showed up to ask questions. The war was rendered unnecessary by
the fact that Undergrounds was already a conquered and barren
territory. No one bothered to make the extra tromp through the alley
to Roy’s store, the comfort and convenience of Biddenbrooks easily
crushing the fading novelty of Undergrounds.
Only Colin and Martin sat together in the empty place, drinking
a freezer-burned Nicaraguan blend. The espresso machine was on
the blink so they made it in the Greek style, baptizing the grounds in
hot water and allowing for traditional hypostasis.
“I’m telling you, people are responding to the video,” Martin told
Colin, “They’ve been working out twenty percent harder when it’s
on.”
“Twenty percent? How do you measure that?” Colin asked.
“Battery charge. We get more output when people see the crimes
Biddenbrooks has been perpetrating. It drives them fucking crazy.”
“Good for you, but that doesn’t do shit for us.”
“It could. I’ve been trying to get it shown by the networks, but
they say it’s shlock journalism. Can you imagine? The pot calling the
kettle black.”
Even Colin, a fan of idiotic television, knew that Martin’s
“exposé” lacked the thin veneer of truth that could render it airable.
Only his chiseled zombie cult could swallow the bilge in that tape and
call it manna. Still, he thought Martin was on the right track. People
loved to feel righteous and often leapt at the chance to bring down a
big bad behemoth.
Martin turned on the television Colin had set up in Roy’s
absence. There was little else to do, as the place remained wholly
deserted since the storm and subsequent drag of Biddenbrooks.
“Just look at the kind of crap they put on here,” Martin said,
“What is it with people and aliens? I think everyone’s so lonely and
misanthropic that they need to believe there’s somebody more
interesting out there to hang around with.”
“I wish Martians would come here,” mused Colin, “Maybe we
would get more business. You think they drink coffee?”
“What?” Martin said, startled and choking on the grounds of his
beverage.
“What…what?” Colin said, confused.
“Did you just say my name?” he sputtered.
“No. I said Martian.”
But that was not it. His name had come from the TV. Martin
ABYSSINIA
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