A Walk In The Park
Extra Mayonnaise
IFComp 2017 IFComp Game punk
You're a punk in the park and you've no place to go. Meet some interesting people. Enjoy a bird's company. Don't get lost. And avoid authority.
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In the planning stages no one said, "How about testing the responsiveness of the city's police force by holding the Local Hardcore Band Rave-Kill Jamboree here at the house we've been lucky enough to squat for so long."

No, the preliminary excitement contained phrases more to do with setting a reasonable charge for admission, with drawing new female regulars to the already prolific girl-haunt, and with forecasting what simple shit-faced joy it was going to bring when everyone was swept up in the event. It was to be your first taste of what living away from home was all about. Seventeen years immersed in study of how not to resemble your parents is more than plenty, and you're not about to reenroll. Not even now.

Aching in your head is last night's memory of cherries swirling through the neighborhood as blue and red silhouettes scattered staggering into the burbs like so many intoxicated ants deaf to the blaring megaphones. Fresh is the memory because it happened only several wakeful hours ago. For the time being you loiter on a city bus, catching glimpses of sleep and letting the constant movement dull the dawning questions of destination, finance and future.
A Walk in the Park
fresh air / green hair
From MSI

In Transit (on the plastic seat)
Decay glides by your starboard window. The interior of the bus is typical of the few other units mournfully roaming the streets of the city on any given day: a middle-aged driver squats in the front, advertisements for impotence drugs and rhinoplasty and soft drinks line the ceiling, and a number of kids sporting team logos slouch in plastic flesh-tone seats.

Your material burden includes your studded sweatshirt (being worn), inside which are three quarters, two dimes, a nickel and a letter from Dad.
You read the letter
It'd be easier to read if you were holding it in your hand.

Pads and drums squeal to compensate for another driver's apparent need for a brake-check. "Come on now!" grunts the driver.
You take the letter
Swiped.

One of the kids mumbles something to his friend, after which they both smirk in your direction.
You read the letter
Since you left, your little brother has been acting as the messenger of the god your father feels he is. His "care packages" seem always to come in the form of unmarked envelopes containing neatly folded typing paper of infinite felt-tipped insight into the teenaged human condition.

"Dear Son," The usual.
"I know it has been several weeks... ...Mom is okay..."
"...the finer things in life..." Blah, blah- Hey, look at that! The word "responsibility" and its root in the same sentence.

Loosening parts of the bus's frame rattle violently as you bounce over a gauntlet of potholes.
You put the letter in the shirt
You put the letter from Dad into the studded sweatshirt.

The bus lurches around a street corner.
You examine the kids
They are huddled twice over. Once in their group and again in their bulky poly-fill jackets. Occasionally one will murmur something to the mild agreement of some of the others, but for the most part they let the steady stream of metropolitan stimuli slide off their NFL licensed backs.

Pads and drums squeal to compensate for another driver's apparent need for a brake-check. "Come on now!" grunts the driver.
You look at the driver
The bus driver strikes you in no elegant way. This is made even truer by the sagging location of his trousers and what lies above.

...
There is a screech, muffled thump and horrible whinnying when the beast of burden of the 19th century is sent sprawling on impact with the beast of burden of the 20th century on 77th and Bridgemont. "Goddammit!" rages the driver. He storms out of the bus, on to the street gesturing like a referee with tourrets.

After some sociological reaction time, the jacketed posse wander to the front of the bus and exit as well.
You look outside
What do you want to look outside?
Bus
It would be easier to scope out your location if you were outside the bus.
Go outside
You get out of the plastic seat.
You examine horse
The horse has borne its final burden. It lies partially under the bus in what must be considered a humiliating pose universally in the animal kingdom. You feel some sympathy for the fallen beast, its ancestry ripped from wide open pastures, trickling streams and everything else you imagine real nature to consist of; and brought here expected to adapt to things like stoplights and bus drivers. You're keeping some hope it could still be alive.

...
You examine the carriage driver
He's seems to be taking it awfully well; politely defending his position in a deluge of loud, close range saliva bullets. He gives saddened glances at the front of the bus when the bus driver is "Uh, uh, and'ing," to formulate another string of vulgar abuse.

A squad car pulls up, a Blue Boy exits and begins "What's the troubl'ing?" everyone like he was born to do it. A moderated argument ensues heatedly over whether a horse pulling a buggy turning right on red has the right of way over a driver in a bus with a duty to uphold to the city and which of the two was in fact born with both hemispheres.

...
You look at blue Boy
Your fascination with the accident subsides and the situation is filed in your memory banks with countless other bizarre and enthralling images this city has presented you in your short life. Noticing your surroundings now, you realize you're not lost, but may as well be shipwrecked for availability of transportation. The city's budgeters cut out most of the bus lines to fund the monorail project and the taxi system hasn't yet caught up. Not that you have the scratch to call a cab anyway.
You examine the couple
Two nervous LL Bean clad platinum cardholders. Unfortunate tourists probably wishing they'd checked out the monorail instead. The male specimen is doing his best to comfort his rattled mate between reluctant glances at the dead animal sprawling from under the front of the bus.
You look at the bus driver
The bus driver strikes you in no elegant way. This is made even truer by the sagging location of his trousers and what lies above.
You look at the kids
The kids aren't to be found. They must have scattered to find alternate transportation or other such loitering ground.
Look around
You're not lost, but this is unfamiliar concrete and steel. It's not all such substance, however. The northeast offers an asphalt walk through perpendicular rows of shrubbery. Trees shade the walkway beyond the uni-shrubs. Sidewalk rolls out from the street corner to the north and east.

Perhaps most notable are a police officer and two men filling out forms in front of a young couple, bus-struck horse and overturned carriage.
You go to the northeast
You stroll through the foliage of circumstance...

W. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. A thin dirt path forks off to the north.

Posted here is a freshly custom manufactured sign.
You look at the sign
"NO CAMPING
Under Penalty Of
$600.00 Mandatory Fine
And
1 Month Imprisionment
Park Is Patrolled"

Scratch on that vague consideration. "Camping," as if the city's homeless population have cameras to snap photos of common birds and ingredients to make marshmallow sandwiches in their steel drum fire pits.
Go north
If you were sweltering in the oven of summer smog convection, the brown padlocked shed here might offer relief in the form of reddish slush or- if luck had it -pistachio ice cream. Wintering adolescent maples sway over a thin dirt path heading south.

Some consolation for the shed's seasonal schedule, a soda pop machine glows and hums expectantly.
You examine the machine
It's an automated franchise of OK Cola corp. equipped to quench the thirsts of a slackening populous.
"d choice of d generation," it proclaims.
Glacing at the buttons, it seems they've excluded only Kahlua Mudslide on an unescaped illegality. The external hardware includes a digital display, a coin slit, a coin return lever, four fist-sized rectangular buttons and a soda pop catch at the bottom. Seventy-five cents is the asking for the majority of selections.
The digital display scrolls: nICE COLd OH COLA.
Examine button
Which do you mean, the OK Normal Cola button, the OK Diet Cola button, the DrThrashed button or the Twang button?
Twang
Shoved under the clear plastic button for the orange drink is a scrap of paper informing you: $1.50.
You examine shed
Faded red paint letters, "Mother Nature" over a boarded opening. Some kind of summertime snack hut, you assume. Leaning on one side is a OK Cola corp. vending machine.
Go west
That direction appears void of enticement.
You go south
W. Corridor of Leaves

Posted here is a freshly custom manufactured sign.
Go northeast
Sunlight flittering through a canopy of poplar casts a shifting grayscale mosaic on an intersection in the asphalt walkway; a warming vision on such an exceptionally personally and in most other ways dismal autumn Saturday. The walkways stretch out in the four diagonals.

Alongside a peeling bench is a rubbish receptacle.
You examine the bench
Particles of long-since dried green paint larger than could be called flecks are rising from its undercoat.
You look at the rubbish
This feature of the park too has seen better days. Its dented cylindrical steel body is made somewhat interesting by incomprehensible overlapping graffiti.
You read the graffiti
To the untrained eye, it is not entirely unlike Arabic calligraphy. Though, a carefully scribed tag warns of a feline predator.
You search the rubbish
You see an amber vial sitting in the previously emptied rubbish receptacle.
You take the vial
You happen to be just tall enough to do so without actually climbing into the receptacle to get at it. The task does not spare you from looking a bit ridiculous. The park guard standing nearby would probably find your green chaos-spiked hair and studded sweatshirt ridiculous in most any gymnastic manifestation, and maybe less so diving head first into a park garbage can. Such are things. He strolls off without a comment nonetheless.
You examine the vial
The amber vial rattles softly as you consider it closely. Wrapped around is barely-legible prescription information.

Its white cap is closed tight.
You read the vial
The pharmacy's dot-matrix printer must have been low on life blood. You can't make out the patient's name, only this:

"Tylenol 6: DO NOT EXCEED 3 DOSES DAILY..."
You put the vial in the shirt
You put the amber vial into the studded sweatshirt.
Go northwest
N. Hall of Leaves
Breezes loosen unfallen leaves from their branches and arrange them in dense piles underfoot. Torn wrappers and other city crust litter a black vein of asphalt stretching northwest to the buffered din of city traffic and southeast deeper into the park. A dirt path forks off to the south into dying poplars.

A tattered guitar case is nestled here.
You examine case
The case's worn edges roughly form the shape of an acoustic guitar. It is equipped with a handle.
Open case
Your stomach performs a backflip when a bony hand clasps around your wrist with a cold, tightening grip. A previously unseen leaf pile, from which the bony arm owning the bony hand sprung, bursts apart, and a thin figure now shadows down upon you with primal suspicion.
You look at the figure
The figure looks up and down at you. When satisfied, he releases your wrist with a snort and turns his attention to the guitar case, which he carefully inspects inside and out, counting the contained items with a skeletal index finger.

...
You look in the case
You take a few involuntary steps back in relief. The figure- it is clear now that the adrenaline has worn off -is an elderly man garbed in layers of flannel. He pulls a houndstooth hat and some reading material from the guitar case and pays no further mind to you, but picks up the case by its handle and delves intently into reading his newspaper.
You ask the man about himself
The man gives absolutely no indication that you are heard by him. You raise your voice a lot, but still there is no response.
You take the vial
Swiped.
Go south
The packed dirt path becomes especially packed and dirty but leads nowhere but back to the north. It's as if everyone who has ever trodden to this place came to the same conclusion of worthlessness to continue, took a few steps around, and beat it back the way they came.
You go to the north
N. Hall of Leaves

You can see a homeless man here.
You go northwest
...Shouting banters from an alleyway.

A couple of crumbling city travel ways intersect here. Streams of traffic- consisting of primarily sport utility smog-o-matics -take turns roaring through. You stand on the northwest corner of a block lined neatly with tall shrubbery. There is an opening laid with an asphalt walkway leading southeast into reasonably dense deciduous growth. The alternative is sidewalk rolling out south and east along the outside of the shrubs.
You listen
You stop for a moment to observe the beeping, zooming and rumbling clatter of the city's drudging homeostasis.
You examine the traffic
It's ungodly.
Go south
...The strident sound of a tripped car alarm echos through the streets.

Perhaps most notable are a police officer and two men filling out forms in front of a young couple, bus-struck horse and overturned carriage.
You go east
...A fire engine screams by at top speed.

Two streets burrow out of sprawling urban areas and rumble together here with traffic spilling through at alarming speeds. You stand on the southeast corner of a block fenced by tall, even shrubbery. There is an opening laid with an asphalt walkway leading northwest into the shade of a leafy canopy. Poured concrete offers passage north and west parallel to the traffic.

A glint from the sidewalk catches your eye.
You examine the glint
The glint appears as a shining penny standing endwise in a jagged sidewalk crack. You're not sure under which ordinance of superstition picking it up would fall.
You take penny
You dance with that bitch Lady Luck. Turns out to be a Canadian penny, which further complicates notions of its luck value. Swiped.
You look at penny
It's Canadian. Which further complicates notions of its luck value.
You put it in the shirt
You put the shining penny into the studded sweatshirt.
Go northwest
S. Hall of Leaves
Breezes loosen unfallen leaves from their branches and arrange them in dense piles underfoot. Torn wrappers and other city crust litter a black vein of asphalt stretching southeast to the buffered din of city traffic and northwest deeper into the park...
Go north
That direction appears void of enticement.
You go northwest
Alongside a peeling bench is a rubbish receptacle.
You go to the northeast
E. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. Thin dirt paths fork off to the south and west into dying birch.
You go northeast
...Freeway traffic hums hollow in the distance.

Cars, trucks and autos indecisive of these genders hurry on north and east lying streets. You stand on the northeast corner of a block lined with tall, carefully groomed shrubbery. There is an opening laid with an asphalt walkway leading southwest into what you've gathered is a park. Alternatives include sidewalk rolling out south and west along the streets.

A fire hydrant sprouts from nearby concrete.
You look at the hydrant
With most of their meager budget, the city's beautification commission has quested to cover all hydrants in drab green paint to make them appear organic. You wonder if visiblity shouldn't be the main concern here. The remainder of their funds must, of course, go to the shrubbers.
You examine the shrubbery
Shrubbery lines the block on the inside perimeter of the sidewalk, breaking only to make way for an asphalt walkway stretching southwest into a great deal of trees.
You open the hydrant
You feel methods of torque are required.
You go west
...Shouting banters from an alleyway.
You go east
...Shouting banters from an alleyway.

A fire hydrant sprouts from nearby concrete.
Go northwest
S. Hall of Leaves
You show penny to the man
The man lowers his newspaper and peers closely at the penny...

He kneads the copper coin between his fingers, smiling and looking it over like it were porno on an electronic personal organizer. He flicks it spinning upward and snatches it satisfied out of the air before turning to you with an outstretched hand, which you shake in bewilderment.

...
His handshake weakens and gummy smile fades when he notices something approaching from behind you. You turn to view Yogi Bear's nemesis advancing with a billy club thump-thumping in his palm.

"...
Well, it looks like the old man Howard has found himself a human cartoon to play with."

You assume the young park ranger- or whatever he's supposed to be, clothed in green khaki with a shiny badge and oh-so-fun-to-swing-around billy club and isn't-this-all-so-amusing sneer plastered on his face -is speaking of you, but you're not so sure to whom he's directing the remarks.

"I have seen the man reading, so I know he's aware of the recent addition of a park curfew, which I have been honored with upholding this evening."

Who is he talking to?

The ranger continues to address the trees, "Howard Alden may be deaf and dumb, but he's got to listen to the word of the law like anyone else." He rewards himself for such wit and irony with an uncontrolled chuckle. "I'd better not catch anybody napping, and that goes for plant head boy too," he punctuates the episode with a hearty thump of his stick and reels away to see what other trees in the park he could tell to fuck off too.

Howard stands up close to you, to which, by a flinch reaction, you shove him away violently. He plays a terrible tune on a harmonica and creeps playfully closer to you again. It seems you've got a friend.
You look around
N. Hall of Leaves
Breezes loosen unfallen leaves from their branches and arrange them in dense piles underfoot. Torn wrappers and other city crust litter a black vein of asphalt stretching northwest to the buffered din of city traffic and southeast deeper into the park. A dirt path forks off to the south into dying poplars.

You can see a homeless man here.
Look around
The packed dirt path becomes especially packed and dirty but leads nowhere but back to the north. It's as if everyone who has ever trodden to this place came to the same conclusion of worthlessness to continue, took a few steps around, and beat it back the way they came.
You ask the man about the dead end
Mr Howard Alden gives absolutely no indication that you are heard by him. You raise your voice a lot, but still there is no response.
You examine the harmonica
It is as tarnished as its owner and his clothing.
Examine newspaper
It can't be recent. The corners are yellowing, and its stacked in a state of dishevelment.
You look in the case
Mr Howard Alden shakes a playful finger at you.
You go to the south-west
W. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. A thin dirt path forks off to the north.

Posted here is a freshly custom manufactured sign.
Go north
If you were sweltering in the oven of summer smog convection, the brown padlocked shed here might offer relief in the form of reddish slush or- if luck had it -pistachio ice cream. Wintering adolescent maples sway over a thin dirt path heading south.

Some consolation for the shed's seasonal schedule, a soda pop machine glows and hums expectantly.
Examine button
Which do you mean, the OK Normal Cola button, the OK Diet Cola button, the DrThrashed button or the Twang button?
You check your inventory
Your material burden includes:
your studded sweatshirt (being worn)
an amber vial (which is closed)
a letter from Dad
three quarters
two dimes
a nickel
You open the vial
You open the amber vial, revealing four white tablets.
You examine the tablet
Chalky, white tablet containing only the marking of a depressed "T."
Close vial
You close the amber vial.
You open the shed
It's padlocked tight.
Kick shed
Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't... More often it is, but right now violence isn't the answer.
Dig
(the spiked hair)
That's not really very important right now.
Peel bench
Perhaps you could find even more satisfying things to do than tug at almost certainly plumbous chips of paint.
You go to the northeast
E. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. Thin dirt paths fork off to the south and west into dying birch.
You go south
That direction appears void of enticement.
You sit on the bench
The bench is slightly cool. You are now seated.
Sleep
You aren't feeling especially drowsy.

You are joined by a sky rat- known to tourists as one of those cute pigeons -which touches down close to the bench and starts peck-pecking the ground for edible specks.
You look at the pigeon
Its head bobs like a wind-up toy, searching the ground for a stray morsel.
You feed the pigeon
(to the pigeon)
You aren't holding the pigeon.
You take the letter
Swiped.
You give letter to the pigeon
You doubt the pigeon has any interest in it.
You put the letter in the shirt
You put the letter from Dad into the studded sweatshirt.
You go to the south-west
W. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. A thin dirt path forks off to the north.

Posted here is a freshly custom manufactured sign.
Go southwest
...Freeway traffic hums hollow in the distance.

You're not lost, but this is unfamiliar concrete and steel. It's not all such substance, however. The northeast offers an asphalt walk through perpendicular rows of shrubbery. Trees shade the walkway beyond the uni-shrubs. Sidewalk rolls out from the street corner to the north and east.

Perhaps most notable are a police officer and two men filling out forms in front of a young couple, bus-struck horse and overturned carriage.
You enter the bus
The interior of the bus is typical of the few other units that mournfully roam the streets of the city on any given day: advertisements for impotence drugs and rhinoplasty and soft drinks line the ceiling, and plastic flesh-tone seats surround. The bus is stopped for the reason, you assume, that it has collided hard with something squishy.
You look at ads
Mostly offerings for medications to re-grow hair or other anatomy. You've read their information so many times they've become saddening. Your feelings for the girl with bubblegum-colored lips staring right through you from the backlit cola ad have gone from mild pleasure to certain uneasiness.
You take all
spiked hair: That's not really very important right now. advertisements: You see no reasonable way.
interior of the bus: You see no reasonable way.
starboard window: You see no reasonable way.
plastic seat: You see no reasonable way.
other plastic seats: You see no reasonable way.
You take all
police officer: You doubt the police officer would allow this.
spiked hair: That's not really very important right now. advertisements: You see no reasonable way.
sidewalk: You see no reasonable way.
traffic: You see no reasonable way.
metropolis: You'd have to cross the street.
asphalt walkway: You see no reasonable way.
shrubbery: You see no reasonable way.
squad car: You see no reasonable way.
kids: The kids aren't to be found. They must have scattered to find alternate transportation or other such loitering ground.
bus driver: You doubt the bus driver would allow this.
young couple: You doubt the young couple would allow this.
dead horse: This the scene of an accident, not a deranged petting zoo. bus: You see no reasonable way.
carriage: You see no reasonable way.
carriage driver: You doubt the carriage driver would allow this.
You enter the carriage
You doubt if you have the strength to lift it right side-up or the courage to brave the traffic that lies between.
Cross street
You gaze beyond the wide band of traffic to see only unfamiliar buildings and menacing alleyways. Such ambiguity plants your feet to the ground for the time being.
You examine the couple
Two nervous LL Bean clad platinum cardholders. Unfortunate tourists probably wishing they'd checked out the monorail instead. The male specimen is doing his best to comfort his rattled mate between reluctant glances at the dead animal sprawling from under the front of the bus.
You ask the couple about the horse
They look at each other in fear and side-step in your opposite direction in an apprehensive shuffling manner. If the author of their tour book of the city has any credibility, she would have laid a few guidelines concerning close encounters with random strangers. You don't suppose green hair helps break this kind of ice either.
You examine sidewalk
It's leopard print with flat, blackened gum wads.
You go northeast
W. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. A thin dirt path forks off to the north.

Posted here is a freshly custom manufactured sign.
You take the vial
You can't reach it from your seated position on the bench.

You are joined by a sky rat- known to tourists as one of those cute pigeons -which touches down close to the bench and starts peck-pecking the ground for edible specks.
You open the vial
You open the amber vial, revealing four white tablets.
You give the tablet to the pigeon
(the white tablet to the pigeon)
Feeding birds prescription drugs in the park? "Well," you think, "I've got a few months before I'm legally supposed to act like an adult."

The tablet drops to the ground and rolls in a straight line. The pigeon chases after it, taking test nibbles and trying to get in front of its path. Sooner than the tablet stops rolling the ravenous bird swallows it whole.

...
There's a bit of wobbling, a smidge of teetering and one final toppling. The pigeon lies- dead? -knocked fully out at the very least.
Close vial
You close the amber vial.
You stand
You stand up from the bench.
You take the pigeon
Reservations about its pathogenic status aside... Swiped.
You eat the pigeon
That's plainly inedible.
You wake pigeon
You can only do that to something animate.
You put the pigeon in the shirt
You put the anesthetized pigeon into the studded sweatshirt.
Go northwest
...The strident sound of a tripped car alarm echos through the streets.

A couple of crumbling city travel ways intersect here. Streams of traffic- consisting of primarily sport utility smog-o-matics -take turns roaring through. You stand on the northwest corner of a block lined neatly with tall shrubbery. There is an opening laid with an asphalt walkway leading southeast into reasonably dense deciduous growth. The alternative is sidewalk rolling out south and east along the outside of the shrubs.
Go south
...Freeway traffic hums hollow in the distance.

You're not lost, but this is unfamiliar concrete and steel. It's not all such substance, however. The northeast offers an asphalt walk through perpendicular rows of shrubbery. Trees shade the walkway beyond the uni-shrubs. Sidewalk rolls out from the street corner to the north and east.

Perhaps most notable are a police officer and two men filling out forms in front of a young couple, bus-struck horse and overturned carriage.
You take the pigeon
Reservations about its pathogenic status aside... Swiped.
You show the pigeon to the couple
They look at each other in fear and side-step in your opposite direction in an apprehensive shuffling manner. If the author of their tour book of the city has any credibility, she would have laid a few guidelines concerning close encounters with random strangers. You don't suppose green hair helps break this kind of ice either.
You show the pigeon to the bus driver
The driver is more interested in being a total jerk about the whole thing, and less in what you have to offer.
You throw the pigeon at the traffic
Futile.
Inventory
Your material burden includes:
an anesthetized pigeon
your studded sweatshirt (being worn)
a letter from Dad
an amber vial (which is closed)
three quarters
two dimes
a nickel
You squeeze the pigeon
Keep this up and you'll have iron-grip.
You put the pigeon in the shirt
You put the anesthetized pigeon into the studded sweatshirt.
You go northeast
W. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. A thin dirt path forks off to the north.

Posted here is a freshly custom manufactured sign.
Go northeast
Sunlight flittering through a canopy of poplar casts a shifting grayscale mosaic on an intersection in the asphalt walkway; a warming vision on such an exceptionally personally and in most other ways dismal autumn Saturday. The walkways stretch out in the four diagonals.

Alongside a peeling bench is a rubbish receptacle.
You drop the bird
Dropped.
You put bird in the case
The tattered case is closed.
Open case
Mr Alden Howard shakes a playful finger at you.
You put quarter in the slot
(first taking the quarter)
Swiped.

Kerplunk!
The digital display reads: 25.
Keep going
(first taking the quarter)
Swiped.

Kerplunk!
The digital display reads: 50.
Continue
(first taking the quarter)
Swiped.

Kerplunk!
The digital display reads: 75.
You take the can
"I see... you're a health... conscious consumer," huffs up a pleasant voice from behind your crouched position over the soda catch as you swipe your purchase.
You look at your surroundings
You twist around, and- "Hi... My name's Judith... and you have the last... diet soda... in... the park," glancing disappointedly at the machine, though not breaking her stationary jog. "You look sick... are you all right? You know, I had a boyfriend... a long time... ago with hair like that. Then I went to college... A private college. What a bunch... of stuck-ups. Are you in college?
You examine judith
She's jiggling- er, jogging? No, actually more like jiggling -in place, and trying unsuccessfully to brush behind her ear lobes the long, antennae-like strands of hair stuck between her eyelashes. Spandex barely restrains a flattering figure glazed in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Hey... I've got... I'll give you three... quarters," now prodding through her fanny pack, "for that diet soda."

(You have a feeling this question may come up again.) What do you say, proceed with the sale?
No
You hold off.

Judith starts looking around and humming a familiar gospel song.

You feel the offer of quarters for soda pop still stands. Do it now?
You ask Judith about the twang
She balks with a stumped or weirded-out look.

The jogging girl rummages violently through her fanny pack for something. A number of feminine products fall to the ground and roll about. Her face goes crimson and under her breath you hear, "Sweet Jesus!"

You doubt she's forgotten about the trade. Are you game?
No
You hold off.

"I'm losing my target heart rate!" She completes a series of pseudo-tourretic movements and then bounces vigrously. "How about that soda pop, now?"

This is it, yes or no?
No
You hold off.

"Geez..." she stops bouncing and lets her forearms dangle in the breeze. Her panting lessens in frequency, "Look man, you seem like you need... a faith lift," she smiles. "That's right, I said 'faith.' I'm going to a great Christian Bible college, and they have... great scholarships for great people just like you! Isn't that great?"

"God no!" your inner voice screams at the same time you wonder, "They have money for Nihilists?"

"That's right, we can talk about it more in my apartment. Blah blah blah blah, blah blah, blah."

Apartment! The visions of warmth and indefinite shelter overwhelm...
You follow Judith
A great amount of your life passes you by...
Chamber of Living Death (on the seat)
Pencils scratch and break, chalk squeaks and crumbles. A murmuring voice slows time to an agonizing standstill. No amount of glancing causes the clock- tick steadily it may -to advance one second closer to the bell.

You can see an instructor and some other students here.
You look at the instructor
Mumbling, babbling, murmuring figures, theorems, proofs.
You check what you're carrying
Your material burden includes:
your number 2 pencil
You examine the clock
It makes a steady, rhythmic sound, but its hands are frozen in place.
Go north
You'll have to get off the seat first.
You stand
The bell hasn't yet rung.

To synapse it, you do eventually escape this infernal boredom, but end up chronically boring your friends with incessant and persistent Christ-punk jabber paired with self-indulgent intellectualism. Please choose an option SCORES, RESTORE a game, RESTART, or QUIT; or just continue with your delusion of escape.
Scores
You have so far scored 0 out of a possible 5, in 234 pages.
You give can to Judith
"Thanks you're great... here's an extra quarter... you look like you might... need it."

Her warm fingers recoil slightly as they brush yours in transfer of the charity. While maintaining pitying eye contact to the very end, she whips her pony tail round and whisks away the same as she came. You notice her wiping the lip of the can free of your germs and filth upon her exit.
Inventory
Your material burden includes:
four quarters
an anesthetized pigeon
your studded sweatshirt (being worn)
a letter from Dad
an amber vial (which is closed)
two dimes
a nickel
You read the letter
"Dear Son," The usual.
"I know it has been several weeks... ...Mom is okay..."
"...the finer things in life..." Blah, blah- Hey, look at that! The word "responsibility" and its root in the same sentence.
You look in the rubbish
The rubbish receptacle is empty.
You ask the man about quarter
Mr Alden Howard gives absolutely no indication that you are heard by him. You raise your voice a lot, but still there is no response.
You show quarter to the man
Mr Howard Alden raises a palm, stopping you from furthering your offer.
You put quarters in the shirt
quarter: Done.
quarter: Done.
quarter: Done.
quarter: Done.
Go south
The packed dirt path becomes especially packed and dirty but leads nowhere but back to the north. It's as if everyone who has ever trodden to this place came to the same conclusion of worthlessness to continue, took a few steps around, and beat it back the way they came.
You take all
spiked hair: That's not really very important right now.
You take all
homeless man: You doubt the homeless man would allow this.
spiked hair: That's not really very important right now.
You take all from the man
shining penny: That seems to belong to the homeless man.
tattered case: That seems to belong to the homeless man.
harmonica: That seems to belong to the homeless man.
newspaper: That seems to belong to the homeless man.
brimmed houndstooth cap: That seems to belong to the homeless man.
You look at the cap
(the amber vial)
(first scooping up the vial)
Swiped.

The amber vial rattles softly as you consider it closely. Wrapped around is barely-legible prescription information.

Its white cap is closed tight.
Examine brimmed
The snap that affixes the front of the cap to the brim has been ripped out by the fabric it in which it was at sometime sewn.
You go northwest
...A jetliner howls overhead.

A couple of crumbling city travel ways intersect here. Streams of traffic- consisting of primarily sport utility smog-o-matics -take turns roaring through. You stand on the northwest corner of a block lined neatly with tall shrubbery. There is an opening laid with an asphalt walkway leading southeast into reasonably dense deciduous growth. The alternative is sidewalk rolling out south and east along the outside of the shrubs.
You take all
spiked hair: That's not really very important right now.
sidewalk: You see no reasonable way.
traffic: You see no reasonable way.
metropolis: You'd have to cross the street.
asphalt walkway: You see no reasonable way.
shrubbery: You see no reasonable way.
You look at shrubbery
Shrubbery lines the block on the inside perimeter of the sidewalk, breaking only to make way for an asphalt walkway stretching southeast into a great deal of trees.
Go east
...A jetliner howls overhead.

Cars, trucks and autos indecisive of these genders hurry on north and east lying streets. You stand on the northeast corner of a block lined with tall, carefully groomed shrubbery. There is an opening laid with an asphalt walkway leading southwest into what you've gathered is a park. Alternatives include sidewalk rolling out south and west along the streets.

A fire hydrant sprouts from nearby concrete.
You examine sidewalk
It's leopard print with flat, blackened gum wads.
You examine the shrubbery
Shrubbery lines the block on the inside perimeter of the sidewalk, breaking only to make way for an asphalt walkway stretching southwest into a great deal of trees.
You take the sign
That's pretty much a permanent feature of the scenery.
You examine the sign
"NO CAMPING
Under Penalty Of
$600.00 Mandatory Fine
And
1 Month Imprisionment
Park Is Patrolled"
You take the letter
You already have that.
You take the vial
Swiped.
You open the vial
You open the amber vial, revealing three white tablets.
You examine the white cap
The amber vial rattles softly as you consider it closely. Wrapped around is barely-legible prescription information.

Its white cap is open.
You give the pill to the man
(the white tablet to the homeless man)
The homeless man doesn't seem interested.
You put the pill in the vial
(the white tablet in the amber vial)
You put the white tablet into the amber vial.
Close vial
You close the amber vial.
You put the vial in the shirt
You put the amber vial into the studded sweatshirt.
You take bird
Reservations about its pathogenic status aside... You already have that.
You hit the man
Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't... More often it is, but right now violence isn't the answer.
You put the bird in the rubbish
You put the anesthetized pigeon into the rubbish receptacle.
Burn bird
This dangerous act would achieve little.
You examine the mosaic
It leads in all directions you know that are not square with the world. Namely northeast, southeast, northwest and southwest.
You take all
peeling bench: Perhaps you could find even more satisfying things to do than tug at almost certainly plumbous chips of paint.
spiked hair: That's not really very important right now.
asphalt walkway: You see no reasonable way.
flittering sunlight: The sunlight isn't tangible.
rubbish receptacle: You see no reasonable way.
incomprehensible graffiti: You see no reasonable way.
You look at the graffiti
To the untrained eye, it is not entirely unlike Arabic calligraphy. Though, a carefully scribed tag warns of a feline predator.
You put the bird on the bench
You put the anesthetized pigeon on the peeling bench.
Go southeast
Sunlight flittering through a canopy of poplar casts a shifting grayscale mosaic on an intersection in the asphalt walkway; a warming vision on such an exceptionally personally and in most other ways dismal autumn Saturday. The walkways stretch out in the four diagonals.

Alongside a peeling bench is a rubbish receptacle.

On the peeling bench is an anesthetized pigeon.
You take bird
Reservations about its pathogenic status aside... Swiped.
You go to the northeast
E. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. Thin dirt paths fork off to the south and west into dying birch.
You drop the bird
Dropped.
Go northeast
...A fire engine screams by at top speed.

Cars, trucks and autos indecisive of these genders hurry on north and east lying streets. You stand on the northeast corner of a block lined with tall, carefully groomed shrubbery. There is an opening laid with an asphalt walkway leading southwest into what you've gathered is a park. Alternatives include sidewalk rolling out south and west along the streets.

A fire hydrant sprouts from nearby concrete.
You go southwest
E. Corridor of Leaves
Autumn vortices homogenize leaves and bits of litter into damp, matted piles that obscure most of the asphalt walkway stretching both northeast and southwest. From beyond the surrounding arbor, horns and motors accompany the ambient chirping, whistling and rustling of the park. Thin dirt paths fork off to the south and west into dying birch.

You can see an anesthetized pigeon here.
Go southeast
...Freeway traffic hums hollow in the distance.

Two streets burrow out of sprawling urban areas and rumble together here with traffic spilling through at alarming speeds. You stand on the southeast corner of a block fenced by tall, even shrubbery. There is an opening laid with an asphalt walkway leading northwest into the shade of a leafy canopy. Poured concrete offers passage north and west parallel to the traffic.
Go northwest
S. Hall of Leaves
Breezes loosen unfallen leaves from their branches and arrange them in dense piles underfoot. Torn wrappers and other city crust litter a black vein of asphalt stretching southeast to the buffered din of city traffic and northwest deeper into the park...

You can see an anesthetized pigeon here.
You go south
The packed dirt path becomes especially packed and dirty but leads nowhere but back to the north. It's as if everyone who has ever trodden to this place came to the same conclusion of worthlessness to continue, took a few steps around, and beat it back the way they came.

You can see an anesthetized pigeon here.
You take bird
Reservations about its pathogenic status aside... Swiped.