Spin doctors

Mobius thought the idea was very annoying. The radio station was worried they weren't getting much of an audience anymore, particularly at night, so they ran a promo. If you are the ______ caller during the playing of certain songs, you could win something. Free dry cleaning for 2 shirts, a free waffle with breakfast at the diner,six BBQ wings for free at the Korean joint, a free game of bowling, and so on and so forth. Mobius found the public generally annoying and phone-ins even more so. The first caller was a kid. Some Peter kid who wanted the waffle deal. I had to tell him he was too young and that it was illegal to give a kid a prize from the radio. But he kept rambling on the line. Something about getting one of this parents on the line, but he couldn't get one of them to wake-up. In the background someone yelled something and then "Peter" said, "Oh well, okay, sorry." and then he hung-up. In a way, Mobius felt sorry for the boy. From time to time when he stepped out on a break to smoke, he'd seen the kid dashing around in the middle of the night. Maybe he should hire him to make runs for him. Perfect candidate for a courier. Mobius thought for a bit. The next caller was some voodoo, card reading flake that had a premonition that she would win and win the BBQ wings coupon. Maybe the spicy-sauce gives her extra psychic  powers.  She was a regular for him in his side business.  Herbs flow freely around in the paranormal world.

Then Mobius got the call. Her voice sounded dreamy, as if she was just a voice on the phone with no physical body attached. Mobius was playing Pink Floyd at the time.  The radio station seemed all the sudden to go quiet and still.  "Hello, Mobius. Am the right caller?  I really want to win the bowling passes.  I think my boyfriend would really enjoy going bowling with me." "Can I ask who this lucky winner is?"

"Penny."

Mobius couldn't understand why he felt at a loss for words.  On the air, he never was lost for words.  His disembodied voice gave him a certain liberty from himself.

"Like the shinny- copper ones?"

"Yes.  I'm a shinny new penny."

The prize choice for this drawing was 3 shirts from the dry-cleaning place.  But Mobius didn't feel he could tell her, so he exhaled and said,

"Okay," He hesitated on the name, "Penny. You have that date-night prize package.  Hold on." He couldn't put her on hold fast enough.  Mobius signaled his producer, who, amazing enough had the same look on his face that Mobius felt for himself.

The door moaned on his way out for a smoke.  Something more than a Marlboro was needed now. As he should in the shadow the smoke drifted into the street light glow and he saw the outline of two ghostly figures stumbling from the old house party. Trailing what looked like a devil's tail and a long, sullied fork.

"Damn this holiday." Crushing the butt of the cigarette and watching the specks, like a sparkler embers flash and die, Mobius returns to spin the record.  "No more callers, tonight."

Cups and bags

Working the night shift at the radio station always made Mobius feel as if he lived his life upside down. While everyone was just getting the day started, he was trying to figure out something to do after work. Going home and talking with the cats didn't always satisfy him. Walking home, he would think about stoping in for a beer, while people passing him would be on their second cup of coffee. While he wanted a burger and fries, they eyed the donuts in the curved glass while waiting for their bagel. Forget about dating. The closest he got to a date was talking with a lonely caller who wanted to hear some love song-- "Hi, how are you tonight, can you play 'All My Life' by K-Ci & JoJo?" or "Hello? Hey, play "Every Rose Has it's Thorns. Thanks." "Sure," thought Mobius, "for the millionth time." Every time Mobius plays a cheese song he follows it with Pearl Jam, or Neil Young. When he really felt like keeping people in misery he'd play Johnny Cash. The shift was over and Mobius handed over the reins to the next guy, Phil, "The morning dude." January, the trees stood as outlines in the morning gray. The air was still. "Snow." He thought. "By noon." He glanced at the statue. Every night, he had to read the news. "The police are still searching for leads." Mobius read into the mic. He thought, "Idiots." Still no real leads on the fountain crime. A few suspects, but nothing was solid. That's why Mobius jumped when the first knock on the studio door came around Halloween. The diner owner was all about the drama. Sending Pickett to his door at 1 AM. Really? Couldn't he call? Couldn't he just set-up a meeting during the day? Jesus. But Pickett played the part. "Hello? Hello? I was sent by Mr. P., from the diner." "Jesus." "Um, do you have something for him?" "Jesus." "Sorry?" "Yes, yes, come in. Sit over there and don't touch the vinyl." "Wow, what a great collection of LP's. I didn't know people still had them." Mobius looked at the guy. "What's your name?" "Um.. should I say it? I mean." Mobius realized that this guy thought it was a drug deal. "Yes, you can." He handed the guy the paper bag. "Pickett, George Pickett." "Like the Civil Wa--" "--Yes, the same one." "Okay. Mobius is my name." "Kinda, ah, different." "Yep. Tell the Greek he owes me for the last batch of herbs, too." "Oh, okay." "Got change the record." "Oh, yeah, sorry." Mobius smiled as he was closing the door. The Greek was a drama queen. Mobius grew herbs, oregano, basil -- all legal kinds-- in the spare room in his loft. The room had a huge window that faced south. Great light for plants of all kinds. The Greek wanted the herbs for his food. Fresh herbs really didn't help the food, but he paid. Mobius smiled when he thought of Pickett's furtive glances as he stumbled back to the diner and hoping that he wasn't stopped by anyone. Why worry about the little things with a killer around? As Mobius heads into his building, old Ms. King is standing by the elevator. "Mr. Evans!" "Yes ma'm?" "Will you ride the elevator up with me?" "Um, yes, of course, Ms. King." "Mr. Evans, I can't ride this thing alone. Not with a murderer on the loose!" "You're right, Ms. King, you're right." Mobius held the door for Ms. King. He thought about making Ms. King a nice cup of tea.

The last song for the last set was playing on the radio. It was the perfect morning song: Straight to Hell by Drivin' and Cryin'. As the song to his life played in the background, Mobius was ready to sign-off. "Good morning, all you WPPK listeners. I'm outta here for the day. Stay cool and keep the dreams alive." He switch the line over to the morning traffic lady. She was, of course, too perky for Mobius. “Who gives a shit about the traffic? It's backed-up in the city. So what?” The station was filling with the day shift. As he walked out of the radio station, Mobius glanced up at the hazy morning sky. Lost in some random song in his mind, Mobius stopped to pick-up his eggs-to-go. As he walked into the apartment, he saw everything in its place. Towels hung neatly in the bathroom. Tub was scrubbed, floor was swept, kitchen counters ordered. All was a product of another sleepless night. Even his cats, Flotsam and Jetsam, were getting annoyed with his wakeful days and nights. They barely stirred in the chair when he came in. He lay in his bed in the middle of the bedroom and looked out the window. Flotsam jumped up and walked across him briefly stopping to look into his eyes. Jumped down, and moved on. “Good morning to you too, mister.” Curtains wide open as he stared at the hazy sky hoping it would rain. He heard a police siren in the distance. “White noise, white noise.” He thought. Music drifted in to his thoughts. He got-up and went to the turn table and started the stack of vinyl. The first 45 to drop was Miles and Coltrane’s Milestones. His apartment sat on the corner of the building, halfway-up. From his window on one side he could see the graveyard, the market and the park. On the other, he looked out over the train tracks and the “Lake.” If the sun did shine, he had to drop the shades on that side to get any sleep. He sat in the chair looking out over the grave yard and the buildings that shadowed the stones. The city was waking. He began to doze. The second 45 dropped, Earth, Wind, and Fire, “That’s the Way, Of the world….” He moved to the couch, briefly glancing into the big mirror that hung above it. The city reflected into it. For a moment, Mobius was once again in the streets, among the buildings. He reached for the bong, dropped a bit in the bowl, sat back into the couch, put his feet-up. Mobius sighed “Another sleepless day.” Hendrick’s Castles in the Sand dropped. He picked-up the paperback that lay spread eagle on the coffee table. Murder mystery. Another murder mystery.