Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [Pitzar] A house is not a home.
Message-ID: <1993Apr13.014123.28368@organpipe.uug.arizona.edu>
From: corleyj@helium.gas.uug.arizona.edu (Jason D Corley )
Date: 13 Apr 93 01:41:23 GMT

My boarding house had been torn down, and the vacant lot turned into
a giant mud puddle by the storm.  I thought of it as 'my boarding house',
even though it had been a rathole of a place that I spent less time at than
I did in jail, which wasn't a lot.  So I was on the street for a night,
looking for a place to live.

	The night sky over Generica makes you think about a lot of things.
The town smells like rot, but the stars look like diamonds. They make
you think about things you could have done once, but can't anymore. They
made me think for a long while, because there were so many things that
I couldn't do anymore, not because I couldn't do them, but because they
wouldn't be the same things.  I ran my head around in circles until I
needed a drink.  I headed for Low Town.  I didn't realise until halfway
there that there wouldn't be a Low Town after the storm.  But I went
anyway.

	When I got there, there were blazing torches set high on poles,
and as far as I could see, workers gathered in the dim light, hoisting
planks of wood on their shoulders, hammering them into place, shouting
out to each other in the cool night air.  I found a vantage point and 
stared down...the whole area was a buzz of activity, but it wasn't people
running down streets yelling at each other and it wasn't smooth-talking
punks hustling wise-ass hookers.  There wasn't anybody down there except
carpenters and builders.  There wasn't any Low Town left.

	"Nice view, eh?" came a voice behind me. There was a sharp prick
in my back.  "Lets see that bag at your belt there, huh? Turn around."

	I turned around, and said "Hello Milton." because that's who it
was.  Milton was a small-time second-story man who had run across just
enough stories to keep him in the file cabinets at the _Examiner_ instead
of the Guard reports.

	He lowered his arm.  "Jake? I thought you was...I thought you was
gone!"
	I nodded. "I was gone.  I was gone for a while."
	Milton nodded. "Jeez, I'm sorry Jake. Things have been pretty tight
since the storm."
	I turned back around and sat on the edge of the curb, looking out
over Low Town.  "Not too many second-stories around anymore."
	He sat next to me.  "Yeah." The light from a thousand torches
reflected in his eyes as he stared down at the workers. "Gonna be better
than new, they say."
	I squinted down at the mess of rubble and wood. "Better?"
	Milton nodded vigorously.  "Oh yeah, it's gonna be clean and new
and there won't be any rats or roaches or slimes or anything like that."
	"I see."
	"I know it's hard to believe, but..."
	"No, I believe you, Milton."
	"All right."
	The workers poundings echoed up like a knock at a distant door.
	"Milton?" I asked, "Who's paying for this? I can't see any of
the fat cats uptown doing anything like this."
	Milton still stared down into the rubble. "Naw.  It's one
of the temples.  You know, the one with the women."
	"Aditi?"
	"That's the one."
	"Milton...have you been..." I began.
	"Well so what if I have?  They say they took a vow-- anyone that
wants them, gets them."
	I turned back down to the scene below.  A group of workers were
pulling up the first side of a framed house.  The wood looked strong and
had no holes.
	"You know it hurts them, Milton."
	There was never any houses like that in Low Town.
	"Yeah, Jake, I know."
	We were silent for a long time.  The second frame was pulled up
beside the first one.  It was going to be one fine house.
	I stood up. "I have to go find an inn before it gets too late, Milton.
I'll see you around."
	He just sat there, looking down at the city. "Yeah.  See you around,
Jake."
	My foot caught on a loose cobble, and it skittered away down the
street, as I stepped away from Milton.
	I heard his voice again.  "It's never going to be like it was before,
is it, Jake?"

	I pretended not to hear him.


--
 corleyj@helium.gas.uug.arizona.edu -- (@=k)
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  Eh?  Markian Gooley is a Zulu judge, cur!
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