A man in a LAFD polo shirt and shorts greets you from his desk when you enter the door. DM-R: (fireman) "Morning. Can I help you with something?" Bernard: "Hey. I'm actually looking for a job. Just moved out here, but I was a fireman back in Chicago, figured I'd keep up with it." DM-R: (fireman) "Great! As it happens, we're hiring." DM-R: He opens a drawer and pulls out a short stack of papers. DM-R: (fireman) "If you have a resumee, that'd be great, otherwise, please fill out these forms." ***Bernard takes the forms. DM-R: Name, address, phone number, SSN, two prior addresses, four prior places of employment, and five character references. DM-R: The next few pages detail the hazards of the job, stating that the signee acknowledges awareness of the risks. DM-R: (fireman) "I'm Craig, by the way." He extends a hand. Bernard: "Bernard." ***Bernard shakes. DM-R: (Craig) "In case they do things differently out in Chicago, you fill out the forms, we run your background check - it'll be a couple days, no more than a week - and then we bring you back. Since you already have experience - recent experience - you probably won't have to go through any more hoops after we get confirmation." Bernard: "Sounds about the same, really." ***Bernard sits down and does paperwork. DM-R: After you finish, Craig collects the papers, straightens them on his desk, then clips them together and puts them in a bin on the desk next to his. DM-R: (Craig) "Alright, you're set. We'll give you a call as soon as we're done." Bernard: "I just moved into a new place, so the phone isn't hooked up yet." DM-R: (Craig) "Oh. In that case, drop by in about a week, but give us a call if you get your phone set up sooner." DM-R: Craig offers you his hand again. Bernard: "Good meeting you, Craig. Hopefully, we'll be seeing a lot of each other." DM-R: (Craig) "You bet." ***Bernard steps outside. DM-R: It's late morning in L.A. It's bright out, and the air is warm and dry. DM-R: A rusty pickup passes by where you're standing on the sidewalk, spewing grandfathered exhaust. ***Bernard fishes in his pocket for his sunglasses as he coughs in the exhaust cloud. Bernard: "Guess I may as well head home and deal with utilities. And find somewhere to buy a phone." ***Bernard attempts to find a phone booth with an intact copy of the yellow pages. DM-R: The nearest phone booth has been colorfully defaced with graffiti, and the coinslot is covered in a gooey, pink mass, smelling faintly of watermelon. DM-R: But for the cover, the phonebook is mostly intact. DM-R: There's a Radio Shack a couple blocks up the street; you probably passed it in the bus. ***Bernard heads for it. DM-R: Upon crossing the threshold, a small statue by the door emits a loud, high-pitched BEEP. ***Bernard twitches slightly, then heads for the cheapo stuff in the back, looking for a phone and generally ignoring sales drones. DM-R: A lanky teenager with shoulder-length hair pokes his head out of the back room. DM-R: (register biscuit) "...Hello?" Bernard: "Afternoon." DM-R: He walks out, smoothing his incongruous red tie. DM-R: (employee) "Can I help you find somethin'?" Bernard: "Point me to the cheapest, crappiest phone you have." DM-R: He blinks at you. DM-R: (employee) "Uh. Would you prefer cheaper or crappier?" Bernard: "Cheaper." DM-R: (employee) "Okay, here..." DM-R: He walks over to a display rack, lifts a grayish cardboard box from it, and hands it to you. ***Bernard examines the box in search of traits that might identify it as containing a cheap phone. DM-R: Its uninspired packaging has "TELEPHONE" printed in sans serif on one side, a $5.99 price tag stuck on another, and "MADE IN TAIWAN" stamped on the bottom. Bernard: "Good." DM-R: The heft and rattle as you take it leads you to believe it contains a plastic object of some sort. Bernard: "Oh, happen to know who I need to call for phone service around here?" DM-R: (employee) "Uh... My mom-- um, I don't deal with the phone company. Isn't it Pacific Bell or something?" DM-R: He looks tired. Bernard: "Probably something like that. You feelin' alright, kid?" DM-R: (employee) "Huh? Yeah, I'm good." DM-R: He glances around. DM-R: (employee) "Yeah, good... Will that be all?" Bernard: "Think so." DM-R: (employee) "Okay, cool." DM-R: He saunters towards the back room. ***Bernard blinks for a moment, then shrugs. Bernard: "Maybe I should pay for this before walking off with it, eh?" DM-R: There's some startled coughing from the back room, then silence. DM-R: He comes striding out of the back, fanning the air with his hands. DM-R: (employee) "Oh... right..." DM-R: He taps some keys on the register, then looks up at you. "What was it again?" Bernard: "Phone. Five ninety nine." DM-R: (employee) "... right..." *beep beep beep beep beep* "... Your total comes out to 6.49..." ***Bernard digs around in his pocket, comes up with exact change, and pays the kid. DM-R: (employee) "Want a bag, sir?" Bernard: "I'm alright." DM-R: (employee) " 'k, here's your receipt. Thank you for shopping at Radio... uh... Shack." DM-R: He sniffs and rubs his nose. DM-R: Now that you're closer, his eyes look a bit red. Bernard: "May want to lay off that stuff at work, if you don't mind the unsolicited advice. Employers don't like it when their buildings catch fire because you were napping." ***Bernard heads out the door, not waiting for a response. DM-R: He looks shocked. DM-R: The door statue goes BEEEEEP again as you leave. DM-R: There's a group of five teenagers hanging out near the curb of the 7-11 in the same shopping center. ***Bernard attempts to find a functional public phone. DM-R: There's another phone on the corner, ungummed, thankfully. ***Bernard calls the operator. DM-R: (recording) "Welcome to Pacific Bell... *ting dinglety ting!*" DM-R: (recording) "If you would like to speak with an operator, press zero..." ***Bernard presses zero. DM-R: (recording) "If you--" DM-R: (recording) "Please wait for the next available operator *bingledy beep!*" DM-R: You are treated to the muzak version of Girl from Ipanema. ***Bernard leans against the phone booth, idly tapping his feet and watching the teens outside the 7-11. DM-R: The lone girl is chatting with the guys, soaking up the attention. DM-R: (operator) " 'lo Passfic Bayl, thissis Marjie, how can I assist you?" Bernard: "Hi. Who do I need to talk to to get residential phone service hooked up?" DM-R: (Margie) "Lemme transfer you to Residential, please hold. *boop*" DM-R: The Muzak from Ipanema continues. DM-R: (residential) "Hi, Pacific Bell Residential services, this is Brad speaking, how may I help you!" DM-R: He sounds like a used car salesman. Bernard: "Afternoon. I just moved in, and need to get some basic phone service." DM-R: "Wonderful! I'll help you get that squared away right away! Who am I speaking with?" Bernard: "This is Bernard Eckleston." DM-R: "Great!" he gushes, "is this the number you're calling about, Mister Eck... eckel...ston? Wait, no, ha ha, silly me, that would be why you're calling!" DM-R: (Brad) "If you'll just give me the address, I'll set up a service call right away!" Bernard: "Sure thing." ***Bernard relays his address. DM-R: (Brad) "Apartment 24... got it. Let me run a check to see if it's already wired... one second..." There's a pause. "Okay! It is! We just need to turn it on. Would you like long-distance services?" Bernard: "Shouldn't need it." DM-R: (Brad) "Great!" Another pause. "May I have your social security number, Mister Eckleston?" ***Bernard pauses for a second, then rattles it off relatively quietly. DM-R: (Brad) "Thanks! And that's ee-see-kay-ee-el-ess-tee-oh-en?" Bernard: "Yes." DM-R: You hear soft typing in the background. DM-R: (Brad) "Alright, Mister Eckleston, your new number will be in the 310 area code, let me pull up some choices for you..." DM-R: You and Brad negotiate your new number. DM-R: (Brad) "Okay, you're all set Mister Eckleston! Is there anything else I can help you with?" Bernard: "Not that I know of. Thanks a bunch." DM-R: (Brad) "You got it! Thanks for using Pacific Bell!" ***Bernard hangs up, and ponders what else to do with his day. Bernard: "May as well do some more exploring." ***Bernard heads for the bus stop, to ride around aimlessly and people watch.