The Universe's Mixer

Boyd Crowder enjoyed a classic science fiction novel as much as the next appreciative reader, but he never had the strong desire to find himself inside of one. How else to account for the fact that he was lost, wandering inside the world's most generic city ever created on God's Green Earth, pardon the expression, or assuming he was even on the same planet anymore?

Boyd Crowder wasn't a City Boy. It wasn't that he couldn't appreciate the tall buildings or even that he'd never been in a city before. Why, Lexington was a considerable city in it's own right, but Boyd never had the desire to be trapped in one. He found a bus schedule, but there were no other destinations outside the metropolis. Hell, he would have hitchhiked but there were no great American highways that appeared to connect to this place.

"Alright then. Say I'm dreaming," he spoke calmly to himself. "I think I've just about overstayed my welcome and it might be time to wake up from this vivid locale."

He knew it wasn't a dream. Dreams were never this all encompassing. They didn't have the detail, the smell, the soft sound of traffic or chitter of urban wildlife. Boyd knew and yet it didn't quite stop him from hoping that this wasn't just the after effects of Jimmy's wake. Had services even been held? Boyd would have inebrieted himself more than enough for his subconscious to come up with something this peculiar, not just for Jimmy's death but the up in the air return of his ex-fiance.

He wasn't drunk in his dream. In fact, Boyd felt very sober. Perhaps it was time to change that. Mr. Crowder headed straight for the nearest bar thinking that a stiff bourbon might at least temporarily calm his anxieties.

"Garbage..." Edward breathed, shifting some against the cushioned back of the chair he was sitting in.

For what it was worth, Edward was settled as if he had been there for a good while. His body was slouched just so, allowing his shoulders and the back of his head and neck to press tirelessly into the cushion of the office chair. And his long legs were tilted upward, crossed at the ankle as the heels of his shiny green dress shoes propped themselves like a display on the desk.

Not far from his heel sat a silver tray, upon which sat a China tea pot with a blue willow design, and a couple of matching cups stacked in a tower of disarray. His own cup rested empty next to the tray near the end of the desk, simply forgotten.

Held in a green gloved hand was the latest edition of the City newspaper, and he turned the pages with the barrel of his golden revolver when he found nothing good on the page previous.

"More garbage...." Eddie mumbled.

His attire was as it always was, green. His slacks were nearly ironed and the creases down the leg proved it. These were held up by a pair of green suspenders, which crawled over the shoulders of his skinny frame, holding the green long-sleeved shirt in place. Said sleeves were rolled casually to the elbows, as if they were in the way. His jacket was thrown haphazardly over the back of the chair and propped on his cane near the desk was his signature bowler hat.

"....garbage..." He breathed, flipping the newspaper to the next page.

And then a wide grin. "Oh, the crossword!"

That was his absolute favorite.

Eddie set down his gun, listening to the clatter it made on the already too-crowded desktop, and he fumbled through Jonathan's things for an ink pen. A green one.