Duality;Solaris Vol. 1

Chapter 5-1: O'Brother, Where Art Thou?

"Spare change?"

From around a corner and past a homeless drunkard, John jogs a steady pace down a fairly empty sidewalk. Uncertain of the exacts of where he's going, all he knows is that time is not on his side— nor has it been all day. Off his street and onto Florence Street, this massive stretch of road is a straight shot to anywhere in the city's downtown area— and, perfect for wherever he needs to be. The time ticks towards 1am as John quickens his pace. The digital shine of the flip-phone upon his face glares those coordinates.

Eh... Coordinates. He should know how much I hate this kind of stuff.

The frustration being just as much with himself as it is towards the numbers lighting up his face. The cement claps of his work shoes echo throughout the eerily sparse crevasses and intersections of Florence as he rushes on by. Running between the dark and fluorescent light, the transition between the two hastens as the city light poles fall behind his fears. So much time had passed, the worrisome 'what-ifs' were impossible to ward away.

Intersection after intersection, John barrels on by struggling to understand the 'where' midst the neon night sky. Pass litterings of red solo cups and blankets of colorful confetti at every touristy stop; John closes onto the roadblocks he and Rayst encountered earlier in their night. The blocks were toppled and in-tatters by now, yet the out-cove—the crevasse—his coordinates gave lie just before the block's held line of defense.

Without crowds nearby to cloud the depth nor the city's bustling noises to distract from one's contemplations, the coordinates lead into something bigger than a simple crevasse of tiny shops. It's a public square. Albeit, one made by accident from the city's ordinances—old and new—and aging buildings haphazardly built around this space. John doesn't waste any more time with chic quips. As he makes his way into the shabby, festive-feeling square, the whispers of unknown origin tense him up. Clearly human sounds—their words nearly audible enough to understand—can be heard echoing throughout the connective alleyways and more desolate locations creaking beside the adult-oriented establishments in the square. A chill whispers up John's spine. The coordinates point here, but how does one find a single man amidst a series of alleyways; how does one find a needle in a haystack in the dark?

Tapping of shoes echo as they close into the square. Their murmurs and slack-jawed camaraderie becoming more audible, more nuanced with every clear infraction filling the ever lessening divide between them and this public square. John's spine-tingling chill claws and clamors as it spreads throughout his body. Their presences meet.

A group of, no more than, three or four shabbily dressed men exit out from one of the furtherest alleyways from the square's entrance. Obviously up to no good, they continue chatting amongst each other in delight.

"You'd think there'd be less this year, you know?"

"Meh. Loads of 'upstanding citizens' forget obvious things in the comforts of their 'fancy' office jobs. Alcohol is a very powerful depressant. You all would be best to know that."

"He's right, dog. Just look at how much we've scored so far tonight. Couple of wallets, some pumas, a nice cashmere coat— almost like a few G's alone in watches."

"Man, don't forget about these sweet pads!"

"Pads? Seriously, Adam, you took the bloody dude's elbow pads? That's goofy. You're goofy for that."

Their camaraderie swiftly comes to a sudden, tense silence as they pass by John. The four staring holes into him on their way. Evident as it may have been to connect those dots; John only offers up a meek smile, in opposition, as he sheepishly raises his hands by his side and moves out of their path. Moments of tense uncertainty—to be sure—but each make their own way through without incident before the opportunistic group resumes their giddy talks. Letting out only a sigh of relief, John makes his way to the alleyway the four had recently left.