Bill Collectors

Just another race to make. He’s spending more time off the ground than on it, pumping his arms like a hydraulic-powered windmill. Discordant 18th notes are hit steadily in an accented riff. There’s a melodic acoustic hidden underneath its’ louder lead-guitar electric cousin and a swinging electric bass, second electric guitar playing countermelody, + two drummers performing a duet together above it all. Pelocwn speeds up with the music. Beneath his blurring legs the world is rolling.

Turning his head 3/8ths back shows his pursuers’re still enshadowed several railines back. Pelocwn skips behind a tank. It’s a behemoth structure in a larger grid of like-modeled giants. He can’s even see the furthest end of it because of encroaching shadows. They bring to Pelocwns mind zeppelins and tanker trucks. Shaking his head brings him back to the task at hand. Crouched he looks for Garedo and Onar to pass by in a hurry. Knees centimeters from his chest, breath held, palms braced with splayed fingers upon the wind-whupped dirt he patiently counts some seconds. Waiting until just before he would have to gasp he breaths quietly. There’s still nothing to see by the path he came from. Shoulders slump and Pelocwn switches to a cross-legged position. Not long later his head is in his right hand the elbow rested on his right knee. The band’s finished the song they’d been playing. It was a 15-minute instrumental epic. Now the singers back and Pelocwn feels cheated with his waiting.

Emerging from the symmetrically round tank’s side (only a peering head) Pelocwn sees the other 30-40+somethings he has been waiting to catch up with him. Not including his legs, Onar is shaped like a very thick b or d. His hairy arms keep his head from lowering too much –braced as they are against his legs. Garedo keeps trying to convince him, loudly, to come along. They have to get that punk before he escapes. They’re so caught up in their argument that they don’t notice changes taking place around them. So much of Onar’s breath is used to yell* that he can’t catch his breath.

Pelocwn turns from the scene and sees a $50** crest and trough, turning in semi-circular slashes an airshow pilot. He-has-to grab it before the wind pulls it out of reach. With a snatch! Greenie fifty is in Pelocwn’s palm. Listening to Paladin Oaths by Virginian Man-Eater Animal, Pelocwn stuffs his money into a jacket pocket. With shut eyes, he hears a victory song…and

“got ya now twirp>:)”. Four arms are looped between his still-in-pocket arms and torso sides. “Hold! (Garedo turns a full-force de-stomacher punch into a tap) I have your money” “See Orno? I knew this liar had a cash-stash untapped.” Pelocwn handed over his 50. Those men who nearly assailed him passed behind his back to leave. “Hey! Could I get change?” Garedo and Orno look at each other, Garedo shrugs, and Orno hands Pelocwn a $10 bronze chip.

Visible by streetlight, he stares through the concert-fence to catch their encore. He’ll have to go to sleep tomorrow. Pelocwn’s number 28 in Agsbur’s annual Vietoff Cure race.

*loud as the music was, Garedo and Onar were close enough to hear one another at regular vocal volumes.

**After the Rollicking Cradle-Kickers 3008 tour (which was when the song “First Time w/my lady I Spent a 50, dollar, bill” became so popular) it became tradition for fans to hold up antique American $50s at VA Eat. Concerts.