5

"This is never going to work." Pig's laying by the side of the road, his belly hanging in the grass, Monkey stands with his thumb out, Mara using his shadow for shade looking at her phone. "Even if someone stops, the second we get in, her sword's going to cleave the car in half."

Monkey puts his thumb down. 

"I didn't think of that."

"How bout this," Pig says rolling on his back, sunning himself and stretching his arms overhead. "How bout we bash her head in then we'll be in Florida before anyone knows what's happened." 

Mara doesn't look up.

"We're not killing her." He scratches his head. "But we do need to find a sheath." He looks down the street. "Let's go this way."

Pig rolls onto his belly and props himself up looking at Monkey as he walks off. "Oh, so we're just blindly going in one direction hoping we'll find a magic sheath?"

Monkey doesn't answer. Mara, noticing her shade's gone, gets up, still on her phone and follows. Pig lays there, his fat pig cheeks resting in his palms then slowly pushes himself up and waddles after them following the highway along the outskirts of Memphis.

Dollar Trees and Denny's
disappear on the horizon
as they walk to where the plains of Tennessee
are interrupted by neon high heels
and the glowing blue musical notes
of a gentleman's club
plastered with signs like
OPEN
and
LIVE GIRLS
and
WE REFUSE THE RIGHT TO...
hand-painted across the cement blocks
drowned in a layer of pink
that drips off the building
and marks the empty parking lot lines of
Diamond Danny's Adult Disco

Pig stops, eyes transfixed as Monkey and Mara press on.

"Hey!" Pig calls out as they get further away.

Monkey turns around.

"We're not going in there. You know we're not going in there."

"There's probably a demon," Pig says. "I mean, it's a roadside strip club. How could there not be a demon in there?"

Monkey frowns, walks back to where he's standing, eyes turn to flames as his gaze penetrates the building then smolder into a black glare as he looks over to Mara. 

"He's right." 

Mara walks over and the three of them stand in front of Diamond Danny's watching the blue musical notes click on and off, the high heels kicking back and forth.

"On the one hand I'm glad women have the sexual freedom to be able to manipulate men out of their money," Mara says, "but on the other, they're still participating, and thus perpetuating, a sick male fantasy about being able to treat women as objects that can be controlled by money."

"I am also concerned about the emotional well being of these women," Pig says opening the door. "Let's see if we can help."

The empty seats
in a semi-circle around the stage
cast half-moon shadows
across the purple carpet
two silver poles
strobing colored lights
and Sal
sitting in his regular spot
reading the paper
occasionally peeking over
to watch Janet 
crawl across the mirrored floor
to the wadded up dollar 
he threw moments before
as the DJ paces the stall
talking to his boyfriend
and the mechanical lights
shift and move in no connection
to the music
Sal turns the page
as Janet hangs upside down
her forty-year-old thighs
clinging to the 
cold steel

Pig goes to the front row and sits down. Sal looks over the top of his paper, folds it up then gesturing to Mara, "She can't be in here. What's the matter with you?" Mara pulls out her sword and points it at Sal's balding white head. He looks at the tip of her sword, over to Janet, shrugs, then opens his paper and continues reading. 

"He's the demon," Mara says.

Sal looks over the top of his paper again. "Well you must know my ex-wife Sharon." No one laughs. "C'mon. I'm Sal," and then looking them over, "A monkey, a pig and a fourteen-year-old girl walk into a strip club..."

"I'm two thousand years old," Mara says raising the sword higher.

"You look good for your age." He turns the page. "You know, I'm almost 100 and like all old people I have some unwanted advice which you will not listen to but here it is anyway. Don't live to be 100. Sounds simple right? It's not. Everybody's worried about living a long life. When you're young you think, oh, I want more of this, sure, but what you don't consider is that when you're old, life sucks. The people you love die. Your body falls apart. And things get boring," Sal puts the paper down. "Do you know how many dead lovers I can't even remember?"

"He's just an old man," Monkey says to Mara.

"Just an old man." Sal laughs. "When you're young and you start out, you think, oh, this is meaningful. No one's ever experienced THIS. We're so SPECIAL. And then you do it, and you do it again, and again. And then one day you find yourself in a relationship and for the first time you start thinking about all the work and it starts to seem like more of the same, like, I've already done this and now I'm doing it with someone with a slightly different personality, with a slightly different body or whatever." Sal looks them over again. "It's like sex. The first five hundred times are pretty damn exciting. But then you've done just about everything. What's left? I'll tell you what's left. Sitting in a strip club and making friends with the girls while you read about the accomplishments and failures of younger men." Sal pauses to see if anything sunk in. "You don't know what I'm talking about. Why am I bothering talking to you?"

"Sal, you're gonna scare the customers away," Janet says putting her tube top on as her song ends. She turns to Mara, Monkey and Pig, "Welcome to Diamond Dan..." and for the first Janet takes it all in, the chubby demon pig sitting in the front row, a hairy ferocious-looking monkey in tiger print pants and a small girl holding a sword as large as her body.

"We're monks on a holy journey," Monkey says watching the panic spread across her face.

"He's a monk. I'm just a pig looking for a good time," Pig says winking at her.

"If you want me to kill him," Mara motions to Sal. "Just nod."

Janet, overwhelmed, does what Janet always does when she's overwhelmed, laughs and leaves the room. The DJ, who's just returned from the bathroom, picks up the mic, and looking at his 3 x 5 notecard resting on top of the mixer calls out, "Next up at Diamond Danny's we have a new girl. Please put your hands together for NASTY NATALIE!"

Natalie comes out and all eyes move to the stage. She twirls around the pole and sticks her ass in the air and jiggles it a few times before everyone loses interest except Pig.

"She's not new," Sal says turning to the Style section. "They say that about all the girls. It's supposed to get people excited."

"Shut the fuck up Sal," Natalie says doing another twirl, the pole between her legs as she stops and hovers over the floor, her arms outstretched.

"Yeah, shut up Sal," Pig says leaning in to get a better look.

"I'll tell you another thing," Sal licks his thumb and turns the page. "In my day, young people didn't talk to their elders that way. We didn't use those words."

"You mean when you were a young man hanging out in a strip club in the middle of the day on a Tuesday you didn't cuss at the old pervs that were there?" Mara says.

"You," Sal looks her over, "I don't like."

"Oh for fuck's sake." Natalie climbs off the stage. "If no one's gonna throw money up here, I'm sitting down with y'all."

The music keeps playing then finally cuts out halfway through as the DJ's voice comes back, "Uh, ok. Thank you Natalie. That was...um....nasty. Everyone give a round of applause for Natalie!" No one claps except Natalie who laughs and gives a couple of "Woo woo's!" then back to the DJ, "and next up. We have a new girl all the way from New York City. Let me hear you make some noise for.......Ashleeeeey!"

Blue skin and yellow cat eyes
long slender figure wearing
a black sequined slip
pushes through the velvet curtain
vinyl purse in one hand
an Apple-tini in the other
like sacred relics
she holds them
arms outstretched 
as her head spins revealing three faces
and the stage lights up
in a soft blue flame

Monkey pulls out his cudgel. Pig grips his nine-pronged rake as Mara raises her sword.

"That's the demon," Monkey says.

Pig drops his stance. "Oh, really? You're sure it wasn't Natalie?"

"Go on then," Monkey says.

"Why me?"

"Because I got the last one."

Pig readies himself, takes a deep breath and leaps, his rake raised above his head as Ashley's head spins, locks onto him, points her martini glass and a firehose of Apple-tini shoots him back into the DJ booth. Pig wobbles then falls over the makeshift wall into the tables and chairs below as she sets her drink on stage, opens her gold clutch and sucks Pig off the floor and into the dark recesses of her purse as she picks her drink up off the stage and the blue flame burns brighter.

Monkey and Mara leap toward opposite sides as Ashley points her Apple-tini and sprays missing them both as they break through the wall of flames surrounding the stage. Ashley spins, throws the glass at Monkey and catches him smack in the face sending him tumbling to the floor. Mara raises her sword and slices at her cutting the slip revealing her blue naked body. She tries to open her purse but Mara brings her sword down cleaving her in two.

The two halves of Ashley keep dancing, fill themselves out. Mara slices those in half cutting across their waists, now making four, the tops falling to the floor, the bottoms, not missing a beat as they dance and sway to the electro pop synth keyboard solo. Surrounded, Mara cuts them into tinier pieces, each growing into a new Ashley.

"I would stop doing that," Monkey says getting up and holding his head.

"What else do you want me to do?!" Mara yells, and just as she's about to raise her sword again, Ashley opens her purse and they're sucked inside. As they disappear the blue flames surrounding the stage turn to a white heat, Sal's paper bursts into flames and they last thing they hear is, "Hey, I wasn't finished reading that."

Inside the purse Mara hacks at the soft blackness at her feet and that surrounds them on all sides. 

"It's no use," Monkey says. "There's no bottom to this thing."

They look around and this is what they see,

a tube of lipstick the size of the empire states building
a gold condom 50 feet square
a pair of keys like a jagged metal bridge 
connect a hotel key card to
her phone
the display lighting up
each time she misses a text
from her friend Betheny
who seems to be going through some things
with Steve
an orange plastic pill bottle
from someone else's grandma
a crumpled Bed Bath and Beyond receipt
from that time she bought bath salts 
laying underneath 
bath salts
two yellow submarine sized tampons
a silver skyscraper of Red Bull shining in the distance
half eaten pack of white cheddar Cheez-It's
next to the phone number from that guy in Dallas
and a pack of Parliament Lights
opened
with a pink lighter shoved inside
surrounded by five different kinds of coconut scented moisturizer
and that lip balm that looks like an egg
on top of a couple of Burger King napkins
with six bobby pins lying like telephone poles
and a hair clip like a bear trap
its teeth stuck in a Betty Boop Scrunchy
and a picture of her dead mother
sandwiched under her
contact case
wet naps
pack of Wrigley's gum
a sleep mask
replacement press-on nails
her pink mace
mouthwash
avocado face scrub
an eightball of coke sealed in cigarette cellophane 
nail clippers
pregnancy test
pyramid scheme vitamins
and in the middle of it all
Pig 
still drunk 
passed out on
a giant white bar of Xanax
the size of a refrigerator

Suddenly a soft blue glow appears in the distance that fills the empty spaces around them, billowing up from the ground in a smokey ethereal haze that takes the shape of men, thousands of men, lost souls of the bachelor party milling around hands raised in the air with the only sound they can make a strained and hoarse, Woo! Men in suits, wife beaters, Patagonia sweaters or no shirt at all. Men with conference name tags still clipped to their polo's that say Bill or Mario or Dennis. Lost souls who cheated on their spouses the night before their wedding, on a business trip, or just some weekend, so worried about getting caught, they didn't notice Ashley sucking their soul which now wanders aimlessly through her purse forever looking for the bathroom.

Monkey, looking on his phone trying to find a good song for being trapped inside a stripper's purse, doesn't notice the ghost horde. Mara walks over to Pig and pushes him, "Wake up!" He doesn't move. She pulls out her sword and smacks him flatly on top of the head. "Hey!" Nothing. She looks around, sees the giant cigarette cellophane and slices through, the smaller pieces of coke falling down as she catches one, puts it on top of a nail clipper the size of a yacht and chops it up. She takes the dust and smashes it into Pigs face some of it going up his nose, most of it turning his face white like a mime.

Mara steps back and watches Pig's body start to jerk and convulse and then in a jolt, jumps off the Xanax and lands on the ground, eyes wide and searching. She walks over to Monkey and grabs his phone, pushes a few buttons and the first bars of "Love on the Brain" begin, gives him a look as if to say, 'of course this is the song playing in a strippers purse.'

"And you got me like, oh
What you want from me?
And I tried to buy your pretty heart,
But the price too
high"

The ghosts all start swaying with the music as they walk through them, trying to dance but not really dancing but still moving their body and looking around to make sure they're pretty much doing what everyone else around them is doing, and then going back to trying to act like they're really into it, then getting uncomfortable and stopping, then starting again because, really, there's nothing else to do.

"And I run for miles just to get a taste
must be love on the brain"

Pig stumbles, still drunk, hands outstretched feeling his way around as Monkey walks up behind Mara. "Just let him go for awhile." Pig walks around and introduces himself to the objects he runs into. "Oh, hello lipstick." He does this a couple times then falls over and lies there awhile before rolling over, his belly facing the black vinyl sky and says, "I want a cigarette." Monkey's ears perk up and he smiles. 

Beneath the immensity that is Ashley's pack of Parliament Lights, they stand looking up, the top of the pack is opened and they can see the white filters protruding out into blackness of the sky, the blue rectangular logo bisected by a silver line towering above them. "Climb on my back," Monkey says to Mara who reluctantly gets on and closes her eyes as he hops and in one leap lands on the edge of the filter. She jumps down into the recessed end, the white walls encircling her as Monkey disappears and comes back in a few seconds with Pig who he tosses in, before hopping down himself.

"This looks like an insane asylum," Mara says walking in a circle around the foam floor running her hands along the wall. "So this is your plan? Wait here, till she gets drunk enough to want a cigarette?"

"It's bound to happen sometime." Monkey says lying down watching for any hint of light.

"And then she's going to pick one, and eventually, she's going to pick OUR cigarette and put it in her mouth, and then what?"

"And then I'm going to go down her throat and rip up her insides."

Mara walks over and sits down cross legged.

"What about us? She's going to eat us too."

Monkey side-eyes her for a moment then goes back to looking above.

"You'll be fine."

She looks up at the vast blackness. Not a single speck of light.

"It was my father," she says pushing on the foam with her hands leaving two small imprints, "that stabbed me." Monkey turns his head toward her. "The dagger had been there for." Her eyebrows scrunch up. "I don't know how long." 

Monkey gives her a long look then finally says, "How's your side?"

She touches it. "It's fine."

Pig rolls past giggling, "I'm on the MOON!" before running into one of the paper walls. Monkey gets up, walks over to him, takes a cigarette out of his pack, punches a hole and carves out an arched window with his hand then lights one and stares down to the mess below. He takes a couple drags and blows it out the window looking far into the distance.

"What are you doing?" Mara says walking over.

"I don't know," Monkey says looking at his cigarette. "I see people do this in movies. I think you're supposed to have deep thoughts like this."

"Are you having deep thoughts?"

"No." He takes another drag and exhales. "I feel like I could've said something to you back there, that was, I don't know, important, but I couldn't think of anything. If Tang Sanzang were here he'd know what to say."

"I'm not looking for advice," Mara says folding her arms at the base of the window and setting her head on top. "I don't tell people things so they can solve my problems." She looks up at him. "It just feels good to share something you've been thinking about but haven't wanted to say out loud."

Monkey smokes in silence then throws it out the window. They watch the tiny red cherry fall. 

"Sometimes...." Monkey pauses. "I don't know if I'm making things better or worse." He smiles showing all his teeth. "How was that?"

"Pretty vague. But a start. I guess. Do you feel better?"

"No."

"Yeah, me neither."

A giant crack of light appears in the sky that opens up to a yellow almond shape. A hand reaches down, fishes around, finds the cigarettes and pulls them out. Monkey and Mara cling to the foam as Pig falls over and tumbles smacking into the flimsy paper wall crumpling it, and then over the side. Monkey grabs Mara and leaps off the end, catching Pig and shouting, "Change!" as they grow to their normal size and hit the strip club floor. Monkey spins around only to find Sal sitting at the table, cigarette in hand, the head of the demon stripper on the table with a newspaper folded next to it.

He lights his cigarette, takes a couple of drags then, "You know I haven't had a cigarette since 1996." He sets the cigarette on the end of the table so the cherry hangs off the side then opens his paper and continues to read. Monkey puts his cudgel away as Mara and Pig collect themselves and come over. Sal looks over the top of his paper at Mara and says, "You know you really shouldn't cut up an Asura like that, though I suppose you know that already. Gotta twist their heads off with your bare hands. But... what do I know. I'm just an old white guy." He turns the page. 

"Who are you?" Monkey demands. Sal folds his paper and sets it in his lap, picks up the cigarette off the table. "Who I am is probably the least interesting thing about me." Takes a drag. "I do know who you are Sun Wukong, Zhu Bajie and Mara, Daughter of, um, Mara. And I have something for each of you on your quest. I don't offer magic relics, just the wisdom of an old man, and I'll start with you Monkey so you can relax and stop pointing that damn thing at me." Monkey relaxes his posture a bit and rests the end of the cudgel on the floor. "Thank you. Ok. Where was I? Right. Monkey, the man you seek is in Florida."

"I already knew that," Monkey says frowning.

"Oh....Well now it's confirmed...so, it's always better to have confirmation, right?"

Monkey continues to frown as Sal turns to Pig, red rings around his eyes, his face still covered in white powder and says, "What you don't know is a lot."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Sal says directing his gaze to Mara.

"This is bullshit."

Sals eyes go back to Pig. 

"Well I used to have all sorts of magical relics to give wandering adventurers but you know after years and years of people coming through here and taking them all, at some point you just run out. What do you think you can go down to Target and buy a mechanical golden owl of wisdom or a staff that, I don't know, turns into a snake? It takes thousands of years to craft these things, and do you think after it's all said and done that people are like, 'Oh thank you Sal for saving my life with your eternal fishnet of justice. I guess since I've vanquished my mortal enemy I'll return it back to the person who gave it to me? No. They just leave it there. No use for that anymore!"

"It is a gift though, right?" Mara says. "You don't expect someone to return a gift."

"Ok, you know what?" Sal looks flustered. "Let's just get on with this." He turns his attention back to Mara. "So, a total stab in the dark but I'm willing to bet you aren't interested in my advice. Am I right?" Mara nods. "Right. So I do see you've been carving some nice abstract designs in my floor with that sword of yours, and, you know, I just had these floors redone a few years back by these Iranian brothers. They yell at each other the entire time but man do they do good work. Not cheap either. Not that I'm going to send you a bill."

"Get to the point," Mara says.

"Fine. Give me your sword."

Mara puts her hand on the hilt and takes a step back.

"Look, if I wanted to hurt you, your head would be sitting up here next to Ashley. Now c'mon. You're in a rush and I want to get back to my puzzles."

Mara looks at Monkey who shrugs then motions with his head toward Sal. Mara tentatively steps forward, takes her sword out and hands it to him. Sal flips it over and examines it.

"You know I said I wasn't going to give you any advice but I just can't help myself, so here it is. You're not using this thing right. If you were using it right it would be bursting with flames, like in the pictures. You've seen the pictures of Manjushri holding his sword right? Above his head. Like this." Sal raises it above his head with his right hand and then with his left palm facing out with his thumb tucked under." Pretty...what do the kids say now? Badass."

"We don't say that." Mara says. "No one says that."

"Well, be that as it may. The point is that this isn't the sword of Justice, darling. It's the sword that cuts through ignorance and duality, if you don't mind me getting a little metaphysical for a moment. I mean, go ahead and continue to chop people's head off, but it's a lot more powerful if you use it right. I'm not going to ask why you have Manjushri's sword because I know he's probably missing it, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway," Sal sets the sword down on the table and rummages through the purse. "I've said my piece." He plucks out the gold condom, puts it in his left palm, and waves his right over a few times. The condom starts to glow a golden yellow as he picks up the sword and pulls the glowing gold aura all the way down to the hilt, where it lets out a final blast of light before transforming into a golden filigreed metal sheath.

"Gross!" Mara yells as Sal hands it back to her. "I hate you so much."

Sal smiles. "That's fine. Keep on hating me. See where that gets you. Now if you don't mind," he says as he unfolds his paper and disappears behind it. "I've got some work to do."

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."

2

In no time Monkey is flying over rolling hills and mountainous ridges scanning the valleys dotted with small houses, trailers and carports. He hovers above a gas station that's also a Godfather's pizza, hops down from his summersault-cloud on to the hot asphalt, turns into a fly, buzzes past a row of pickup's then sticks to the window advertising cheese fries and a 40 oz coke as a group of teenagers stumble out the door laughing and showing each other their phones. He watches as they load into a car, shouts "Change!", turns into the kid with the stringy blond hair wearing the Megadeath shirt and walks inside. This is what he sees,

             A large woman in floral print
             stands behind the counter           
             pink petals 
             covering the hills and valleys
             a pepperoni pizza
             glistening 
             under lamp light
             rotates 
             as the tiny motor 
             inside
             keeps turning

"I'm looking for Pig," Monkey says walking up to the lady. "He runs a camp around here. Have you seen him?"

"Only pigs I know are cut up and on sale at the Food Lion up the street," she says pointing to the large display of 5 hour energy drinks behind her.

Monkey nods and looks at the small television wedged in the corner. Flames burn across the screen as it switches to a newscaster interviewing a woman and her three kids, a hard cut to commercial then a trailer for the latest superhero movie. Monkey leans in to watch as a guy made of lightning gets kicked in the face. The music swells dramatically as he punches through a sea of bad guys then it's over and there's a woman with her hands on her hips staring at her cat. A magical bald genie appears and the green mist that's covering her apartment disappears with a sweep of his hand. Monkey loses interest, pushes open the door and walks outside.  A white horse is standing where the red pickup had been, gives a snort then shakes its head.

"White dragon?" he says extending his hand and stroking its neck. The horse does not respond. Just looks forward, picks up its foot and sets it down.

"Touchin' another man's horse liable get you shot."

Monkey wheels around to see a man slumped on the sidewalk in blue jeans, jean jacket and a worn blue jean hat covered in gold pins wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a bulldog, big red text offset to the side that says, 'In dog beers I've only had one.'

"I'm just fuckin' with you," he says. "It IS my horse though. Wanna drink?"

Monkey walks over, sits down and takes a drink. 

"This is the first time someone's offered me something since I've been here," Monkey says handing it back. "In my day, wherever we went, people would take us in, fix us food and give us room and board. It was a sign of respect for the work we were doing."

"In yer day? What're you 15? Shut the fuck up with that already."

Monkey looks at the man, thinks about pounding him into the ground then instead, "I'm looking for someone. He runs a camp around here. Have you seen him?"

"Oh, you mean those hippie faggots that prance around in the hills by the old Boy Scout Camp doin' their witchy look-at-me I'm wearing some fuckin' fairy wings with my tits out and I drive my parent's Jeep with a bunch of save the planet bumper stickers plastered all over my god damn window so I can't see out the back when I'm driving like an asshole and don't even wave when you pass me on my horse?"

Monkey scratches his head. "These do sound like the people I'm looking for." He thinks for a moment. "Do they like to lie around, eat and do nothing all the time?"

The man's eye grow wide.

"ARE YOU KIDDIN' ME? That's all they do besides their poly I'll just take any old dick or pussy but please for the love of god I better not get one ounce of GLUTEN on my tongue or my god damn heads gonna explode lousy good for nuthin' son's a bitches here have some my hot pocket I gotta pee."

The man stands, unzips his fly and turns his back and this is what Monkey sees,

            One hand
            against the wall
            holds the weight of a man
            peeing next to the ice bins
            with red letters
            so cold
            icicles hang
            as golden streams form a puddle
            that trickles in the weeds
            as the laughter of two teenagers
            and the steam of the hot pocket
            carry across the yellow lines of
            the Godfathers 
            parking lot 

"They call me Mike," he says zipping up his pants and sitting back down. "What's yer name?"

"Sun Wokung. The Handsome Monkey King. Great Sage Equal to Heaven. King of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit."

Mike takes another drink. 

"Well I'm gonna call ya Tom." He pats Monkey on the back. "Now Tom if you wanna find those low-life do nuthin but harp on how everybody's not glistenin' with the high holy spiritual fuck magic that seems to grace their perfect blonde heads I tell ya where to find 'em but," he raises a finger, "BUT you gotta promise me somethin' Tom." He pushes the bottle over to Monkey offering another drink. "You gotta PROMISE ME that in two weeks I'm not gonna see you down here prancin' and dancin' to some swimmy swammy voodoo trance music with yer shirt unbuttoned wearing one of those polka dot hats talking like someone just shoved a little Asian man up yer ass and now yer blabbing the same ying-yang-yong look at my drugged-out scorpio girlfriend with crystals and glitter all over her body like a god damn disco ball, do you hear what I'm saying?"

"Where are they?" Monkey asks impatiently standing and turning back to his true form.

"I'm gonna tell ya. I'm gonna TELL ya Tom, but first I gotta say and I don't know if it's the whiskey, the hot pocket, the sun baking my brains or all three, but GOD DAMN you got a lot uglier since I met you."

Monkey grows thirty feet tall, a fiery aura burns around him as he pulls his cudgel from behind his ear and points it down at Mike and in a booming voice with flames shooting as tall as the hills that scorch the power lines and cause all the lights to flicker for miles, "WHERE ARE THEY!?!"

Mike looks up, takes a drink and screws the cap back on then wipes his mouth. "Off BB highway. Second right after Caseys."

Monkey doesn't waste a second and is off on his summersault-cloud flying past the highway and over a couple of cabins nestled in the woods. He swoops down lower and sees two people sunbathing on a blanket, lands and approaches, smiling and waving. A plump girl with a stretched out yin yang tattooed across her belly raises her head. The man, in dark shades and nothing else, does not move. Monkey stands over them grinning happily.

"I've heard an old friend of mine runs a camp up here. His name's Zhu Bajie or Zhu Wuneng or sometimes just Pig."

The girl leaning back on her elbows picks up a handmade ceramic cup filled with a strange liquid that has seeds and stems floating on top, takes a sip then as she puts it back down, "What's wrong with your face?" Monkey cocks his head and smiles so she can see every one of his teeth. "You're...the ugliest person I've ever seen."

"Savannah!" the guy says leaning up. "That's not a respectful way to talk to strangers."

"I thought we were practicing radical truthfulness Brad? I speak my truth now," she says turning back to Monkey. "I manifest the light in my life and I speak the truth to all beings I meet that were once lost like myself," she says touching her breast, "That's what The Master teaches us," and then turning to Brad, "Let's take him to The Master and see if he'll accept him into The Seven Circles. He says he knows him," and then turning back to Monkey, "You must've had such a hard life being so ugly."

"I've fought a lot of demons."

"I bet you have," she says reaching out to touch Monkey's hand which he reluctantly lets her do.

Brad does not look so sure but is unable to come up with an excuse quick enough and even though he was sure he was finally going to get to sleep with her, he sighs, folds up his blanket and walks toward the cabin, his tattooed butt with concentric circles and ancient runes leading the way. As Monkey enters the camp this is what he sees,

            People of all shapes
            walking naked
            talking with each other
            as the bumblebees buzz
            and the peonies
            planted in front of the Great Lodge
            dip low to the ground
            the ants in black rows
            crawling green stalks 
            as the sweat of an entire camp
            hangs in the air
            and Debbie
            who's just emerged from her cabin
            talks excitedly to Suzanne
            telling her about how 
            Darren
            gave Jessica
            a UTI

"Wait here," Brad says to Monkey as he walks the steps to the Great Lodge and knocks lightly on the door, a Native American owl painted on both sides so that when you open it the face is split. One side cracks and a bald head pops out looking agitated as he quietly over-pronounces, "We. Are. In. Session."

Brad whispers in his ear and the man jerks his head toward Monkey, gives him a hard look then pushes the door shut, walks down the main aisle through men and women sitting on their plush pink cushions, up the stairs where The Master is sitting, bows repeatedly and says in his ear, "There's a hairy ugly man outside who says he knows you and would like to be permitted in The Great Lodge."

The Master nods with understanding. The bald man knows not to rush him though he does purse his lips and flare his nostrils in anticipation. Finally, The Master leans over and asks, "Does this hairy man have the face of a Thunder God and carry a gold banded cudgel?"

The bald man thinks for a moment and then whispers back, "I don't know what any of that means."

The Master nods again, takes a pipe from his ceremonial pipe stand, picks up his lighter from his ceremonial lighter stand and then smokes a few puffs before setting it down on his ceremonial smoking-pipe stand decorated in red and gold fabric with intertwining circles of immense spirituality. He picks up his pipe again, takes another smoke then starts coughing as his bald helper takes the pipe and puts it out, gently pats him on the back before asking, "Would you like some water?" The Master waves him off, catches his breath. 

"Let him in. All are welcome to hear The Truth."

The bald man gives a tight little smile then walks back down the aisle scanning the parishioners for any infractions as he quickly makes his way to the front door, cracks it, beckons them with a wave, sternly points to a few empty cushions in the back then puts his finger to his lips before sitting down himself. Monkey is happy to oblige and plops down and assumes the same serious position everyone else is in. 

            The Master sits on stage
            filled with succulents
            and complex geometry
            feathers and furs
            crystals on crystals
            with a guitar on one side
            and a woman dutifully bowing
            on the other
            his Jesus hair flowing
            white linens billowing in the breeze
            from the fan he's pointed at himself
            his silence speaks the volumes
            his followers read in their sleep
            as he smokes his pipe
            and ponders the nature
            of everyone else's
            existence

"Thank you for coming. I'm so humbled by your presence. Let's give thanks before we begin. Let's give thanks to this beautiful hall and this beautiful food and all you beautiful people," he says with a smile. A few laugh and then resume seriousness. "Let's give thanks for the farmers in the field that grew the plants and the workers who picked it. Let's thank the construction workers who built this cabin and made it possible to be sitting here with you. Most importantly let's give thanks for thanking. There is so much to be thankful for and it's amazing to be able to thank the thanking." The crowd in unison chants, "We shall all thank the thanking." The Master bows then rises. "Does everyone have their astrology tarot decks?" People all around start pulling cards out of purple velvet pouches carefully setting them in front of their mat. Everyone except Monkey. "It looks like we need a deck for the man in back," The Master says motioning to the bald helper who quickly gets to his feet, bows hurriedly and fast-walks over to place a deck in front of Monkey's cushion then whispers, "We'll settle up after class."

"If he has no money, it's no problem. Let's not have money get in the way of an emerging consciousness," The Master says opening his arms wide, "and a new consciousness is emerging. For too long we've been shackled by society, forced to hide behind these 'identities' we've been given. But no longer. Here we learn to unlearn. We unburden ourselves from the horrors of our past by shedding the remnants of a dying society, by opening ourselves to mother earth, feeling her breath on our skin as we remove our clothes and expose our true bodies to the world."

Monkey looks as the parishioners remove their robes and stand up naked. Monkey only has his tiger striped pants and red sash. He stands but doesn't take them off. Everyone sits down and Monkey sits as The Master continues, "Now we don't just unburden ourselves with our worldly possessions. We also unburden ourselves with our pasts. Who here among us wants to offer up a story to the group and have it consumed in the fire of our collective consciousness?"

Savannah's hand shoots up and everyone turns to look. The Master winces then says, "Savannah again. Ok Savannah what do you have to tell us?"

"I just wanted to say that I'm so thankful to be here among all of you," she says looking around and smiling at everyone, "and also I'm so thankful for thanking." She bows when she says this last part, "and I just wanted to say that before I came here I had a family that made me feel ashamed about who I was. They made me feel bad for not doing well in school and in making a lot of BAD," she makes air quotes" choices like drinking and partying too much. ANYWAY, I thought a lot of bad things about myself. You know, like I called myself a slut and things like that but being here has taught me to embrace my true self," she says wrapping her arms around herself, "and now cause of you I know that I AM a slut and I'm not ashamed and it just feels so great to express myself with all of you, in that way."

"That's great Savannah," The Master says scanning his eyes across the crowd, "Does anyone else want to..."

"Oh and just one more thing," she says half raising her hand again, "I forgot to mention my grandma. I'm just so thankful that she's taking care of my kids while I'm here working on myself and doing a lot of processing and getting to know who I really am because without her I'd still be stuck in the patriarchy and it just feels so good to relinquish that burden and be free to do the work I need to do, and yeah, so I just wanted to thank the universe for providing that path for me as I continue my journey."

"Thank you Savannah," The Master says bowing.

"And you know she's just such an amazing woman. My grandma. She worked in a chicken plant so my mom could go to college and my mom became a doctor and did really well and then she died when I was sixteen which was hard and I'm still doing a lot of processing about THAT and then my grandpa died and he worked a lot too, you know, in the patriarchy, and he used to take me to see movies on Sundays after church and I always remember he'd wear this blue checked shirt cause he was real conservative, like he watched FOX news and stuff but I loved him anyway cause he's my grandpa, do you know what I mean?"

"Yes. I think we all know what you mean Savannah. Thank you for unburdening yourself."

"I just...I just..." and in her stutter she starts to feel something. "I just always felt like there was something wrong with me. Even from a young age I was looking for this thing, you know, that I could fix and every time I tried to do right I'd fail and I'd try to change," tears start welling, "I really would. I'd sit there and say to myself, Savannah," her voice cracks, "you're gonna figure this out and it's like every time I think I have a hold of somethin' it just disappears you know?" She pulls the tears back, wipes her eyes with her bare arm. "Like you're so SURE you've got it and you're being good and then you take your eyes away for one second and it's gone. You're just holding onto nothin'. You know what I mean?"

The Master picks his pipe up of the ceremonial pipe stand, lights it and takes a few puffs. "Thank you for that Savannah. I think you've given all of us something to think about." He puffs a few more puffs. "Why don't we all bow our heads and chant as Savannah comes up to receive the blessing. "Savannah?" he says raising his hand, his palm facing toward himself, beckoning. 

As she jumps off her pillow everyone bows their heads and starts chanting in a strange language. Savannah stands naked before The Master hands clasped, eyes teary and closed as the chanting gets louder and someone starts banging a gong sending waves reverberating through the room. A few people caught up in the spirit stand, raise their hands, do a little dance on their cushion like they're caressing the air over and over.  Savannah also starts to dance though she's suddenly shy and all she can manage is to sway back and forth, the only dance move she's ever learned. The Master makes sure everyone is deep in the trance of their enlightenment then in a flash of bright blue light transforms into his true form.

            A monstrous sweaty pig
            with stiff black hairs 
            growing from his back
            his snout wrinkly and old
            small dark eyes
            peer out among folds of flesh
            giant wet tusks
            gleam in the light
            as Pig opens his mouth
            exposing his bulbous purple tongue
            and the blackness of his throat
            envelopes the girl
            as his jaws snap shut
            swallowing her
            Whole

Monkey jumps to his feet, pulls the needle behind his ear and grows it into his gold banded cudgel. 

"Demon pig! How dare you eat that girl!"

"I eat who I want!" Pig yells reaching toward the altar in front of him, a beautiful display of red, purple, green and white flowers laid out with careful intention. A long wood pole in the middle juts out painted in a swirly pattern that reaches up to heaven. He grabs the pole, lifts his nine pronged rake, the sharp teeth hidden underneath the petals, and leaps in the air, lands on the giant wooden beam in the arched ceiling of The Great Lodge. "You're not the only one with magic powers you ugly macaw," Pig shouts as he blows on his rake and the prongs turn red, waves it around, says some magic words and a cascading shower of complex geometry falls onto the succulents and crystals below.

The glowing crystals embed themselves in the succulent vines that shoot out lashing at his fur wrapping around his cudgel. Monkey fends them off as Pig whirls his rake around, the prongs turning pink and the bodies of all the naked followers glow with the same strange light as they stand and swarm Monkey gnashing at his fur, biting anything they can fit in their mouths.

Overwhelmed by the flopping boobs, armpits, legs and elbows flailing and stinking and clawing, Monkey grabs the people by their necks and pops off their heads, throws them at Pig all the while cursing and screaming, "You dirty pig! I'm going to rip you apart when I get a hold of you!"

"Demon Monkey!" Pig yells back swatting the heads with his nine pronged rake, a few embedding on his prongs. Running out of things to throw Monkey leaps up as Pig dives down, opens his mouth and swallows him in one bite. Monkey, in the blackness of Pig's stomach, starts ripping and tearing it apart, yelling and cursing as Pig rolls around on the floor smashing the decapitated bodies with his belly, crying and begging him to stop.

"How many people have you eaten? How many will I find in here?"

"Please, brother Monkey," Pig begs, "I only ate a few."

Monkey stops then shouts, "Open up. I'm coming out."

Pig opens his mouth and Monkey leaps out, turns just in time for Pig to bring his nine pronged rake down on his head. The floor cracks open and Monkey is pushed deep into the ground, quickly makes a spell with his fingers while saying the magic words and turns himself into a star-nosed mole that digs through the earth tearing up the foundation. Pig furiously smashes with his rake as the trail of cracks forms around him. As the ground crumbles Monkey pops up, turns back into this true form, grabs one of the massive wood pillars of the Great Lodge, rips it out of its metal casing and uses it as a club to bring down on Pig who's flattened underneath as the entire building collapses leaving a pile of rubble with dying succulents, arms and legs and the occasional shard of pink crystal sticking out.

A brief moment of silence before Monkey and Pig emerge, teeth-gnashing, eyes inflamed, hands ready to mangle, reaching for each other's throat. Pig lands on top and with his enormous size pushes him to the ground, but Monkey wriggles free, grabs hold of his tusks, pries open his mouth and shoves the rocks and wood planks, arms and legs, anything he can grab with his little monkey hands. Pig squeals, tries to wrestle away but Monkey's got him by the tusks and won't let go as he shoves the last stone and finger and shattered ceramic pot then leaps into the air and comes down hard on his belly, jumping up and down as Pig shrieks. 

"Have you had your fill, you greedy idiot?!"

"I give up!" Pig says dropping his rake. Monkey stops jumping but remains standing on his belly. 

"I'd have killed you five times if I didn't need your help."

"What do you need my help for?" Pig says panting, "I'm an old pig now. Why don't you let me enjoy myself and live out a well-deserved retirement?"

"You're eating people again!"

"Like you've never eaten anyone," Pig says rolling himself to his side as Monkey hops off. "Besides, I only ate a few." He surveys the damage. "You just killed a seventy-three people. Look at this place. Who are you to lecture?" 

Pig changes back to his true form and this is what Monkey sees,

            Bare pig feet
            splayed up to heaven
            a man's body
            shoved in blue jeans
            with a giant pink belly
            heaving with sighs
            a white t-shirt stretched to
            translucence
            and on top of all of it
            a hideous hog head
            wet and smeared with dirt

"Get up," Monkey instructs as he walks over to the rake and tosses it. Pig lets it fall on top of him and roll to the side. He lies there staring up at the sky then slowly, painfully, picks up the rake, lifts himself leaning heavily on the handle and says, "I'm not an immortal like you. I've just gotten fatter, stupider and lazier."

"I know," Monkey says, "But I can't do this without you."

"What's so god damn important that it's worth all of this?" Pig asks getting to his feet.

"I'll explain on the way," Monkey says hopping on his summersault-cloud. Pig pulls his way up as Monkey scans through his sleek gold rectangle. 

"What're you doing?" 

Monkey pays no attention and finally settles on "Back in Black" as the music blares and the cloud lifts in the air. 

"This is America," he says as the guitar counts off the rhythm, "Everything important is done to music."

1

Deep in the heart of Missouri a highway snakes its way into dense forest winding through the fingery lakes of the Ozarks past the bubbling streams and rocky crags, the open plains rowed with crops, cows and combines, past Jerry's Auto Body, the field of wildflowers that separates the gas-station-fried-chicken-place and that old diner that got converted into a coffee shop and then failed when Barbara started having an affair with her landlord, past the fireworks stand and XXX adult truck stop to a QuikTrip on the east side of the road. In that QuikTrip, to the right of the hotdog and taquito rollers, through the aisles of Twix, Twizzlers and Takis, over the nondescript 1' x 1' beige tiles, behind the pristine sheen of a ruby red countertop stands a man in a polo shirt, khaki pants, long white hair that swoops to his shoulders. He pulls a carton of Kools from the crisp folds of the cardboard as the mechanical doors slide open as his first customer of the day enters.

The old man rises, turns to face him, the sun hitting his black lacquered nametag that reads, "Lao Tzu". Lao Tzu! Taoist leader. Knower of the Way. Master of meditation. He stands at the ready, deep in thought, eyes closed, connected to the fourteen planes of reality. He raises his hand to his temple and a gold dragon encircles his aura as a thousand points of light beam from his head. The dragon, its mouth agape, eyes transfixed, spins in circles before shattering into a starry shimmer of infinite complexity. As it fades, he bows and in a soft steady voice asks, "What do you seek, young one?"

The man looks up from his phone, wipes his hand on his t-shirt. A bright green race car is splashed across his chest, the flames from the engine roar to his neck as he pulls his cargo shorts down releasing the wedgie that’s slowly crept up over the last six hours.

“Bathroom?”

Lao Tzu looks in the direction the finger is pointing then back to the man who is instantly made uncomfortable by the prolonged eye contact.

“To find the bathroom one must ask, ‘does relieving my bladder relieve me of my burden? Does it mend the pain I feel in the realization of my own death?’ To find the bathroom is not a question, but rather an answer which repeats itself over and over, not in your mind, but in mind, collectively, as a thinking breathing thing that longs for release.”

The man puts his phone in his pocket and looks around for a manager as Lao Tzu peers into his three souls and seven spirits.

“Go then,” he says picking up another carton of Kools. “It’s in the back.”

The man disappears as another enters and places $40 on the counter.

“Forty on pump two.”

Lao Tzu, in his infinite wisdom, finishes stocking the cigarette display. He picks up the empty box and puts it in the recycling bin.

“That which you hear is already heard. That which you know is already known. That which you seek is already found for it has always existed and never existed and will be forgotten the moment you remember it.”

The customer taps the money on the counter with his finger.

“I've been driving with my pregnant wife and two-year-old and I haven't had a cigarette since we got out of Memphis so I don't know what your problem is but I want $40 on pump 2.”

A wrinkled dress shirt is hastily tucked into a brand-new pair of Wranglers. His turnip-shaped head has a tight red face that’s squeezed on top by an ill-fitting cowboy hat. He continues to tap the money on the counter, eyebrows raised as Lao Tzu leans forward.

“When gas is what we seek we think only of gas and do not see our own face in the reflection of time.”

“I'm seeking gas! That’s what I’m here for. To seek gas!” He sticks his hands in his pockets and walks away muttering as Lao Tzu picks up the money and masterfully enters the numbers in the cash register. The immortal one places the two twenties in the correct slot then stands at the ready. Through the plate glass doors, he watches a woman stumble out of the passenger side of a 1997 SS Super Sport with spiny wheels and a sticker of Calvin peeing on a Ford symbol. His eyes narrow to a squint as she enters. A pink tube top and acid-washed jeans, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She puts her cigarette out on the side of the building before coming inside.

“Need a lottery ticket.” 

Lao Tzu stays silent then places his hands on the counter.

“Your fortune is not ahead of you or behind but before your very eyes.”

The woman wipes her nose with her arm and pulls out her wallet.

“Gimme one of those Red Rooster scratchers.”

Lao Tzu leans back and folds his arms.

“The rooster crows in the morning. The cherry blossoms bloom in the spring.  And the dew that is on a blade of grass hangs ever so sweetly to the tip of existence.”

The woman offers some help.

“It's on the bottom left there with the little cartoon rooster that's on fire. You see it? Next to the green leprechauns.”

“The fire is not on the rooster. Nor is it anywhere you look.  It is always behind you, in the corner of your eye and at the bottom of your ....”

“Is there a problem?" Phil, the assistant manager, smiles at the customer then turns his glare to Lao Tzu. 

“I'm just trying to buy a red rooster scratcher.” 

The woman holds a crinkled five as some kind of proof.

“Lao, we've talked about this. The woman wants a scratcher. What she doesn't want is a lecture about the eternal nature of being.”

“When one understands one stops....”

“Nope. Don't want to hear it. Tell her how much it costs. Take her money and give her the ticket.”

Lao Tzu folds his hands under his arms and lowers his head. Phil and the customer look to see the scratcher on the counter.

“And...” Phil says making a few notes as he heads back to the office.

“That will be $6.96”

Left alone Lao Tzu picks up the broom and dustpan, starts sweeping then stops, looks around, raises his hands and lets out an ‘Om’. The hot dogs and taquitos glow an auspicious pink before raising from their metal rollers, lifting in the air and spinning in a jumbled mess before forming a Ying Yang, the hot dogs as Yin, the taquitos as Yang. He lowers his hands and the image is broken, the dogs disassemble, each falling back to the rollers below.

He resumes sweeping then stops as a dark shiver descends over his being. The familiar ‘ding’ rings out but he does not turn. Instead he grips the broom tighter, jumps in the air, grabs onto the ceiling fan and spins around. He breaks off the end of the broom, twirls it and sends it flying at the head of the murderous demon monkey that is standing by the door. 

Monkey does not move. He simply catches it, breaks it into a million pieces and uses one to clean his teeth then walks over to the magazine rack and picks up a Cosmo, leans against the counter and smiles, starts flipping through the pages. Lao Tzu lands, walks back to his station looking vexingly at the monkey before him.

“Great Sage Equal to Heaven. You shitty little monkey. What are you doing here?”

“Tang Sanzang. The monk. I haven't been able to find him. I went to heaven and asked for you but they said you were banished. Never thought I'd find you here.”

“So you've found me. But leave that poor man alone. What do you want with him anyway?”

“It's been 500 years since I fetched the Buddhist scriptures so that people could cultivate their true form. But what's happened? Nothing. No great change. No shift in consciousness. No one cares about Buddhist scripture anymore. Something is wrong.”

“What do you want me to do about it? Look at these people. No one reads anything here except, 'The Top Ten Reasons Your Partner is Cheating on You' and they only get to number five before they get bored.” 

“I don't know,” Monkey says. “Maybe they have it right and we're the ones confused.”

“Either way, it's hopeless. Now shoo you silly monkey before my manager sees you. Oh no. It's too late!”

Lao Tzu tries to act busy grabbing the nearest stack of receipts and shuffling them in no apparent order as his manager returns.

“What's going on here, Lao?”  

Monkey frowns and steps forward, puffs out his chest and in his most authoritative voice booms, “I am The Monkey King. Great Sage Equal to Heaven. King of the Mountains of Flower and Fruit. I fetched the Buddhist scriptures with Tang Sanzang, fought countless demons, caused a ruckus in heaven and made the Jade Emperor tremble with my gold-banded cudgel. I'm talking to Lao Tzu, Taoist master and Knower of the Way, the man who created the elixir that gave me eternal life, who stoked the fires that turned my eyes gold with smoke so that I can see through all 14 layers of reality, who wrapped his noose around my neck and helped imprison me at the bottom of a mountain for 500 years. Who are you that you should address us in such an informal way?”

The manager, squeezes his clipboard, puts his hand on his hip, takes a step forward.

“My name's Phil. Phil Moss. And I'm the associate manager at the 33rd street midtown QuikTrip. I graduated with a bachelor's degree from Missouri Central State with a major in Business Administration and a minor in pottery, and...and I've been dating the same girl for three years now, which is a personal best for me, and she's really hot, not that that's the only thing I like about her, but, you know, she's the hottest girl I've dated so far, so...that's something.”

Monkey's eyes light up in a fiery gaze that penetrates Phil's being. He grows twice his size as thunderous lighting emanates all around him.

“I am Sun Wukong. Born from a stone egg. By cultivating my spiritual essence I've mastered all 72 transformations. I can leap through the air with my summersault-cloud, pull a needle from my ear, grow it into my gold banded cudgel and smash your head before you take two steps.”

Phil scrunches up his face, puts down his clipboard and crosses his arms, straightens his back from his usual slouching posture and in his most authoritative voice that he learned from his mother says, “Well, all I have to do is pick up this phone and dial the police and then it takes them about 15 to 20 minutes to get here and then once that happens they'll ask you to leave and I'll post a picture of you on that wall,” he says pointing to a small section by the copy machine with two 8 ½ x 11" xeroxed faces held up by scotch tape. Monkey cocks his head and looks at the pictures then back to Phil, “and you won’t be allowed in this QuikTrip or any of in the county. You can still get gas with your rewards card, but you won’t be able to enjoy any of the delicious yet affordable treats inside that QT has become famous for.”

Monkey reaches behind his ear and pulls out a needle which grows as tall as the ten foot marker on the criminal height strip by the entrance. He plants both feet in a wide stance, spins the cudgel around his body, grabs one end with both hands and in a graceful motion brings the full force of it down on Phil's head which instantly explodes, the blood spraying out onto the storefront window while his brains fly across the room and land on the taquito rollers. Monkey rests his staff on his shoulder and turns to Lao Tzu whose moment of shock dissipates into a deep glowering frown.

"Why has The Knower of the Way surrounded himself with these hairy little demons?" Monkey asks smiling.

"Monkey, you idiot. That...that wasn't a demon. That was Phil. You just killed....ah crap...go outside and see if anyone saw you and then come back and help me clean this up."

Monkey can only watch as Lao Tzu, master of meditation, runs to the bathroom grabbing the bleach and lugging it back to the counter where he starts pouring it in the mop bucket.

"If a man is killed and only two people see it but they don't make a sound, did it really happen? The answer is NO! Now get a mop and help before we get into even more trouble."

Monkey doesn't move and looks disapprovingly at Lao Tzu making such a fuss over nothing. "You've become soft in your old age," Monkey says shifting his weight and bringing his cudgel to rest on the tile. "Your eyes must be weak." Monkey flips through the pages of the Cosmo stopping on 'the five things your man wants but is afraid to ask'. "That wasn't a man I just killed. It was a demon."

Lao Tzu rolls his eyes, bends over and wheels the yellow mop bucket and his as-you-will mop over to the body splayed on the ground. He dips it in the bleach and starts smearing the blood across the beige 1 x 1's, sloshing it back in the bucket and cursing under his breath. "There are no more demons you stupid monkey. You killed them all, remember?" But just as these words leave his lips, just as his mop sloshes back in the bucket turning the water a beautifully muted pink, Phil's body starts to vibrate. Lao Tzu takes two steps back watching it shake on the floor, the appendages flopping violently as a snake demon pushes its way out of the bloody gape in the neck. 

          The demon snake grows
          wrapping itself down the aisles
          its eyes two silver mirrored domes
          that can see around corners
          its skin like taquito crust
          flaky and burnt
          falls to the floor
          as it squeezes the displays
          knocking the Doritos and Taki's
          into a messy pile
          and the cigarette cartons
          so neatly stacked
          lay scattered
          Lao Tzu Knower of the Way
          drops his mop
          as the beast opens its mouth
          flashing its yellow coned fangs
          that are emblazoned in red
          with a picture of a man in a triangle
          falling down
          the black word 'Caution'
          written across its tongue
          and down its throat
          as the demon lets out a cry and
          Monkey smiles
          knowing the secrets of men
          he drops the magazine in the blood 
          which soaks the pages
          and makes the woman on the cover
          turn crimson

Monkey leaps to strike with his gold banded cudgel. The snake sensing danger pushes its head into the bathroom whipping its tail around and catching Monkey off guard smashing him through the plate glass window toppling over the bottled water displays and smacking into a white Cutlass that just stopped for gas. The car flies back and lands in the street. The owner, a black man, no shirt with lime green running shorts, holds the gas pump in one hand and his keys in another. "What the fuck!" Monkey jumps up and shoots back inside frantically smashing at the snake's body which explodes in cheesy goo that reformulates and heals itself. The excess cheese congeals around Monkey's cudgel and sucks it down to the floor where it disappears in a sea of cheddar. 

Lao Tzu, sensing monkey's distress and finally recovering from the transformation, leaps over to the automotive aisle and in mid-air grabs two bottles of degreaser which he sprays in a magnificent whirling arc that frees Monkey and sends him leaping through the drywall to the bathroom. The giant head of the snake, which takes up the entire room, opens its mouth as Monkey steps inside, pries it open wider, grabs the top fangs and snaps them like dry twigs. The snake screams as Monkey plunges the fangs into its mirrored eyes, cracking and sending the shards to the floor. He grabs the green plastic baby changing station, rips it off the wall and proceeds to beat the monster's head in till the plastic starts to degrade and there's nothing left except a cheesy bloody mess that fills the toilets and the sink and rises as high as the hand dryer before quickly turning to a red mist that disappears along with the screams of the monster. 

Monkey climbs back through the hole in the drywall, picks up his cudgel and walks over to the counter.

"The demons are different here," Lao Tzu says picking up his mop and surveying the wreck of the store.

"Everything is different here," Monkey replies. 

"I miss the old ways, when the demons dressed in gleaming armor and their silvery beards and red eyes shone in the darkness. When you had to climb a craggy mountain and sit under the moon to see the unnatural mists swallow the landscape."

"No one cares about craggy rocks anymore," Monkey says. "Nothing stays the same I suppose. Not even demons."

"Demons are all the same. They only dress differently."

As Monkey and Lao Tzu talk, a mother and her three kids walk up to the door but it does not open. She looks inside and this is what she sees,

          Shelving torn apart
          snack food strewn in piles as if 
          someone had lifted the store
          and given it three good shakes
          the freezer doors open
          ice cream sweating
          with blood streaks down the glass
          and in the middle of it all
          a ferocious looking monkey
          with the face of a thunder god
          red sash tied around his waist
          in tiger print pants
          his tail poking through 
          the hole he cut
          all the while
          happily chatting

As the woman runs screaming Monkey talks with Lao Tzu, the bitter feelings falling away, for as they say, someone from your past brings a bit of it with them.

"I am not so old and stupid that I'll sit here and complain about how things aren't like they used to be,"
Lao Tzu says sweeping up a bit of Phil's arm and throwing it in the wastebasket. 

"Then where is the Tang Sanzang?" Monkey asks.

"I don't know, but I do know that idiot Pig of yours is running some spiritual camp in the hills of West Virginia. He might know something, or at least may know where to find Friar Sand. Now get out of here you shitty monkey and leave me to clean up my mess."

Monkey nods, looks down and picks up a road map, gives Lao a last look before jumping on his summersault-cloud and flying up so high the buildings turn to flat grey squares and the only thing above him is the brilliant blue dome of the sky. He unfolds the map, smooths out the creases with his hand. "I can't believe I'm headed west again," he says then cocks his head, flips the map right side up and laughs, "West Virginia is east. What a strange country." He jumps to his feet and pulls a sleek gold rectangle from his tiger print pants, the screen lights up as he looks through his albums before selecting "AC/DC" then "Highway to Hell". The opening chords blare, the drums kick in, as Monkey shoots off toward the magical land of West Virginia.