She was (a Fictional Moment 8)

“Get over here and stop making a spectacle of yourself.”

A young voice said this.

Hazard swatted at Bloom’n, urging her to park herself down at the front table of  a chi-chi place that they — Bloom’n, Sprocket, and now Hazard —  had poured themselves into.

Bloom’n didn’t know it for a fact, but she assumed she had been basically pushed into this place because, well, she had been basically on the verge of making a scene with Hello Day overall, and the last Hello Day message in particular.  You know…that unmentionable one.  Okay fine, she thought, and went along with being Activist Interrupted.  But she thought:  just don’t for a second believe that you’ve distracted me from my mission.  Just don’t ever think that…unless you want to be very rudely surprised.  Still, she kept silent on all of this because her commitment needed no external validation.  So she looked around instead.

The place that she surveyed wanted to be some high brow place in Paris, but it wasn’t.  The place  wanted to be status, but it couldn’t pull that off in spite of its desire.  Still, like every restaurant down the street, Le Bistrot did manage to pull out its windows from their encasement during the summer months to allow the breeze to flow through.  And, well, it just seemed like the patrons were that much closer to the so-called “animals” that were humans in their so-called “cage pens” that were defined by a five-block Art Fair on the streets.

It was odd.  It was wierd.  And it was bizarre to have moved from being one of the animals on the street to now being a close-but-not-too-close-chi-chi observer, Bloom’n shrugged to herself.  But that’s where they currently found themselves:   Bloom’n, Sprocket, and Hazard around a table with a front row vista to the world immediately outside their windowless window.

Hello Day holograms bobbed and weaved in the air, hanging around the necks of every passerby.  They were a river, the people were.  A river of suburbanites mainly, in the city for a day to graze through an annual art fair, clogging up the city streets with their Ikea minds.

Mother fucker wierdness indeed, Bloom’n as a true city-born soul thought.  The pretenders.  So odd.

Then all of sudden she studied Hazard, who hadn’t been there before.  Who was a kid.  Not her kid.  But a kid.  All of 18 years or something.  She wasn’t entirely sure.  But the thing about Hazard is he had a habit of appearing out of nowhere.  She kind of liked that about him.  But it kind of bothered her too.  Because Hazard never showed up just for anything.  No…he always showed up for something.

“Okay kid,” she said while pulling her chair in closer to him and ignoring the mass of suburbanites parading like Urban Poser Diehards in front of them.  Sprocket had kicked back.  In wait of a menu or something, no doubt.  So he was fine.  But this kid — Hazard — well, she paused.  Folded her arms across the table.  Stared the kid straight in the eyes and said, “So why now, kid?  You show up all of a sudden.  What’s going on here.”

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