Dogbert and Virgil (codenames, Mitzi had suspected), greeted him grimly. They both were wearing suits and ties and sunglasses standing on the sidewalk. Dogbert motioned for Mitzi to follow with the wave of his hand, while Virgil took up the rear. Virgil was looking around, as if the watch. Every few steps he might turn his head back to make sure that no one was following them with their feet or their eyes.
It was certainly the ghetto, as he had been warned about District 11. The buildings were decaying; falling to pieces so much so that their innards were thrust out towards the passerby as they were bursting. But a slow burst. Cars lined the small alleyway that Dogberry lead him to, each car it seemed from a different decade, but every single one regardless of age was in a state of decomposition. Their interiors seemed rotted out and those parts that were no shaded by their frames were dry and cracked. The whole sick scene was dismal. Mitzi wished he could jump through one of the broken windows in order to escape from this festering shit-hole. To be off the street would be a blessing right now.
“Are you wearing protective gear?” Asked Dogberry objectively.
Matt felt for his under-armor. “Check.”
“What have you eaten for breakfast?”
“Oatmeal, sir.”
“Let’s keep it inside, mkay?”
Mitzi became more aware of his surroundings.
“We want to warn you that this is District 11, and that everything you have heard about it is a hackneyed crock of horse manure.” Virgil concurred, nodding his head and smiling viciously showing his tiny teeth that seemed oddly filed-down.
To his right, ragged men were laying on the ground, some covered in their own feces, others piled on top of each other to keep warm. They were decrepit installations in their concrete landscape; it was a proverbial no man’s land with limbs of every color, but mostly black and brown. Black arms and legs, brown arms and legs, black emotionless faces… faces without eyes and noses and mouths. They all seemed blank and shadowed. Above them were the towering buildings, all decayed and falling on one another whose re-barb within shown like their skeletons. Mitzi was reminded of the Mile, but he’d never seen a place quite this horrifying. There were makeshift bridges connecting the concrete structures that seemed made of plywood, but perhaps even thick cardboard. On them hung clotheslines.
The two men leading Mitzi seemed unaffected. Mitzi concluded that they had been here much too long; they had become immune to any compassion for the sick and dying homeless men, to the filth and grime of it all. Mitzi was sickened however, and nearly lost his stomach over the whole landscape and its inhabitance.
Dogbert continued, as did Verges with his affirmation:
“You may have heard that this place has gone a bit sour since early NORML days. Well, as you can obviously see, it is true. The situation is insatiable. Our processors came here about fifteen years ago – “
“Yeah, fifteen years ago…” interjected Vergil.
“To clean this place up. You should have seen it before we got here, all these men and their fathers were running lose around the whole vicintity. District 11 – “
“Before it was District 11… - “
“Right. Before it was District 11, was a filthy cesspool of ingrates and Philistines who were put together to form what we know as gangs.”
“Yeah – gangs.” Said a wickedly smiling Virgil drawing out the word gangs as if Mitzi didn’t understand the English language.
“Right. And these gangs” – Dogbert also drew out the word – “became fashions of what we call a druglord. And so this area of the city was ruled by micarrients and drugs, where commerce relied solely on the sale of pot, ganja, weed –“
“Diablito, mary jane – “ interjected Verges, still smiling.
“Bud, kind bud, mersh, Hydro, Green –“
“Chronic, dank, Dro, grass, peace tobacco, Texas Tea, Four-twenty, Marley, Barley – “
“Rasta Fasta, Herb, skunk, sticky-icky – “
“Mota, haze, reefer, India, Jamaica Gold, THC – “
“Cecil, Hippie Lettuce, Maoi Wowie – “
No comments:
Post a Comment