“So where were you, bruddah?”
“You went with somebody?”
“No, I traveled alone. Why?”
“You said you went to this Timbuk place too. So somebody must have gone with you. You tryin’ to keep secrets?”
“I don’t think so. Any tabloid reporters follow me around, they’re gonna get bored, and they’re gonna go broke. It’s ‘Timbuktu’. One word. And it’s a real place, in Africa. Deep in the desert and miles from nowhere. But that’s not where I went. I just had a meeting on the mainland.
“Back when my hair was your color, though, we’d call anyplace that was far, far away Timbuktu. Especially if we couldn’t reach it. Like, auntie’s on Maui, but I can’t afford the plane fare, and it’s too far to swim, so she may as well be in Timbuktu.”
“That’s hard on your auntie.”
“Could be worse. She could be in Cleveland.”
“Dealin’ needlework to basketball players? No sale. But I got a question about this Timbuktu place.”
“What happened to Timbukone?”
“Yeah, you know, Timbuk One. If there was a Two, there had to have been a One, right? So what happened to it? Did an army sack it, or a sandstorm bury it, so they had to build it all over again?”
“It went obsolete.”
“Yeah. They gave it a new number when they upgraded it to PS3. Added a couple of levels. It’s more of a challenge to get to the city now, and it’s harder to survive once you get there. Real easy to die of the heat if you’re not careful. And that’s before the guys with the guns show up.”
“I’m sorry I asked. This is getting, like, really far out.”
“You mean, like Timbuktu?”
“No, like a really good ballet dancer.”
“Yeah. In a Timbuk tutu.”
“Enough already …!!”
– O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.