RICHARD
Dirty
“It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.”
I looked at Toby cynically.
“What are you talking about, mate? How is being a talent scout for glamour magazines a dirty job? It’s not like you’re a sewage engineer!”
Toby gave me an exasperated look. “Why do you always have to take things so literally? It’s irony! It’s supposed to be amusing.”
“It’s not funny” I countered.
“Suit yourself” he replied, “you’re just jealous.”
“Not at all. I love being a sewage engineer… The smells, the filth, the rubber, hot babes.”
He smiled, “Is that irony?”
“Yeah. I’m learning!”
LIZZIE
He sat surrounded by orange and red and yellow pillows. All he could think of was to get rid of her. That’s where he was in life. “Let’s have a cocktail at the Sundown Lounge,” she said. “It’s so fancy!” Her voice shrilled throughout the fancy rooftop. And now, here he was, pondering whether he could break the glass he was holding, and stab her with it quickly enough. Well, he did try. But the damn lounge had some pretty sturdy glasses. “It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it,” he later told his cellmate. “I trust you.”
SERENDIPIDY
Someone has to do the dirty jobs.
The muck-rakers, the toilet scrubbers and the collectors of night soil. The gatherers of carrion and the bringers of death and decay.
They have their place, and although despised and looked down upon by society, they fulfil a need.
Theirs is the domain of darkness and stench, the place of pain and putrescence, and without them, life would fester and rot, with no-one to prevent its fall into chaos.
So celebrate those of that foul domain, and remember their worth.
Personally, I wouldn’t deign to touch them
That’s your job, not mine!
TOM
Thick as Thieves
I couldn’t have been greener. But my mentor in the party was an old hand at the more dubious craftsmanship of Rat Fuckn. “It’s a dirty job, but someone hast to do it.” He would quip slowly, as he surveying the room, finally letting his gaze fall on me. The funny thing about the dirty job is the goal was not to let a stray finger press make its present known. He reminded me we were not spooks; we were shadows. We did not change outcomes we merely shaded perceptions. And the price He smiled was never done dirt cheap.
NORVAL JOE
As the three walked along the foggy road, a van from the “Someone’s gotta do it” septic service stopped next to them.
The driver asked. “Do you kids need a ride?” He smiled, exposing large yellow teeth.
Linoliamanda stepped toward the van. “Sure.”
“No. Wait,” Billbert shouted.
The van’s door slid open and six burley teenagers jumped out, grabbing Billbert and his friends.
Too late to join hands and fly off, Billbert said, “Come on, Sabrina. You’re the weather witch. Do something.”
“Right,” she said, turning to face the ocean. The fog separated and a giant thunderhead barrelled toward them.
PLANET Z
A long time ago, I had a son.
He grew up big and strong.
And one day, he went out but never came back.
He never came back again.
Sometimes, I think I see him hiding in the bushes.
Or up in a tree, in the shadows.
It’s been years since he left, but I know he’s out there.
And one day, when my days are done, it will be my time to go out and never come back.
And I will find him.
Maybe you’ll see us, in the bushes, up in a tree.
In the shadows together, forever.