Kritter
The one and only...
Chapter One - Old Men
Rain was coming. The thickening mist that blew in with the stiff breeze off the Hudson warned as much. Rosy Morris pulled his jacket tighter to his chest, his other hand tapping rhythmically against his knee, a waning cigarette between his calloused fingers.
To his right, Joe Kelly leaned forward and squinted towards the bay, observing the sliver of green that was the Statue of Liberty before it dissolved into the vast dark backdrop of the New York City skyline. "This weather is for the birds," he said, reaching stiffly into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes of his own. "That tremor of yours is getting worse," he added, directing his gaze towards his friend's shaking hand. "You sure you ain't got Parkinson's or something, old man?"
"I ain't got shit," Rosy laughed, a wide smile of impossibly white teeth spreading across his black face. "And who you calling old man," he scoffed, straightening his back to peer down at the truck driver beside him. "I'm pretty sure you're older then me, aren't you?"
Joe tilted his head, studying the man. He knew Rosy worked as a security guard, but he wasn't even sure who with. There were dozens of little businesses on this pier, one of several artificial fingers that jutted out into the upper bay from Bayonne. Due to the timing of their breaks and this being the only smoking area with a bench, they'd been sitting together like this every morning for years, but he'd never really gotten to know the man. Was he younger? It was hard to tell sometimes. "I'm 67," Joe finally admitted.
"Yeah, alright. I'm 68." Rosy dropped his cigarette and slide his boot over the stub. "Guess I am the old man."
"You're both old men," a distinguished voice came from behind them. They turned in unison to watch the approach of Daniel Lombardi, who looked cultured and important in his immaculate tweed jacket and cap. "As am I, at 62. So now is the time to be eccentric, gentlemen!" he added with a flair of his hands.
"Aye, Lombardi," Joe greeted him brightly, "I haven't seen you in ages. How's the band? How long are you in port for?"
"The band is the band," Lombardi answered, waving away the question with disinterest. "We're in port until tomorrow. There's a delay. Something about a hurricane," he sniffed, pulling from his breast pocket a small elegant box of cigarillos.
Joe nodded and smiled. Daniel Lombardi was a hard read to him, and he could never be too sure if the man was serious or not. He had a transatlantic accent, used an effeminate tone and always spoke with lavish gestures. Joe would have written him off as a Liberace lover if it wasn't for the fact that the man routinely danced the tango with beautiful women as part of his cruise ship Band Leader persona.
"Ah shit, this shit again," Rosy exclaimed, lifting up his phone like they could see the small type on the screen. "They doing that large hadron collider thing again today. Here comes another time line." He shook his head with annoyance.
"Can't be any worse then the one we're in," Joe offered.
"What makes you think it does anything of the sort, you uneducated clods?" Lombardi squinted towards them both, and then he turned to face the harbor. "Look at your unwashed masses and their...pseudoscience," he shouted to the Statue of Liberty.
"Hey, I got a master's degree," Rosy growled, clearly offended.
"In history, yes I know," Lombardi said dryly. "Seth from accounting told me."
"I told you what?" Seth Cohen joined the conversation, exiting the building from behind them where the cruise ship line held their administrative offices. Dressed in the same dark blue suit as the rest of the Liberty cruise line employees, Seth always still stood out, because he was as Indian as Ghandi and he always wore a yamaka.
"That our Mr. Morris here used to be a teacher," Lombardi answered.
Joe Kelly sighed to himself as his friends continued talking. Rosy had been a teacher. He hadn't even known. He just always assumed the man was like himself, kind of unnoticed and unimportant to the outside world. Truck driver, security guard, waitress, cashier, jobs no one aspired to but that made the world go round. He had liked feeling that way, truth be told. Nothing would stop if he wasn't there, he wasn't in charge of anything, and yet there was still stores and ships that counted on him being the unseen ghost that arrived every day, Rosy had a wife too, he realized, as the man wore a wedding band. Joe had left his wife for another woman not three years into their marriage. It had been the worst mistake of his life, and in part why he was fine with becoming no one.
"Explain to me again how your Jewish," Lombardi was saying to Seth, taking unwelcome liberties with his 'eccentric' persona.
"My parents are Jewish," Seth answered, unfazed.
"And they're white," Lombardi questioned. "But you're not adopted."
"Correct," Seth said again. "Look...I know you keep saying you think I'm Indian but I'm not Indian."
Lombardi raised his eyebrows at Seth, still not buying his story. "Um, I'm really sorry to tell you this, Hadji, but, someone's not telling you the truth.
Joe stood, finished his cigarette and nodded to the others, ready to head to his truck, and then he stopped in his tracks. Something strange was on the horizon. "Um, guys," Joe's voice trembled in alarm, his breathing suddenly labored, never having seen anything like it before. "What is that?" Rosy rose to his feet, and Joe returned to join him, Lombardi and Seth on either side, as they watched a wall of what could only be described as whitish TV static roll towards them from the east.
"Part..of..the hurricane?" Lombardi questioned, his mouth hung open in confusion. The wall continued to move, obscuring objects from vision as it came, seemingly swallowing Manhattan and the bay as it raced towards their pier.
"Let's get inside," Seth suddenly gasped, putting out an arm to herd them towards his office. Whatever it was, weather phenomenon or some kind of electrical explosion, it wasn't wise to face it unsheltered. All four of them pivoted and ran, hitting the building's door just as the wall washed over them.
There was a moment where, to Rosy Morris, his movements seemed stuttered, like lag in a video game, his foot moving forward and back, forward and back. He felt pressure, like he was running into a piece of plastic wrap, unable to go forward though he pressed with all his might. He hung there, unmoving, unbreathing for a second, and then, there was a loud pop, and he was flung backwards onto the ground. He shouted out in shock and fear, unsure if he hadn't just had a stroke, his brain making a fast mental assessment of his body. And then he sat up, dusting the dirt off his hands. He was sitting in dirt. He wasn't on the dock anymore. He didn't even think he was in New Jersey anymore. He was in a jungle, surrounded by jungle, and he was wearing fatigues and carrying a pack and holding an M16. Around him, there were other men, with faces he hadn't seen in fifty years, and they all looked just as confused and perplexed as he was. "What's going on?" one of them gasped. "Oh god," Rosy whispered, his eyes rising towards the sky. "I'm in Vietnam."
Rain was coming. The thickening mist that blew in with the stiff breeze off the Hudson warned as much. Rosy Morris pulled his jacket tighter to his chest, his other hand tapping rhythmically against his knee, a waning cigarette between his calloused fingers.
To his right, Joe Kelly leaned forward and squinted towards the bay, observing the sliver of green that was the Statue of Liberty before it dissolved into the vast dark backdrop of the New York City skyline. "This weather is for the birds," he said, reaching stiffly into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes of his own. "That tremor of yours is getting worse," he added, directing his gaze towards his friend's shaking hand. "You sure you ain't got Parkinson's or something, old man?"
"I ain't got shit," Rosy laughed, a wide smile of impossibly white teeth spreading across his black face. "And who you calling old man," he scoffed, straightening his back to peer down at the truck driver beside him. "I'm pretty sure you're older then me, aren't you?"
Joe tilted his head, studying the man. He knew Rosy worked as a security guard, but he wasn't even sure who with. There were dozens of little businesses on this pier, one of several artificial fingers that jutted out into the upper bay from Bayonne. Due to the timing of their breaks and this being the only smoking area with a bench, they'd been sitting together like this every morning for years, but he'd never really gotten to know the man. Was he younger? It was hard to tell sometimes. "I'm 67," Joe finally admitted.
"Yeah, alright. I'm 68." Rosy dropped his cigarette and slide his boot over the stub. "Guess I am the old man."
"You're both old men," a distinguished voice came from behind them. They turned in unison to watch the approach of Daniel Lombardi, who looked cultured and important in his immaculate tweed jacket and cap. "As am I, at 62. So now is the time to be eccentric, gentlemen!" he added with a flair of his hands.
"Aye, Lombardi," Joe greeted him brightly, "I haven't seen you in ages. How's the band? How long are you in port for?"
"The band is the band," Lombardi answered, waving away the question with disinterest. "We're in port until tomorrow. There's a delay. Something about a hurricane," he sniffed, pulling from his breast pocket a small elegant box of cigarillos.
Joe nodded and smiled. Daniel Lombardi was a hard read to him, and he could never be too sure if the man was serious or not. He had a transatlantic accent, used an effeminate tone and always spoke with lavish gestures. Joe would have written him off as a Liberace lover if it wasn't for the fact that the man routinely danced the tango with beautiful women as part of his cruise ship Band Leader persona.
"Ah shit, this shit again," Rosy exclaimed, lifting up his phone like they could see the small type on the screen. "They doing that large hadron collider thing again today. Here comes another time line." He shook his head with annoyance.
"Can't be any worse then the one we're in," Joe offered.
"What makes you think it does anything of the sort, you uneducated clods?" Lombardi squinted towards them both, and then he turned to face the harbor. "Look at your unwashed masses and their...pseudoscience," he shouted to the Statue of Liberty.
"Hey, I got a master's degree," Rosy growled, clearly offended.
"In history, yes I know," Lombardi said dryly. "Seth from accounting told me."
"I told you what?" Seth Cohen joined the conversation, exiting the building from behind them where the cruise ship line held their administrative offices. Dressed in the same dark blue suit as the rest of the Liberty cruise line employees, Seth always still stood out, because he was as Indian as Ghandi and he always wore a yamaka.
"That our Mr. Morris here used to be a teacher," Lombardi answered.
Joe Kelly sighed to himself as his friends continued talking. Rosy had been a teacher. He hadn't even known. He just always assumed the man was like himself, kind of unnoticed and unimportant to the outside world. Truck driver, security guard, waitress, cashier, jobs no one aspired to but that made the world go round. He had liked feeling that way, truth be told. Nothing would stop if he wasn't there, he wasn't in charge of anything, and yet there was still stores and ships that counted on him being the unseen ghost that arrived every day, Rosy had a wife too, he realized, as the man wore a wedding band. Joe had left his wife for another woman not three years into their marriage. It had been the worst mistake of his life, and in part why he was fine with becoming no one.
"Explain to me again how your Jewish," Lombardi was saying to Seth, taking unwelcome liberties with his 'eccentric' persona.
"My parents are Jewish," Seth answered, unfazed.
"And they're white," Lombardi questioned. "But you're not adopted."
"Correct," Seth said again. "Look...I know you keep saying you think I'm Indian but I'm not Indian."
Lombardi raised his eyebrows at Seth, still not buying his story. "Um, I'm really sorry to tell you this, Hadji, but, someone's not telling you the truth.
Joe stood, finished his cigarette and nodded to the others, ready to head to his truck, and then he stopped in his tracks. Something strange was on the horizon. "Um, guys," Joe's voice trembled in alarm, his breathing suddenly labored, never having seen anything like it before. "What is that?" Rosy rose to his feet, and Joe returned to join him, Lombardi and Seth on either side, as they watched a wall of what could only be described as whitish TV static roll towards them from the east.
"Part..of..the hurricane?" Lombardi questioned, his mouth hung open in confusion. The wall continued to move, obscuring objects from vision as it came, seemingly swallowing Manhattan and the bay as it raced towards their pier.
"Let's get inside," Seth suddenly gasped, putting out an arm to herd them towards his office. Whatever it was, weather phenomenon or some kind of electrical explosion, it wasn't wise to face it unsheltered. All four of them pivoted and ran, hitting the building's door just as the wall washed over them.
There was a moment where, to Rosy Morris, his movements seemed stuttered, like lag in a video game, his foot moving forward and back, forward and back. He felt pressure, like he was running into a piece of plastic wrap, unable to go forward though he pressed with all his might. He hung there, unmoving, unbreathing for a second, and then, there was a loud pop, and he was flung backwards onto the ground. He shouted out in shock and fear, unsure if he hadn't just had a stroke, his brain making a fast mental assessment of his body. And then he sat up, dusting the dirt off his hands. He was sitting in dirt. He wasn't on the dock anymore. He didn't even think he was in New Jersey anymore. He was in a jungle, surrounded by jungle, and he was wearing fatigues and carrying a pack and holding an M16. Around him, there were other men, with faces he hadn't seen in fifty years, and they all looked just as confused and perplexed as he was. "What's going on?" one of them gasped. "Oh god," Rosy whispered, his eyes rising towards the sky. "I'm in Vietnam."
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