Midnight in the underworld, fireflies twinkle.
Pluto scratches himself and remarks on the rain, “Wet, ain’t it?”
The hot Sun settles over Jamaica Plains as the F Train find its
way to The Village.
Fellique Dupré claps her hands to her forehead and remarks to the old
woman in the seat across from hers: “Oh, the unbearable lightness of
Replies the old woman, “I’m sorry, those are my bad ears.”
“They look fine to me.”
“Don’t be absurd!”
Fellique Dupré points up: “Tell him to don’t.”
“Oh he never doesn’t!” proclaims the old woman. “When do you reach Hell?”
“As soon as I leave the train.”
“That could be any time.”
“That could be as we speak.”
“But it won’t be you know,” the old woman points up. “He hates mixing action with dialogue.”
The train slows as it nears the mouth of Hell and stops.
Fellique Dupré disembarks; a cat darts between the wheels of a cart and she
recognizes the familiar landmarks of the underworld:
The Statue of the Unknown Bodybuilder heroically crushing a mound of
sinners beneath his feet; the 7–Eleven where she stops to buy Pluto a fine cigar.
How the old devil loves his cigars!
“White Owl.” she says.
“Oui.” replies the clerk.
And it’s done.
(C) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
Statue of the Unknown Body Builder based on a public domain photo of the Statue of Civic Virtue which stood in Queens at Union Turnpike Station until