[the hawt police station
like NASA mission control but w/more buttons per monitor station
wilmer morse, pvt sits on a spinny chair before all of them
cycling between stations
watching carefully w/half her gaze is pat safe
she is also reading a manila folder hiding a magazine hiding a service report
double coverage]
W: sarge we have traffic report from YPI crawlers going through the bazaar
P: can you get an IP
W: no sgt, they've got a vpn obfuscating it
but the spiders are dancing quite the tarantella, let me tell ya
P: okay wilmer chill w/the wordplay
it’s stuff like that why your girlfriends never call back after dinner
W: my mother always taught me that everything matters; everything happens for a reason; to everything there is a gift and a time for it
so when i find myself presented with this gift of rhyming operatic thoughts i think i might as well just unbox it
P: can you tell me what they’re looking at?
W: as soon as Exploragon P parses the HTML correctly w/o sending me to Exploragon S for spellcheck again, yes
but remind me real quick; for what should i look?
P: you know the drill, private wilmer: go by the book
W: the what?
P: dammit soldier do i need to go thru the whole old song & dance again
W: if you please sarge i’d really appreciate the hard rehearsal
my brain is a carousel sometimes
i feel like it spins me thru the world so fast sometimes trees and forests blur in the—
P: shut up wilmer
i’ll sing the damn song already
[wilmer pulls out the tambourine]
P: ohhhhh theeeeere’s
LSD and tryptamines, estrogen & ketamine
shrooms & MCR & cannabis & bufofenidrine
alcohol and xanax
coughing syrup, french bananas
anything unbranded
any shirts that have no sleeves
any shoes with too big aglets
bags sans handles; any leaves that may seem alien
any tree shrubs, any candles
cocaine ritalin most downers
strange ichthyds & out-of-towners
pink crystals & dishes smelling like oregano
weird fishes, arpeggios, and all that’s in rainbows
any cakes baked in non-platonic shapes
any grape-sized nuts or candy
any—
W: ok it’s the candles
[he puts down the tambourine but p keeps singing]
P: xanadu-type hammer-plaited silver spoons
W: yep definitely the candles
P: well well well wilmer we’ve got quite the little pyro on our hands
what do you think this little firebug dreams of
smaller fires inside other ones?
W: probably the bigger ones outside us all
P: your existential zooming out
it scares me sometimes, you know that, right?
W: sorry i promise i'm working on it
what should we do with the contraband report
P: file it on third priority with the rest of 'em
[suddenly pat has a premonition; goosebumps ricochet down her spine]
actually on second thought private
put this one on my desk
i've got a hunch incoming
W: ooh can i see it
P: boundaries, wilmer
besides, i can barely feel it yet
but once i zero in i'll let you know
W: oh goodie; thanks sarge
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