Friday's in the background

and its a stream of images and channels. Like the landscape seen in between the gaps in a passing train.

Channel 1:
It was black. Very very dark. Like being buried in a cave a hundred miles inside the earth dark. A sound, a pebble kicked, a stumbling footfall crunching earth and sand...and a man striking a rock wall with his face.
"ow. damn."
A strong voice calls out. (We know by now it's the voice of Wednesday)
"Who are you!?"
"Umm, I'm Mathew Storfield."
"Who do you serve?"
a long pause.

"Well, I serve the economic interests of the shareholders of the United
Alliance of Insurance Brokers."
Then frenzied scuffling.
"Hey, you can't do...damn! What is the meaning of - wait why am I...do I smell horses?"
Then hooves pounded away in the darkness - followed by strange popping noises, and the unmistakable sound of rending human flesh. After that there's a loud, meaty thunk. Probably best that this was shot in total darkness.

"Click"

Channel 2:
He was well put together - black suit - Italian, and expensive. A long black coat, and a pair of
nice black shoes. He had a white shirt with a black tie, and he carried a thin black briefcase with
chrome fittings. He also had the face of Tuesday, and approximately the same height and weight. The best thing about it was, he walked up to the circle of people, and just pushed his way in.

They were gathered around a square of cardboard, and a hip-hop kid, no more than 14, was dancing with standard moves to one of your common drumbeats. When he finished, he looked over to the rube in the suit and called him out. The being, looking like Tuesday walked out - took a moment to take off his jackets, and breathed deeply a few times - bringing the music inside him. Then he began a remarkable display of breakdancing on the dirty cardboard.

He did handstands, and headspins, and an array of kicks, punches, and glides - intercut with head, shoulder, arm, leg and torso swivels which, vaguely resembled robotics - however, the real
word would be "butter." Around him the circle - some thirty or forty people clapped and cheered like crazy - laughing at the unbelievable things this guy was pulling off. Then in a finale - he performed a one-handed handstand, and with the other slapped the insoles of both of his feet, then lowered himself to his head - spun about in a crazy fast headspin, and came to
a rest, laying on the cardboard looking casual with his legs crossed, and hands interlaced behind his head. The mob cheered like crazy.

Monday walked out of the crowd with a sawed off double-barreled shotgun, pointed it at the man, and pulled both triggers. The blast pretty much took away his head and his hands right behind it. From inside the hole of his head-stump, a massive wave of beetles and roaches rushed out. The crowd recoiled in fear. Either jumping away, or crushing the bugs with their shoes and boots.

"We don't take kindly to clones around here." Monday said in a slow drawl to the crowd - eying them over as if there might be more in the group, "No matter how good they can dance."

As the scene fades, we hear someone ask quietly, "How do we know that wasn't really Tuesday?"

"Click"

Channel 3:
"Reminds me of the time I slipped Queen Isabella a pastry laden with aphrodisiac." Began Thursday. He was reclining on a daybed, attired like a Roman, and drinking wine from a huge bronze cup. A lovely nymph plucked grapes from a vine, and dropped them into his mouth. He spoke while chewing, both his body language and chewing grew more animated as he talked.
"It was 1491, mind you, and love potion was not cheap to come by in those parts. However, I still had a few contacts in the Moorish areas - but unfortunately, while I was there, I had more than a few delicious lamb kabobs. Well - soon as the Queen had taken my offering, and set it to her dainty lips - I was seized by the most urgent need to, ah, um, well...relieve myself."

Thursday takes a moment to look around at his audience to see if they're still with him. (they are) He laughs loudly at himself, and gets fed a couple more grapes.

"Well -" He continues, "I slipped away for but a few moments, however, when I returned, Columbus was there explaining his whole trip to the West, and the Queen sat there completely enchanted. There was nothing I could do but chalk it up to bad lamb.

"Click"

Channel Fjord:
Friday can feel it. It seeps from his pores like magic. Hell, it is magic. He can see it in the eyes of people he crosses. They know. In the window of the Acme Machine Company he catches his reflection. Dark jacket, dirty ripped hoodie, even a green workshirt won't be contained, and peaks out in places. All the right places. He might as well have been made up by a stylist - but he wasn't, and that's why he's feeling it. He looks like rock-n-roll, he smells like successful night on the town, and his feet make the sound of owning the piece of ground they fall upon.

Why couldn't his enemies decide to pick on him on a day like today? He wonders...
CUT TO:
Friday stands upon a sand dune. To the right - a German panzer division attacks! Shells fall about - whistling razors of hot metal shear through the air. Small arms fire blasts the hill he stands upon. With infinite time, he raises his hand, and moves it slowly across them. Wherever it passes, bullets, shells, mortars, tanks, rifles, machine-guns, howitzers, half-tracks, all rust instantaneously and fall to dust. Buckles on the stormtroopers belts fall away. Buttons and zippers on trousers explode in small puffs of rust-dust. Helmets and insignia of rank follow. The entire division falls into disarray, and slink off - holding their clothes up.

A nice fantasy, he agrees with himself. But of course, his enemies would never pick a day like today. They'd know - and give him a wide berth. Their spies would pick a day when he had less lethal mojo. He moves on until he reaches the nice looking pad he was seeking. He walks up the driveway past nicely polished old cars, and notices a few too many men in nice suits and sunglasses admiring the landscaping, or polishing off non-existent spots on the nicely polished cars. Two of the men open the front doors, and he enters.

Inside, music seeps into the scene. Someone is knocking the hell out of the ivories, and there is laughter along with it. Friday moves down a staircase, and opens a door - to full blast of "Come Fly With Me" Sammy's rockin' the piano, and Dean and Frank are working harmony off each other - belting out the ending "PACK UP - LET'S FLY AWWWWWWWWWWAY!" Then they crack each other up, and have huge gulps of scotch from huge low-ball glasses.

"Friday baby, glad you could make it kiddo." Says Sammy, (in only the way Sammy can say things like that and have it come out sincere-and cool) stepping up from the piano to give Friday a hug.
Dino looks over and smiles a loopy grin.
"Ring-a-ding-ding." He purrs. "It's the cat who put the fat back in Friday. Let me get you some gas, man." And he moved over to the bar - and began pouring a huge lowball to the rim.
"Yeah." Frank said, walking over to drop a hug, "If you ain't the original jet-setter, I don't know what one is. Pull up a stool, we're dropping some tunes to pass the time."
"Don't mind if I do." Says Friday, pulling up next to the piano as Dean hands him the drink, full to the point of overflowing. He takes a sip, and looks up at three smiling legendary faces. "So what's next?" He asks.
"Well, you see baby, " Starts Sammy, "We kinda thought, see, you'd hit us with one-a-yours."

Friday looked up and with no false modesty said, "I think it would be better if..."
"No way baby!" Said Dino moving in closer, "We know you're dizzy with the songs...so lay one on us!"
"But really I..." Friday got cut off by Frank.
"This party is nowhere 'til we hear a song." Says Frank with authority.

Friday managed a little grimace. He starts thinking, and comes up with very little. He takes a slow long sip of excellent scotch, and realizes, he might just have something.

He clears his throat with a loud, "Ahem."
And then sings out in a soft - but perfectly toned voice.
"I was workin' part time at the five-and-dime,
My boss was Mr. McGee."

Dean sauntered to the piano, and picked up the melody in a couple of bars. Friday kept it up.

"He told me many times that he didn't like my kind
'Cause I was a bit too leisurely.
It seemed I was busy doin' something next to nothin'
But different from the day before.
And that's when I saw her - oooh that's when I saw her
She walked in thru the out door - out door."

And if in a movie - the Rat Pack and Friday hit the chorus with abandon.

"She wore a raspberry beret, the kind you find in a second hand store!
A raspberry beret - I think I love her..."

Fade out
(End Transmission)


Happy Friday