FLY ME TO THE MOON

In his defense, he had no defense. The man huffed out a sigh rather than voice another witty retort. His arms crossed as he stood there in silence. The girl had managed to stump him within minutes of their conversation. He kept his gaze on her, noting the flicker of embers rolling from the blunt between her fingers. He flicked his hand out from his chest, splaying his fingers outward in an awkward gesture. “Both. Can I say both?” An easy smirk remained on his lips. “I figured if all else fails, I could just chunk a brick through the glass and steal twice the amount. You ain’t gonna snitch, are ya?”

      Her laughter faded into an easy smile as she continued to watch, to listen to this stranger as he attempted to recover from her unintentional stumping. “I hear snitches get stitches,” she shrugged. “So no.” Before she’d finished speaking ---rather, shouting across the way to him, she’d already reached a hand into the open window to grab her wallet, and began her descent of the rickety fire escape ladder. Even under the infleunce, she traversed it like a pro, having left this way countless times while her mother was still around. The street was absent of cars, so she trodded over to him in her slippers with her blanket worn as an oversized shawl. She stopped a few feet from him at the edge of the curb, and nodded at the vending machine. “What were you after?”

His head whipped up to the laughter. His nose scrunched from the obscenity. No one should have caught that, but this woman did. He shifted in his stance, tucking his hands in his pocket ever so casually. His eyes rose to the balcony she stood at. “I hope that’s the last joke you ever speak.” He called up to her. “Because that was shitty.” 

      Another chuckle bubbled up from her, the laughter coming easy both because of who she was, and the joint she’d just finished. She put the roach out on the ledge she leaned on, and flicked the remnants down to the sidewalk below ---only after checking that no one was passing by. “A shitty joke? Or a shitty thing to say to a guy who just got his money eaten by a robot?”

Roy shoved his weight against the vending machine. He could barely grace himself against the machine. It had been nearly two days since he decided to remain in the space. Hell, it was better than squatting in another one he created. New York had a sense of life in it – even if it was populated by a mass of self deprecating citizens. They were his people, whether they knew it or not. He shoved a fist against the machine. It wobbled from his strength, but barely budged. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He threw his hands up towards the machine and stomped three feet away from it. He turned around in a quick spin. His hands shoved back against it, as if a surprise attack would work. 

      Mars was a local in Time Capsule. If he was the creator of this space, she owed her life to him. Maybe, though he could also be blamed for never knowing her father, her family ---for her mother’s death. She would never follow such a train of thought, even if she did know who this man was. As it were, he was just a stranger harrassing a vending machine. She didn’t bother resisting a laugh, clear in the lilt of her voice when she called out to him. “Careful, man! I hear it’s ten years in the slammer for attempted vendicide.”

Music had always been sort of a catharsis, sort of a diary. Words poured from him like blood, the melodies were his bones. Catriona had been dealing with scattering of napkins and bags and God knows what else that he wrote on and left peppered around the house. All the writing and he couldn’t seem to put together a half decent song. Keep writing. Keep creating. Silas had always believed that creativity could be trained, and that was what he was intending on doing here. The DJ sets were easy as hell to splice together, that was how he got his start, after all. He was an extremely good DJ and producer. Today he was struggling with the musician part. He realized, halfway into his manic writing, that the chair across from him was the only free one in the place. At the shadow that lingered near him, he nodded to the chair, “You can sit if you want.”

      Coincidentally, or perhaps not at all, Mars had her headphones in. She was, in fact, listening to Aether. Evaporate had come on shuffle on her extensive playlist just moments before she’d scanned the room to realize his table was the last one with an open seat. She had been planning to get her tea and go, but she took this as a sign, and when he offered the seat to her she plopped down as if it was the couch in her own living room. Earbuds were removed, music put on pause, and she offered a smile. “Tell me you’re working on a new album.” Maybe it was creepy, or a little too forward, but she’d never been one to feel bound by social norms. Besides, she was a big believer in supporting local music. No harm in showing it, right?