6

Mara stands next to the highway, cardboard sign cradled in one arm, her thumb out as the cars shoot by, looks back at Monkey and Pig peeking through the branches of a nearby bush.

"No one's stopping."

"Give it a minute."

"You know, if you transformed this would be a whole lot easier."

"Yes, but it wouldn't be as fun." 

She rolls her eyes, drops her thumb, grabs the hilt of her sword, whips out her blade, walks to the middle of the highway, armor glinting in the light as a blue Safari minivan screeches to a halt. The driver, middle-aged in a polo, sticks his head out ready to yell then notices the girl, the sign in her arms, softens and waves her in. Monkey and Pig jump from the bush and climb in the back as Mara hops in the front. 

"You're going to kill yourself doing that. Where are your parents?" Mara doesn't respond. He adjusts his rearview looking at Monkey and Pig, the nine pronged rake sticking out the window. "Going to Comic-Con, huh?" Mara nods. "Cool costumes." He pulls back into traffic. "My son is really into...this." Looks again in the rearview as Monkey and Pig stare out opposite windows. "Quiet bunch...though I guess it comes with the territory." He winces not sure what that means then follows with, "So, who are you supposed to be?" Mara closes her eyes and lets out a deep sigh. "Wait. Let me guess." He purses his lips and squints at Monkey. "Chewbacca?" Pig starts laughing. "No? Ok. Don't mean to be insulting. You've got quite a mish-mash of things going on there." Changes lanes. "Dr. Zaius?" Starts to merge on the highway heading east. "Strike two. How bout you," he looks at Pig. "Famous pigs. Famous pigs. Well, you're too ugly to be Piglet..." Pig stops laughing as Monkey needles him with his elbow. "You sure did a good job with your makeup. Those bloodshot eyes look so...real."

"Thanks," Pig mutters pushing away Monkey's jabs.

"Famous pigs. Famous pigs. There's...Porky," he glances back, "but you're wearing pants."

"I can take my pants off," Pig offers. Monkey stops poking and frowns.

"There's the pig from Charlotte's web. Oh! Are you that pig from the Lion King? What's his name?"

"Where are we going," Mara asks. "We're heading east."

"The Agricenter's right by the airport. What other Comic-Con would you be going to?"

Mara looks at Pig then without taking her eyes off him, "Pumba. The name of the pig in the Lion King is Pumba."

"That's right. I'm Dave by the way," Dave says. No one introduces themselves so Dave starts whistling. "You must be someone from Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones," he says glancing over to Mara. "That's a nice sheath you have there. Did you do that work yourself?"

Mara runs her finger over the filigree. 

"An old man in a strip club made this out of a condom he found in a stripper's purse."

Dave laughs. His mind scrambles a bit then, "Oh, this is like a Marlon Brando type thing. I get it." He exits and curves toward the Agricenter. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me Buffy," he says winking. 

Mara puts her hand on her sword and narrows her eyes, looks in the rearview to catch Monkey shaking his head, takes her hand off the hilt as Dave pulls up with a, "Well, I hope you kids have fun. If you see a teen dressed like the Incredible Hulk in his mother's purple jeans that's my Thomas. Please say hi. He's very shy."

"Will do," Monkey says as they pile out and head through the glass doors. Inside the convention center they see, 

five Wonder Women in a circle
as Skeletor walks by
and Wolverine apologizes for running into
a man dressed like Princess Leia.
The Joker, Mr. Potato Head and Sailor Moon
wait by the tropical palm
stuffed in a glistening grey pot
exchanging numbers and making plans
to meet at the Applebee's down the street
and there's Poison Ivy 
flipping her red wig
demanding to see her phone
to make sure her ass looks good
as they walk by
thirty-five Pikachu's doing yoga
a contest for which Goku has the tallest hair
and a snuggle room where thirteen Hello Kitties
just took Ketamine and are
flopping on top of a pile of Yogi's and Bubu's
as the soft trancy wizard music
lays over them like waves
and suddenly Pig's not sure
why he's slow dancing with Dora the Explorer
but her enormous head
feels good against his chest
and he falls into the lull
of the costumed cuddle puddle that is
Comic-Con

Mara grabs Pig by his waistband and yanks him out of the room as Dora falls and rolls, her tiny arms and legs sticking up like an insect.

"She is waaay too young for you," she says letting go in disgust.

"How do you know how old she is?"

"You're two thousand years old! I don't have to know how old she is. Besides, what makes you think it's a girl? Because the foam-padded outfit has eyelashes?"

Pig adjusts his waistband. 

"I've had a hard day. If I want to unwind by snuggling with a 20-something dude who likes to dress like Dora the Explorer then that's what I'm going to do."

"Oh, that's what you're into now?"

Pig looks back in the room. Dora's not gotten up possibly because she is enjoying being spooned by Bubu's on all sides but also maybe because her head is so big she can't stand.

"I think I'm ready to go now," Pig says. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Yeah, what's the plan here?" she says turning to Monkey. "We're further away now than when we started."

"Maybe we should ask for a ride," Pig says as a naked woman painted in blue walks by.

"We're not listening to you anymore," Mara says, then looking to Monkey, "I've got an idea. I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier but some of my friends hop trains. If we caught the right one we could be there in a day or so."

Monkey nods, turns to go, then stops, looks around again, his eyes engulfed in flames. 

"Do you feel that? Someone's here." 

"Yeah. It's Comic-Con. There's a thousand people here. Is one of them is evil? Sure, but...c'mon, they're just kids," Pig says tugging on Monkey's tail.

Monkey jerks it out of his hand and slaps him in the face. The crowds swarm in and out of the convention hall, the brightly colored costumes and red face paint swirl together as Monkey sweeps his gaze across the room.

"Maybe you're right," he says relaxing, takes a step toward the door only to be encircled by a mob of Pikachu's, their black eyes staring, reflecting the overhead fluorescents, the scratchy yellow felt stretched over large chunks of foam remain still as the murmur of the crowd starts to dim and the lights go out. A strobe flickers above then forms into a man made of static, the grey and white noise pulsing and glowing as he hovers above, arms crossed.

"Welcome to the worst day of the rest of your..."

Pig steps forward. "Nope. Nope! I'm sorry. We've already done this today. One demon per day. That's it. That's my limit. I can't. I just CAN'T! You seem like a nice person," he says looking up toward the ceiling," or, whatever you are, but I haven't eaten in...I don't know how long and I'm tired and I almost made out with Dora the Explorer," he says motioning past the Pikachu's, "and I'm not even sure if she was a woman so I'm a little confused."

"I knew it!" Mara says pointing her finger at his snout. 

"And honestly, I just want to go home." He turns to Monkey. "This has been fun. Really. I've enjoyed this whole...thing, but it's not going anywhere, and I want to go back and have people wait on me, and yes, so I eat the occasional person. Is that so wrong? I mean, with everything we've seen in the last few days, I feel like I'm doing pretty good." 

The man made of static hovers silently above then, "Oh, are you done? I didn't know if you'd finished. You started to ramble there and I didn't want to step all over your speech because, you know, I'm a considerate human being."

"You're a considerate human being?" Pig says crossing his arms.

"Yes."

"You're a human being?"

"Well, I was speaking metaphorically."

"So I imagine you're planning to attack us with...what exactly? All your Comic-Con minions? Is that considerate?"

"Well, I..."

"And that you're static because, oh I don't know, you've been copied so many times you've turned into noise? Is that it? You're a reflection of the fact that everything's a reference to the original except YOU because you've been copied so many times you've disintegrated into something truly unique?"

"It's more complicated than that but...yes"

"Do you know who this is?" Pig says pointing to Monkey. "This is Sun Wukong. The Monkey King. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven. He's one of the strongest beings in the universe, not to mention the fact that he's IMMORTAL and you were going to send a mob of teenagers in superhero outfits at us?"

"I have a plan B."

"Of course you do." Pig puts his hands to his head. "Of course you have a plan B. Do you know what we have? We have The Lord of Death's daughter with a fucking magic sword. Does your plan B take that into account?" 

"He's not the Lord of Death," Mara says frowning.

Pig starts to pace around exasperated. "Why are you attacking us anyway? We're not doing anything. We came here accidentally. We just got here! And we were about to leave. Go on and keep doing...whatever it is that you're doing. You want to turn these teenagers into zombies? Great. Go for it. I'm not here to stop you. Are you here to stop him?" Pig says looking at Mara. Mara shakes her head. "Are you here to stop him?" Pig says looking at Monkey. 

"He is a demon." Monkey says. 

Pig turns back. 

"We're not here to stop you. We just want to get on a train to Florida. Is that so much to ask? Can you help us get to Florida? Please! Help us or my Monkey friend is going to go berserk and butcher every living thing in this convention center."

The man made of static looks down at Pig, the prongs of his rake glistening under the overhead lights, to Monkey baring his gold banded cudgel, eyes lit in a fiery gaze, then to Mara, her small hand on the hilt of an enormous sword. He descends to the floor, pulls out his phone and starts typing.

"You know I think there's a train that goes from Memphis to Orlando."

"We don't have any money," Mara says.

"Well I can just loan you...I mean, I can give you some if you..."

"We can't take money either," Monkey says. "We're monks. We can only accept food and a place to stay."

"Ooookay." He types faster on his phone. "Well, there's a freight train that leaves from Memphis tonight and looks like it's going to Mobile. That's pretty close to Florida. How does that sound?"

"That's great," Pig says taking the phone and looking at the map and schedule.

"I really did have a plan B. All these superheroes were going to start attacking you and I have this neat static stuff I shoot out of my hands that scrambles your mind."

"I'm sure it's really cool," Pig says walking away. 

Monkey stops in front of him, looks at the kids then, "If you don't let them go I'm going to come back after we're done and smash you with my cudgel and if that doesn't work I'm sure there's some magic horn I have to find that when I blow it your head will explode or your body will come apart piece by piece and I'll take my time so you feel every second of your entire being slowly ripped apart," then he smiles showing all his teeth.

Outside they regroup and start walking to the train yard. Monkey catches up with Pig. 

"Hey, I just wanted to thank you for what you did back there." Pig looks over surprised not sure if he's being made fun of. "You were right. If they attacked I would've slaughtered them." 

Pig gives a worried glance then, "Now don't go getting all soft on me. We're not even to Florida yet." They pass a gas station and he motions to it and says, "I'm going to grab a bite and use the bathroom." 

Mara sits in the shade of a small tree and looks at her phone. Monkey sits next to her in the sun cross-legged and closes his eyes. 

"What're you doing?" Mara asks annoyed. 

"I'm meditating." 

He doesn't see it but he feels her eyes roll.

"How're you doing?"

Monkey opens one eye to look at her. 

"Not good since you keep talking to me." 

Mara puts her phone away and leans back against the trunk. 

"I thought the whole point was to get better at dealing with distraction?" Monkey frowns. "So, you should be able to ignore me right? If I'm bothering you then you're doing it wrong." Monkey closes his one eye, sits upright and concentrates. "How many people have you killed?" Monkey scrunches his face and doesn't answer. The sound of traffic turns into the waves of the ocean then to a white noise. "So what's it like being immortal? Do you ever regret not being able to die?" Monkey lets out a sigh then starts breathing more deeply. The sun is high in a cloudless sky and he can feel his nose and cheeks and chin getting hot. "If you're going to live forever what'll you do when the sun eventually swallows the earth and they'll be no more people left? You'll just be floating in space for eternity looking for other signs of life, but what if there isn't any? Just floating in the void forever." 

His eyes snap open and he jumps to his feet, dusts off his legs. "I'm going to go check on Pig," he says, gives her a hard look then walks to the gas station and peers inside. There's a couple standing in front of the donut display, the woman pointing to a chocolate long john, laughing. He walks to the back hopping from one cement block to the next till he's at the bathroom. Bangs on the door. No answer. Looks around, scans the highway. "Could he have..." Looks at the door. "No. Too much work." 

The cement blocks end in a patch of crabgrass. There's a butterfly sitting on the tip of a blade. Monkey squats to look as it flies off, the rest of the blades emerge in anxious repetition as he scans them looking for other signs of life, a ladybug, grasshopper, small trail of ants. His gaze rests on a small red splatter, runs his fingers up the blade and feels the wetness of blood, looks at the bottom of the door and sees a trickle running down the white paint of the trim, stands, rips the door off the hinges, tosses it aside and this is what he sees.

Pig's hands holding 
the small body of a woman
the head half-eaten
her arms 
and sunflower dress 
hang limp
the soap dispenser
porcelain sink
and toilet 
shrink back
as Monkey raises his cudgel
and the whites of Pig's eyes
look on in terror

Pig cowers turning his head toward the body making him lose balance as he slips on the blood and falls into the toilet smashing it. Monkey lowers his cudgel and stares as Pig wails and shivers on the floor. He looks away disgusted. "What good does it do?" he thinks to himself looking at a small maple tree planted in the median, the metal ring around the slender trunk, three wires pulling it in different directions staked into the ground holding it to a shiver. 

Pig's breathing slows. The sobbing stops before he lets out a quiet, "Please don't tell her." Monkey doesn't look at him again, walks back and sits cross-legged next to Mara who's still typing on her phone smiling and laughing to herself. She puts her phone down and says, "So, can we leave yet or are we still waiting on that idiot to finish eating?"

He doesn't answer. Mara looks up questioningly as Pig emerges from the gas station dressed in a black polyester shirt with racing flames rising up from the bottom and a pair of black meshy shorts to match. She smiles. "I didn't think I could hate you anymore but...wow. I'm impressed."

"Let's just get out of here. Sooner we leave for Memphis the better." 

Monkey gets up and heads out without looking back. Mara follows with Pig trailing behind. 

It's dark when they arrive at the train yard. They peer out from a thicket of bushes that runs along the fence to the rows and rows of trains. "How do we know which one is ours?" Mara asks holding the branches back. Monkey leaps into the air hundreds of feet above, the trains turning from hulking freight cars to a multi-colored patchwork. His eyes catch every detail, every word scrawled across every boxcar, every number stenciled to the sides, every color and curve staggered and snaking toward the horizon. 

He lands on the other side of the fence as Mara jumps from the bushes, slashes the chain link, runs over followed by Pig carefully ducking through then waddling to where they're standing. They hop the couplings and find the car. Monkey throws the door open and they crawl inside, closing it as quietly as one can close a rusty door.

"Shhhhhhh!!!!" a voice hushes from the darkness then the soft blue glow of a vape pen lights up a bearded face, then another and another, like fireflies, each letting out a puff of smoke then disappearing back into the darkness. As their eyes adjust they make out, 

a grizzled beard
cowboy shirt with pearl inlays
perfectly worn Big-E Levi's with the cuff turned up
1967 Silvertone guitar leaning against 
the atmospheric rust stains behind
can of locally sourced beans in one hand
and in the other 
a phone
documenting his time
in tiny tweets
and meandering soliloquies 
to an audience 
of thirty-one
as he charts his progress
and extols life lessons
from his time
on the road

"What you boys doing here?" another voice calls out, a similar slender frame wearing a black jean jacket, Minor Threat patch safety pinned on the back and a slightly less grizzled beard. The first man turns to the second. "Are you really speaking in a southern accent? It seems a little...culturally appropriative." 

"My grandfather was southern and I did go to Davidson." 

"That's right. I got you confused with Sandbox." 

Sandbox, who is busy tuning his one-string banjo, looks up and says, "I went to Princeton." 

"Everyone knows you went to Princeton. Jesus Christ. Can we talk about something else."

"Wow, look at that guy," one of them points at Monkey. "What I wouldn't give to look that grizzled."

"If those wrinkles could talk, am I right?"

"So what brings you to down to the train yard? You boys running from the law?"

"Why would you assume they're criminals?" Sandbox shoots back. "Because they're ugly? Maybe they're just, you know, living," then looking at Monkey, "I've been on the road for two months trying to find myself."

"But you're right here," Monkey says.

"I apologize for my friends," the first one says. "My name is...Name."

"Your name is Name?" Mara says as condescendingly as she can trying hard to make sure everyone sees her eyes roll back in her head.

"That's right," and then taking another hit off his vape pen, "I'm not as privileged as these boys. I went to...a state school."

"You went to the University of Michigan, Kaleb," Sandbox says, "and your parents paid for the whole thing."

"I dropped out though," Kaleb says, "for a woman. Did a little time in prison..." 

Button interrupts, "You got a DUI in Long Island. You spent three hours in a holding cell."

"It was rough though," Kaleb says picking up his guitar.

"Please don't," Mara says. "Please?"

He aimlessly picks the same lines of a distant blues song then, "I can tell you a thing or two about The System."

Mara looks at Monkey. "If you don't stop him I'm going to throw myself off this train." Monkey doesn't respond. "Can I at least cut his head off?" Mara sighs and goes to the furthest corner of the boxcar, lays down, covers her ears with her hands and tries for sleep. Pig follows. Monkey goes and sits next to the three men as a whistle howls in the distance.

"I have a drug problem," Button offers excitedly showing faint marks on his arm.

"We've all wrestled with death," Kaleb says closing his eyes and nodding his head.

"I wrestled death once," Monkey says looking at each of them. "I fell asleep one night and my soul was dragged to the underworld in chains. I fought so terribly that all the demons trembled with fear. I crossed out my name in the book of the dead. It's one of the ways I became immortal."

The guitar stops. The men look back and forth at each before Kaleb starts playing again. 

"That's some deep poetry man. Deep. You've been to hell, but have you been to heaven?"

"Multiple times," Monkey says now happy to talk about something he knows. "I don't like it up there. Too much bureaucracy. Besides, no one likes me since I got drunk and trashed the place. Lao Tzu tried to burn me alive in his furnace. He's not a bad guy. He works at QuikTrip now. I haven't been there in a while." Monkey pauses. "Heaven. Not QuikTrip. I was at QuikTrip the other day." He shifts a bit then settles down. "They're probably still pissed at me there." Pauses again. "In heaven." Thinks for a moment. "They also might be pissed at me at QuikTrip though." Shrugs. "It's hard keeping track of all the people you've wronged when you've lived thousands of years."

"I feel like I've lived a thousand years just in this car," Kaleb says looking around at the steel walls.

"Have you been here that long? I spent five hundred years under a mountain once."

"Haven't we all," Kaleb says. "Haven't we all," then starts to sing, "Five hundred years under a mountain..." He trails off because he can't think of what comes next. 

Monkey sees him struggle then offers, "They fed me iron balls and molten bronze." 

Kaleb gives an appreciative nod, surges back with, "Iron balls and molten lead..." He winks at Monkey. "Lead sounds better." Strums for awhile then follows with, "Five hundred years under a mountain...Most days I wished I's dead." Kaleb smiles at himself for completing the rhyme then, "Yeah, I like that. Think I'm gonna steal that from you if you don't mind." Monkey nods as they all sit around and listen to Kaleb try and fail to come up with a second verse before he leans the guitar against the wall with a, "Well, that's all I got tonight." 

The train lurches forward and starts moving, the sounds of rusty train parts scraping together fills the awkward silence as the vibrations from the floor shake them filling their heads with the rhythm of the track. Monkey looks backs at Pig, then around to the group. "Do you think," he pauses not sure how to say it, "that people can change? I mean, really change." All three of the vape pens light up in quick succession, communicating some strange language Monkey doesn't understand. Finally, Button offers, "Well, I had an ex-girlfriend who majored in Behavioral Genetics and she seemed to think there's a confluence of variables in terms of what makes us who we are, both social and genetic. The problem is, are you talking about personality traits, like the Big 5 that have been empirically documented or behavioral scripts that can be modified like, I don't know, alcoholism?" He pauses to see if Monkey is following. He can't tell so continues. "So to answer your question I think change is possible on a spectrum. You know, if someone is born with extremely high levels of anxiety, they could move the needle a bit in one direction, but I don't think you can have a massive personality shift..."

"Unless you suffer some kind of brain injury," Sandbox offers.

"Yeah, there've been documented cases of people who have personality shifts with brain injuries."

Monkey ponders then asks, "So if you hit someone hard enough on the head they become a different person?"

"Technically...yes, but the changes wouldn't be ideal. We're talking about things like a greater loss of self-control. Things like that." 

"I guess it depends where you hit them."

"Yeah, whether you're talking about the cerebral cortex or the..." Button pauses not being able to remember another part of the brain. "It also depends on what stage of life the person is at. It seems we're much more malleable when we're younger and then as we age and get closer to death, we're more set in our ways."

Monkey looks back at Pig sleeping on the floor, the large black polyester shirt with flames shining in the little light that's managed to get through the cracks of the boxcar, the small body of Mara beside, her chest expanding ever so slightly with each breath. 

"What if you don't die? What if you're immortal?"

Button thinks for a moment, "Well...I guess that'd be a real interesting test of how much an effect the environment has over shaping personality. I mean, if you're immortal and you live through civilization after civilization and don't change that much then that would point to some more innate features that aren't as malleable as we imagined."

Monkey doesn't answer and the conversation dies. Button fills the void with his one-string banjo as Monkey lies down in the corner opposite Mara and Pig, lays there with his eyes open, rocked slowly by the train, the constant rhythm of metal on metal mixed with the occasional sound of Pig snoring, the plucking of the banjo finding a few scraps of a song and following it for a while before the whole thing falls apart and becomes a bunch of random notes struggling to pull themselves together. He closes his eyes and tries for sleep.

4

It's still dark when Monkey is woken with a shake.

"Get up." Pig is glaring down. "We have to go."

Monkey rubs his eyes. 

"It's two in the morning. What makes you in a rush all of a sudden?"

"Never mind," Pig mutters. "If you want to find him we need to go."

The charred tire is still in the center of the room, bits of crayon melted on the floor, the night sky peeking through the hole smashed in the ceiling. Monkey's head is resting on his arm tucked underneath like a pillow. He stares into a small narrow closet, the door flung open, a concrete statue of Mary leaning in the corner, black and white kiss face with red painted hands outstretched. He leans up as Pig waddles to the front door. 

Outside the streets are shiny and wet. Pig walks along the sidewalk as Monkey plods next to him through a strip of soppy grass. A dog follows along the fence barking, gives up then runs back to the porch. They turn a corner and a car of teenagers drives by giggling and blaring a song that rises and fades as they disappear over the hill. Pigs stops in front of a house set back from the street, looks up at the third-floor window.

Red Christmas lights strung 
around the gutters
porch door open
five dogs barking
a woman passed out in the yard
see-thru shirt
lightly soaked in vomit
her breasts obscured under an arm
that's flopped over
revealing a tattoo of two hands
shaking
with the words scrawled underneath 
in bluish faded letters
ALWAYS FOR PLEASURE 

They step over and enter the house to find,

A green corduroy couch
wedged in the corner
three women
smoking
ashing in an upside-down 
Peter Pan peanut butter lid
talking excitedly
eyes darting
dutifully recording their 
drunkenness
as three bicycles 
lay on the floor 
and the magazines
and phone books
and boxes of cocktail umbrellas
lean against the fireplace
and on the highest shelf
of the balsa wood bookcase
an unopened copy of
Capital
that Kevin's mom 
bought him
at Barnes and Noble

Monkey looks at Pig who's transformed into a bearded punk with black cut-offs, t-shirt, boots and prison-ish tattoos up and down his arms. A woman dressed like a drugged-out witch in fishnets comes over holding an astrology tarot deck and says, "Can I give you a reading?" 

"That'd be rad." 

They disappear up the stairs as Pig turns and says, "My name's Button and my preferred pronouns are they/them." 

She smiles back. 

"Cool".

Monkey is left standing alone with the three women who occasionally throw severe glances in his direction. Not knowing what else to do he sits down in the overstuffed vinyl sofa chair that's been sliced down the arms, the white stuffing pushing out now grey with sweat and dirt and mold. Monkey sits and listens to the women talk though they go so fast he's not sure which one is actually speaking. 

"I got so fucked up last night."
"Are you still seeing that guy?"
"Chad? No. We just messed around. We aren't together."
"So what happened?"
"Oh, you know, got drunk and puked in the bathroom of Harry's then stepped outside for a cigarette and this guy sees me and starts talking to me and I totally made out with him even though I still had puke on my shirt. It was awesome."
"That's so you."
"Yeah, you're such a bitch."
"I know. I love it. Oh hey, take a picture of me drinking this Natty Light."
"Oh yeah, me too."

They pause a moment snapping photos of each other handing their phones back and forth.

"So how was your weekend?" 
"I got really fucked up with Dave. We smoked a lotta weed and I was like, does he really like me or is he just hanging around, you know?"
"Dave has a really weird penis."
"Yeah, it's true."
"Yeah."

They pause again to take a drag and throw looks at Monkey as if he's intruding on the most intimate of conversations. 

"Where did you come from?" one of them says, then before he can answer, "You're really fucking ugly."
"Yeah. It's kinda cool."
"Yeah, I'd totally make out with you."

They all laugh and turn back to their conversation.

"So where were we?"
"Dave's penis."
"Oh, yeah. Super weird."

Monkey hears heavy boots stomping down the stairs.

"Oh fuck, it's Mara."
"Party's over." 

They all laugh, quickly cutting it off as Mara enters and in the faux-cheeriest greeting they can muster, "Hi Mara!" She doesn't answer, sweeps the room with her glare landing on the women huddled on the couch then to Monkey then back to the women. 

"Why is there a Monkey in my living room?"

They giggle as she slumps down next to them. 

an Alvin and the Chipmunks shirt
black cut-offs
and dirty bare feet
which she tucks 
underneath
on the green corduroy cushions
of the couch

"Did I interrupt your heteronormative pseudo-rebellious relationship discussion again?" Mara says, arms crossed over all three chipmunks.

Eyes narrow. Cigarettes are puffed more intensely.

"How's your relationship going?" one of the girls shoots back.

"I don't believe in defining what my partner means to me through language. I find it stifling and a part of the conformist patriarchy to have to justify my 'status' so that I can chart my death march toward monogamous marriage." She pulls a yellow American Spirit bag out and starts to roll a cigarette. "I'm more into the blurring of lines and spaces that exist between the rigid system that's been handed down." She finishes rolling the cigarette, puts it between her lips and lights it, takes a drag and exhales. "Whether we're talking about gender or sexuality I'm supposed to check some box. Man. Woman. Queer. Straight. I reject those labels because I've embraced the fluidity of existence and don't need a categorical crutch to prop up some semblance of personhood that amounts to a failed platonic ideal that's static and unchanging and ultimately illusory." She puts the American Spirit bag in her pocket. " I change day by day, minute by minute, and I don't feel comfortable being bullied into solidifying what amounts to a performative gesture just so my friends feel comfortable in their own shallow understanding of what 'a relationship' with another human being means." 

Eyes roll. Glances are thrown.

"Oh really? Because I heard that 'person' you've been sleeping with posted on Instagram about what a bitch you were. What was her name? Alejandra? Did you tell her about your intellectual commitment to...whatever it is you're talking about?" 
"I told her."
"And how did that go?"
"Not well."

The three women return to their conversation, just much quieter as Monkey sits in the chair nervously picking at the stuffing wondering what's happened to Pig. He looks at Mara and the hairs on his arm stand up. He peers into her three spirits and seven souls and sees,

a severed arm
tangled in a gold dress
smoke billowing up
two eyes
glaring through the clouds
as paper flames
dance around
a small hand
holding a melting peach
the sugary insides
turning black
in the fire

He leaps up, pulls out his cudgel and points it at her.

"Demon, tell me what you've done with Sand!"

Mara untucks her legs and sits cross-legged as she ashes on the floor, takes another drag just for effect then, "What did you say to me?" A cloud of smoke hangs around her face.

"Yeah, what the fuck. Not cool," one of the women says.
"Shut up Nancy." 

Mara leans forward and smashes her cigarette in the yellow plastic Peter Pan lid. "You think you can come into my house and call me...a demon?" Her dark eyebrows bristle as she burns a small hole through him with her glare. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" She leans back with her arms crossed. "Let me guess. The hero. A man of course, saving the world from...what exactly?" She puts her feet up on the coffee table. "And who do you decide to demonize? An empowered young person of color who freely expresses her sexuality." She laughs. "What's sad is that you're so privileged you can't even see the power structures that are manipulating you into this stereotypical masculine display."

Monkey cocks his head, looking a little hurt. 

"Privileged? I spent 500 years trapped underneath a mountain."

Mara sighs. 

"I'm so sick of hearing cis-men complain about the tiniest hardships they've had to go through. Can you just stop feeling sorry for yourself for one second? Does everything have to be about you?" 

Monkey frowns, swings his cudgel around his body, grips one end with both hands then brings the full force of it down on top of her. Mara doesn't move, raises a hand and catches it above her head. She stands, pushes the coffee table out of the way with her shin then knocks him back into the fireplace sending the orange and yellow and green cocktail umbrellas flying.

"Don't you know," her skin turns a brilliant blue, "that you shouldn't touch someone," her body grows into an amorphous blob of energy, "without their consent?"

Monkey leaps at the demon
cudgel in hand
smashing from every angle
as it's amorphous body
shifts and changes
grows hard then soft
each swing
brushing air
as she batters his face and neck
with a thousand tiny jabs
Unable to counter
he drops his weapon and flees
to a trash pile
outside 
as the doors and windows slam shut
and a brilliant blue light 
can be seen burning 
from every crack
of the punk house 

Beaten and bruised Monkey sits on the curb, a couch next to him, the cushions taken up by drop ceiling tiles, oddly cut pieces of drywall, lathe with tiny chunks of plaster still attached. He beats his fists against the ground, smashes the lathe into bits, throws the tiles like frisbees back at the house then picks up the bathroom door and is just about to launch it into the street when he looks up and sees himself looking down, the beveled full-length mirror shining back at him. 

He rests the door on end and takes another look at himself, his tiger-striped pants, tufts of hair sticking out from his cheeks, wrinkly gnarled face. A car drives by and the headlights blind him as he turns his head and closes his eyes. He waits a moment then opens them, looks at his monkey arms extending out disappearing past the edges of the rectangle, the bevels making an odd cut at the wrists. He smiles and his reflection smiles back. He frowns and his reflection frowns back. He thinks a moment then carries the mirror over his head as he smashes through the front door and leaps inside. 

The three girls on the couch are tied up in the corner. Mara turns as her skin cracks and starts to burn the same brilliant blue. Monkey brandishes the mirror as she leaps for him, but instead of attacking, he holds it in front reflecting each shape she takes back to her in the clarity of a flat plane. Her body morphs and changes but can't escape its own image. She lets out a scream as the amorphous energy blob ties itself in knots then bursts revealing

a fourteen-year-old girl
dressed in golden armor
a small jeweled knife 
stuck in her side
her head down
bangs over face
shielding herself with one arm
and the other
hangs behind
holding a sword as large as her tiny frame
she stands and faces Monkey
and it's hard to tell
who's more fearsome 
a monkey with the face of a Thundergod
or a 14-year-old girl
wielding the Sword of Justice 

With one swipe she cuts through the mirror. Monkey jumps back, sees his cudgel on the floor and grabs it. They lock eyes, each trying to anticipate what the other will do, making subtle movements, their feet firmly planted. "Demon," Monkey says, "before we continue...do you mind...if I play some music?"

Mara looks confused, her stance softens a bit then, "What're you going to play?"

"AC/DC."

"Yeah, they're awful so...no. But if you let me pick, I can find something good."

Monkey lowers his cudgel his eyes never leaving her as he reaches into his pocket and tosses his gold rectangle, which she catches then cautiously lowers her sword as she starts to swipe through his albums.

"You've got a lot of stupid shit on here," she says scrolling through, "and some good stuff to...I guess." Her eyebrows raise. "Bikini Kill?"

Monkey shrugs as Mara touches the screen, an angry guitar and drums fill the room as she rains down a fury of blows which pushes him to the corner then a voice as loud and crude and vicious as any Monkey has heard screams, "SUCK MY LEFT ONE!" as Mara raises her sword scraping the ceiling sending plaster showering down over his fur and eyes.

The sword of justice
slices through lathe and plaster
cuts couches to ribbons
leaves lamps halved and wobbling
trims drapes
cleaves stacks of magazines in two
while Monkey dodges
her shining steel glancing
against his gold banded rod
she pushes him to the hardwood
the young girl standing over
her silver blade bearing down

Monkey clutches his cudgel with both hands trying to keep the blade away from his face then lets it go and slides underneath her as she topples to the ground, her sword cutting a clean line through the floor. She yanks on the handle to pull it out as he jumps on top of her, grabs the dagger in her side and pulls it out. Mara, clutching her wound, staggers back leaving her sword wedged in the floor, looks down at the trickle that's now become a steady stream as it runs down her leg and in-between her toes.

Monkey flips the dagger over in his hand then holds it out balancing it on his palm. Mara, heaving, looks over to her sword then back to Monkey who cocks his head and grins, extending his palm further as if to say, "take it."

The song ends. There's silence except for the occasional whimpering of the three women tied in the corner. Mara moves closer, her body tense as she locks eyes with Monkey. She extends her small hand toward the dagger, moving slowly toward it. Just then Kevin walks in from the kitchen, pajama bottoms with no top drinking a beer and says, "Hey, can I bum a smoke?" Monkey looks over as Mara leaps for the dagger, grabs it and thrusts it as hard as she can in his side. The blade shatters against him and the pieces fall to the floor, leaving her pushing the gold hilt into his stomach. Monkey looks at Mara then down to the dagger then back up.

"I probably would've done the same thing," he says. He takes a step back and wipes the bits of shattered metal off his fur. "I don't mean to ruin the moment but...I'm thirsty. Are you thirsty? Do you have any tea?" Mara still holding the gold hilt nods and points toward the kitchen. He turns his back to her then stops, "Unless you want to fight some more."

She walks over and sits on the green corduroy couch cut cleanly in two. 

"I only drink Chamomile," she says sullenly looking down at her side.
"Do you need help with that?" he asks from the kitchen pouring water in a pot.
"I'm fine." 

She pulls a small box out of her pocket and opens it. Lined in red velvet with an assortment of needles and thread she picks through before choosing one, puts the thread in her mouth, pushes it through the eye and starts to stitch herself up. She finishes, looks up at Kevin, who is still standing in the entryway who lets out a, "So no one has a fucking cigarette? I thought this was a commune!" before walking upstairs to finish watching Avatar.

Monkey comes back in with two cups of tea, hands one to Mara then sits on the other half of the cleaved couch, each tilting towards the other. They sip their tea awhile before Monkey says, "What do you want to do with them?"

She looks at the women tied in the corner. "Kill them." She takes a small sip. "The way they talk to each other, they can't even pass The Bechdel test." 

Monkey frowns and looks them over, finishes his tea in one gulp, unties the women and watches as they flee for the door.

"He was here you know," Mara says as the door slams. "Sand. He stayed here for a while before he left for Florida. He's in bad shape. I mean, he was in bad shape. I've heard he's only got worse."

Monkey nods then starts to head upstairs.

"You'll need to take me with you though," she says setting her cup down. He stops at the landing and looks back. "I made a good home here and by letting those girls go, you just destroyed it. They know who I am now. Everything I've built. It's over."

Monkey thinks for a moment then, "If you can help us find him, you can come."

She pulls her sword out of the floor dragging the tip across the hardwood as she follows him up, the blade banging on each step cutting a slice as she walks. 

"You're such a Scorpio," they hear as they stand in the doorway and see, 

The idiot Pig lounging on a mattress 
with the fishnet witch
her tarot cards
encircling
as she giggles and whispers
his fortune
scattered with her hands
she pulls them together 
and sets them down
as Mara flashes her sword
shearing the deck
breaking the moment
and the bed
in two

"We're leaving," Monkey says. 

"Who the hell is this?" Pig yells changing back into his grotesque appearance as he rolls on the floor.

"She's going to take us to Sand," then looking at Pig, "Doesn't this get boring?" Monkey waves his hand at the woman sprawled out on the ground. "You know...this. Aren't you bored by now?"

Pig stands up and brushes himself off. 

"I'm a Pig," he says throwing his arms up. "What do you want from me?"

Outside they hop on the summersault cloud as Mara sits on the stoop putting on her boots.

"I can't get on that thing," she says.

"What do you mean?" Pig asks impatiently.

Mara's eyes narrow and then flatly, "I don't know how to say it any simpler so you will understand Pig."

"So how're we supposed to get to Florida?" 

"We'll have to rent a car."

"We don't have any money," Monkey says stepping off the cloud and down on the sidewalk, then to Pig, "C'mon. Get off."

"No! Do you know how much extra effort we're going to have to go through! Let's just leave her here. We can be there in a few seconds on this thing."

"You were just saying how much you hated riding on it and now you don't want to get off. She's the only one who knows where Sand is so we can't leave her here."

Pig climbs down muttering to himself, turns to Mara and says, "Fine!" in his best imitation which Mara responds to with the most insincere smile she can muster then to Monkey, "So who knows how to drive?"

Silence.

"God damn it!" Pig says stamping his feet. "Are you telling me we have three supernatural beings who've been alive for thousands of years and not a single one of them has bothered to learn how to drive?"

"This shouldn't be hard, we can just get on a bus or an Uber or something."

"We're monks," Monkey says. "We can't have money so we can't buy tickets. It has to be given to us."

"What kind of stupid rule is that?"

"It's how it is."

"Speak for yourself," Pig says. "I'm no monk. I can do whatever I want." 

"Not when you're with me," Monkey says grabbing his arm. "We keep the rules. Understand?"

Pig throws Monkey's hand off with a sharp turn, paces away then comes back.

"Who is this girl anyway? We don't even know her and all of a sudden we're changing everything just so she can come with us?"

She rolls her eyes and lets out a deep sigh. 

"My father is...Mara. He named me Mara too, because, well, do I really have to explain why someone would name their child after themselves?" Pig stares blankly. "Mara. You know...King of the Demons. The Evil One who tempted Buddha with his daughters trying to distract him from enlightenment. Any of this sound familiar?"

Pig shakes his head then looks over at Monkey then walks away, stops, turns around, "Well...we're not going to get to Florida by standing here and I'd rather hit the road then wait around with you two."

Mara sticks her sword in her belt and nods to signal Monkey to go ahead, which he does, as she follows behind. 

"Not that this needs to be said, but I just want to point out that we are headed on foot to god knows where with the daughter of the King of the Demons with no money, no food and nothing to drink."

"Just like the good old days," Monkey says tapping the back of Pigs head with his cudgel and making him trip.

"Good old days," Pig rights himself. "I almost got eaten half a dozen times. We were constantly terrorized by monsters. We had to beg every meal. That stupid monk was always getting himself captured, and YOU teased me the whole time."

Pig wobbles down the sidewalk, Monkey on his heels, his cudgel thrown over his shoulder followed close behind by Mara, scowling, trudging along in black boots, her sword dragging, shearing through the cement blocks behind her. 

3

"I hate riding on this thing," Pig says clinging to the back of the summersault-cloud. 

"Then tell me where he is?"

"Who?"

"Tang Sanzang."

"How the hell should I know?"

Monkey swoops down, does a couple of loops then straightens out. Pig's cheeks swell and his face starts to sweat.

"Memphis! Anything to get me on the ground."

In no time Monkey is hopping off the cloud onto the stone embankment of the Mississippi as Pig tumbles in the river, lets out a gurgled, "Help" then rights himself and swims ashore.

"You did that on purpose," he says shaking off.

They walk along the rough cobblestone that turns to smooth sidewalk as it snakes its ways through a manicured park, jungle gyms, swing sets and brass plaques describing the history of something that neither of them stops to read.

"We'll have to transform," Monkey says looking at a couple heading towards them.

"Nah," Pig says handing him a pair of sunglasses. "Just put these on." The couple walks by both staring at their phones. "See? You don't need disguises anymore." 

"Then why are we wearing sunglasses?" 

"They make us look cool."

"You're an idiot."

"Fine. But you're going to have to follow this idiot if you want to find Tang Sanzang," he says pointing his meaty Pig hand.

          A giant silver pyramid 
          cuts through the sky
          a triangular shadow falling on the
          white and black pickups
          littering the lot
          boats on trailers with names like
          Serenity and Windsong
          parked in rows
          among the landscaped evergreens
          and soft petalled pansies
          stuck in piles of brown mulch
          Monkey and Pig
          stare at the Bass Pro Sign
          hung below the
          glass blue tip
          piercing
          the cloudless sky 

"Tang Sanzang is at Bass Pro?" 

"No. What? Why would he be here?"

Monkey looks confused. "Is this the royal palace?"

Pig laughs. "I forget you've been gone so long. There aren't kings anymore. There' no King of..." He thinks it over, "actually there is a King of Memphis." They walk through the lot. Pig stops to rummage around the back of a pickup, looks in the window, tries to open the door,  then gives up and keeps walking. "This isn't a palace. It's a failed sports arena they converted into a Bass Pro. My friend Rob works at Uncle Bucks." He looks to see if Monkey is following along. "That's the restaurant here. He was the last person to see Friar Sand and Friar Sand was the last person to talk to Tang Sanzang, so..."

Monkey frowns as they push through the glass doors, past the doorman working the turn style who is furiously responding to AlphaDog54 on Twitter and into the depths of the outdoor adventure land. Pig walks off to find his friend while Monkey takes a look around. 

There's a small countrified city built inside with a stand-alone elevator lit in blue lights that shoots all the way to the top. Monkey walks along and looks at the fishing poles and hats and binoculars and boats and sunglasses, life jackets, knee boots and pink camouflage shotguns till he gets to the crocodile pool. Two crocodiles are encased in a glass-walled faux rock landscape that swoops around disappearing behind the elevator. They're laying on top of each other in the water looking up at Monkey and Monkey looks back unsure if they're acknowledging each other or if they want to bite his head off.

He walks past the aquarium, a thousand fish all keeping their distance from one another to a mountain with two regal rams. A grizzly bear stands on two legs beneath them, its arms half raised, mouth open, looking toward the door.

"What kind of magic is this?" Monkey says marveling as he sees two black bears, also frozen, walking along the top edge of the aquarium.

"It's taxidermy," Pig says walking up eating a waffle cone and wearing a real tree jacket. "Come on. Let's go."

Monkey follows close behind as Pig saunters out the door and down the street pointing at things that Monkey doesn't pay attention to.

"They worship me like a god here," he hears Pig repeat again this time a little louder pointing at a pink cement pig in front of two large windows which Monkey walks up to and peers inside. Families sit around small wooden tables breaking apart ribs, stuffing hunks of meat in their mouths, smiling and talking happily.

"How long have you been back?" Pig asks standing behind Monkey taking a bite of his waffle cone.

"Not long."

"I see you've got one of those fancy new phones." 

"This?" Monkey says pulling it out and turning it over in his hands. "I fought and killed a demon to get this. It can make music spring out of the air."

"That's a phone and about every idiot in the world has one," Pig says. "I thought I was the stupid one."

Monkey frowns as they keep walking, Pig pointing things and explaining as they go. "This is a bank," he says standing in front of Bank of America. "It's a place people put their money but it's not like gold or anything, more like that fake spirit money people used to burn." 

"Monks are not supposed to carry money."

Pig ignores him and continues. "And this is a coffee shop. This is where you go when you first meet a woman online and she wants to make sure you're not a psychopath. People also take their computers here for some reason."

"Monks are not allowed to have sex." Monkey looks in. "And you are a psychopath."

"I'm not saying it's what I do. Just what people do. I'm trying to educate you here."

They walk a little further.

"Oh and here's a bar. This is where you go at night. You sit in this loud room and drink and talk over the music that's playing but you can't hear anything. I don't know why people like this but they REALLY like it. Most of the time you're just leaning across the table shouting, 'What?' at the other person and then afterwards you make out. I don't get it, but it's what you do." 

They take a couple turns and find themselves on Beale Street.

"Ok, so this is where tourists go. Tourists are these people that get in airplanes," he looks over to Monkey, "these metal tubes that fly in the sky to other places and then they mostly just drink and take lots of pictures and then they go home. They're everywhere. Look there's one," he says pointing to an older couple who has talked another older couple into taking their photo in front of a neon sign smiling and making the peace symbol.

Monkey looks out and sees,

          Tourists in Tommy Bahama shirts
          drinking out of long plastic tubes 
          bright strawberry lime
          slurping through fluorescent curly straws
          the sun setting
          as the streets emerge
          and a halo of noise  
          blossoms from their mouths
          as inflatable pink flamingos
          pass over the counter
          thin plastic glasses stuffed inside
          as the loud blues guitar 
          mixes
          with screams 
          of joy

"So, you remember in the old days when we would pass through a province, we would have to pay respects to the king and they would stamp our papers?"

"Of course," Monkey says dodging a drunk couple holding each other up. "What about it?"

"Like I was saying earlier. There is a King of Memphis. We should pay our respects before we go any further."

"Fine," Monkey says. "But we don't have any papers to stamp."

"Not a problem," he says turning down a side street. 

They walk a little further till they're standing in front of Graceland, the stone wall curling around the massive yard, iron gates with musical notes welded in place, twin guitar players on either side. Pig hops over the fence as Monkey follows surveying the grounds, the rows of flowers lining the driveway shimmer as darkness descends turning the trees black against the dark blue of the sky.  

They get to the front steps of the house and Monkey pushes on the door.

"It's locked."

"Then open it," Pig says looking around. "Quickly."

Monkey waves his hand, the lock springs open and they walk in. All the lights are off. Pig closes it behind them as Monkey steps over the ropes and walks into the white carpeted living room, over to the white piano next to the white and gold television, walks back and stops in front of a painting of a young man with slick dark hair, thick eyebrows raised questioningly.

"The King," Pig says.

"Where is he?" Monkey asks.

"This way."

Monkey follows him through a narrow hallway and down a mirrored ceiling staircase to a room of great splendor. 

          A black sofa in a giant U
          with white and yellow throw pillows
          stacked neatly
          like crackers
          black and yellow walls
          painted clouds
          with rigid lightning bolts
          jutting out
          as three televisions
          in wood paneling
          cast a soft blue light
          on the ceramic white monkey
          that sits on the mirrored coffee table
          next to the ashtray and glass globe of seashells
          reflecting their shadows
          in its black eyes

"I'm taking him," Monkey says stepping over the ropes and heading straight for the coffee table. He picks up the ceramic white statue and holds it out like one might examine a baby then tucks it under his arm and heads back to Pig.

"Where you think you're goin' with my monkey, Monkey," the ghost of Elvis says. He looks up from the black sectional strumming his guitar, occasionally stopping to tune it, then strumming again. Monkey spins around pulls his gold banded cudgel from behind his ear, grows it as large as the 70's spider lamp in the corner and points it at Elvis's head, one hand gripping the cudgel, the other cradling the Monkey statue.

"I'm a lover not a fighter," Elvis says stopping for a moment to smile at Monkey. "Come on now. Sit down and enjoy some of that famous southern hospitality you've heard so much about...unless you wanna brawl, but then," he says slicking his hair back, "we gotta go outside."

Monkey looks back at Pig, who shrugs and steps over the ropes and sits down on the other side of the U-shaped sectional so they're facing each other. Monkey shrinks his cudgel, puts it behind his ear and sits next to Pig.

"Just my luck that the supernatural beings I'm visited by are a hideous looking Monkey and fat ugly Pig," Elvis says. "Couldn'tve been a couple of lovely ladies who're down to worship the King, know what I mean?" He continues to strum his guitar stopping again to tune it, "God dang it. Just can't seem to get this girl soundin' right," and then, "So I suppose you know who I am but you have me at a loss. Can't say I'd forget these two faces."

Monkey sits up grinning and says, "I'm the Handsome Monkey King, The Great Sage Equal to Heaven, King of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit. Sun Wukong. The Fighting Buddha...."

"Handsome Monkey king, huh?" Elvis says looking him up and down. "Quite a title for someone that looks like their face went through a meat grinder. "Suppose you might look a bit better in one of my fine suits, but then again, as they say, 'You can put lipstick on a pig..." he trails off strumming and humming a few bars of Love Me Tender. 

"I don't wear lipstick," Pig says not understanding. 

"You might look a bit better if you did," Monkey says laughing.

"Yeah, whaddya say lil piggy. Let the King put some lipstick on you."

"He is the King," Monkey says prodding. 

Pig does not have time to respond. Elvis has already thrown his guitar on the couch, dug through his pocket, pulled out a tube of red lipstick and is hovering over him, his large frame eclipsing the overhead light. "I won't hurt you. Now stick your lips out for the King." Pig squirms as Elvis descends on him with the protruding lipstick smashing against Pig's greasy lips smearing it around in a circle of red. "Come on now. Stop moving. The King's gonna make you pretty." Elvis finishes then stands back to examine his work. Not happy, he pulls an Elvis wig out of nowhere and places it on Pig's head. Adjusts it a few times then seems happy. Finally, he turns to Monkey. "We're gonna have to do somethin' special for you too. Don't you worry," he says walking over to one of the yellow cabinets and rummaging through before pulling out a white sequined jumpsuit, "The ladies ain't gonna touch you in those Zubaz's you're wearin'."

"I am not putting that on," Monkey protests. 

Pig smiles. 

"Listen here baby. This is how this works. I'm not just the King of Rock n' Roll. I'm the King of all the ghosts and demons this side of the Mississippi so if you wanna travel unencumbered, you need my autograph, and you ain't getting it until I see this here monkey dressed like a little Elvis. Got this thing ever since I died of seeing people dressed up like me. Not much to do as a ghost you know. Not to mention you two snuck in here and tried to pilfer my monkey that I see you still don't seem in a hurry to let go of, so if you want The King's forgiveness and if you need my signature to ease your travels, then, well, you're gonna have to put it on," Elvis says walking over to Monkey and holding a child's size white sequined suit up to him. "I am after all a simple man with simple pleasures and I just think it'd be so darn funny to see this hairy little ape put one of these on for me." He extends the outfit to Monkey.

Monkey doesn't move.

"Well I know how you feel. I ain't trying to degrade you or nuthin' and this ain't just for my particular kinda fancy. I like you, you hairy little freak," Elvis says smiling at Monkey, "and this is my way of sayin', well, I have demons livin' in plain sight all over the US of A, dressing like me, acting like me and fittin' right in. Thousand Fists of the Kung Fu Kings, if ya heard of us," Elvis says raising his eyebrows and looking back and forth at Monkey and Pig, "Well, probably not. You boys don't seem to be from around here." He sits back down on the couch, picks up his guitar and then to Monkey, "So what I'm saying is, if you put that outfit on you'll be inducted into a special brotherhood that comes with a few perks. If you ever find yourself on the wrong end of the stick, if your life's in danger or if you just want The King to come by and say hi, all you need to do is raise that porcelain monkey high in the air and smash it on the ground and ol' Elvis will come to the rescue. So...well...here we are, me playin' my guitar offering you a chance to expand your circle as it were, and you sitting there holding my monkey. Gentlemen, what's it gonna be?"

Monkey and Pig sit on a bench outside Graceland. Cars drive by and the occasional person leans out of the passenger side window and yells. Monkey sits wearing a white jumpsuit holding the white ceramic statue with Elvis's signature scrawled across his belly. Pig is next to him wearing a black wig tilted to the side, red lips and large gold glasses. They sit in silence for a while before Monkey without turning says, "If I ever hear you mention this to another living soul..."

Pig nods, takes a drag of a cigarette, his lips staining the butt pink then says, "We need to find someplace to sleep tonight," throws it on the ground smashing it with his hoof. "I think I know a place that could work."

In no time Monkey and Pig are walking into an abandoned house, pushing open the door, turning the couches right side up and making a spot to sleep. Monkey jumps up and smashes a giant hole through the ceiling, finds a pallet leaning against the sink in the kitchen and a used tire in the bathroom. He breaks up the pallet, arranges the wood inside the tire right above the gaping hole in the roof then looks around for something to light it with. Pig reaches down his throat and rummages around, pulls out his ceremonial lighter and hands it over to Monkey with his best fake smile he can muster. Monkey pays no attention and lights it, sits back and looks into the flames. 

Pig finds a place on the other side of the fire, unfolds a lawn chair and sits down tossing the wig and glasses on the floor and wiping the lipstick off smearing it down the side of his face. Monkey shrinks the ceramic statue and puts it in his pouch. They both say nothing as they stare into the flames.

"How long have you been back," Pig says finally. "You never answered me."

Monkey still doesn't answer. Pig looks down. There are dozens of crayon packs on the floor. He picks one up, opens the cardboard top and pulls out a purple one, sticks it in the fire and it sizzles and crackles and burns. Monkey looks up. Pig throws a pack over to him and they both sit around the fire throwing crayons and watching them spark and crackle.

"Did you do better or worse than I did out here," Pig says finally. Monkey's face hardens and looks away. "That bad, huh?" Pig says looking down. 

"You seem to have gotten smarter at being an idiot," Monkey finally shoots back. "Are you sorry for the things you've done?"

Pig tosses the rest of the crayons in the fire and leans back in his chair.

"I want to be, but, honestly, if you dropped me off and left me on my own, I'd go back to doing the same thing. I'm a demon after all. I used to think I could be better. I thought I was learning some kind of lesson, but when they made me 'Cleaner of the Heavenly Altar' or whatever stupid title they gave me, I just knew I was either going to be a really bad monk or a really good demon, and, you know, it feels good doing something well."

Monkey watches his last crayon crackle and burn then looks up at Pig through the flames.

"Then I guess I'll have to kill you at the end of this."

Pig lets out a heavy sigh and rests his hands on his stomach.

"I guess so."