Elsewhere flowers bloom

"In the room the women come and go / talking of walfs and Morsoco"

My eyes were glazing with the dull, monotonous glow of the monitor.
If I had wore my shirt and tie, it'd be easy to assume a drug issue. A certain lack of accreditation and too much cultivation of particular plants or too many pills frequently popped. Illicit substances wouldn't show up in any blood test I'd ever given, maybe high blood pressure, and a comment on keenness of alcohol. My best days felt all behind me. I glanced up to the clock, to the repetitive ticking; Its the only thing I've came to appreciate in this hell hole. Memories afar and aspirations of where I want to be. This wasn't it, not by a long shot. Bloodshot gaze turning to the window of strings being plunked in the distant.

Hours pass, and the urge to form an insurgence against middle management bureaucrats and at the world at large barely registers. A tune I knew all too well, with frivolous Student Activism of wanting to change the world with youthful idealism. So young and yet so dumb by not knowing how and not caring if attaching to the litter bin in front of McDonald's really will save Tibet. It sounded like a good idea while drunk. I leave a good howl. Ruffling aching grey hairs. The world didn't appreciate writers like me.
“Oh, I don't appreciate the Earth as much as I should.” mutters a melodic voice.
Women. Early Twenties. National Geographic in her hands. Weather beaten claws slice into the empty Starbucks cup. I'll be nice. “Of a ball of dirt that spans thirty eight sextillion cubic feet, it's certainly got a lot of mud to appreciate.” cocking a grin in my less than finest moment. If anything Hoping I get a biscotti biscuit as a treat … would've added to the stark humiliation of the daily grind.
“It's a Mansion of everyday material, .. still plenty of room for worldly cultures, fossils and artefacts and an Apartment in Florence Avenue with a Ocean view. All in it's back garden.”
“I still wouldn't call the local craft fair the zenith of culture though-”
“They did a rip of Ron Mueck and built a Wicker man of Dali.” her deep demeanour splintering into that of a school girl, giggling in the interruption. Following suite I found it impassable on the crafting nouveau took to building the statue. “See the inner city gallery on Non-Art day with their stunt?” barely a second reposed and like wolves plucking feathers we howled, “Someone removed the urinals from the bathroom!”
The bus trip home was unusually long for all the right reasons. The stop was miles away, .. long gone and missed, as we jabbed the local art scene. “So what brings you here, .. your a tourist perhaps?” speaking inquisitively, having detoured my Friday happy hour evening, just to connect with someone who may have cared. “I'm a detective actually.”
“Oh, .. any interesting cases Miss Ace?”
“Just the one.” giving a coy look of lustre. “It's an enigma for sure, .. on of my own freelance curiosity mind you?” I had to lean in, taking the bait.
“Go on.”
“I'm just working on this one mystery of who this person is, they've been silent at a lot of the major exhibits, in fact they seem to have attended all I'm aware of .. dressed in a suit where others wear shirts too small or colours so jarring they'd give Morsoco a mind trip.”
Blank stare, it couldn't be …
“And I'm wondering if I've broken an investigator moral code by talking in such a jovial manner, .. vis-a-vis my Law evoking friends in justice would mutter. Certainly an interesting person, .. who's novel...”
I choked and sputtered, I've been stalked by a fan.
“A copy of 'elsewhere flowers bloom', I .. didn't know they still sold the damn thing?!”

“Would a signature be too much to ask?”
“Could I get a biscuit as a treat?” taking out a pen, as she laughed. Amazed she even did, let alone find a copy. “Would you also like to meet the local book club, .. it's the only thing I haven't seen you at? We read your work as the main aspiration.”
“Sounds like a lengthy sentence.”
“Biscuits, Booze and Boys.”
“I'm there.”