Turns out the torn-off lid of a Mussolini’s Pizza box flies true when tossed like a Frisbee and combined with a certain degree of ingenuity and boredom.

Dodging around a speeding taxi, Gonzaga Scales snared an errant throw, carried by some property of thermodynamics (less dense molecules rising through the crowded sky, only to cool and descend once again), across two lanes of moderate traffic to the double yellow line, where following a leap he landed on a manhole cover.

Back on the sidewalk, Kerb Fairlady, the thrower, was reading a magazine at Pablo’s Adult Newsstand. He was older than Zag, but still young enough to cast about furtive glances while in possession of pornography, lest a lurking authority figure rap his knuckles with a ruler, or whatever issuance of mild to moderate pain passed as punishment these days.

“Nice catch,” Kerb said without looking up.

“Nice throw.”

“It did enable you to make what was, I must admit, the single greatest athletic feat I have yet borne witness to.” He pointed out an acrobatic position on page 72 of the magazine, “Next to this, at least.”

“Where’s their center of gravity?”

“Apparently the repeated thrusting has generated enough static electricity to push them away from the shag carpet, thus sustaining their precarious intimacy.”

Zag shook his head. “I don’t think that’s how static works. If anything, the rug would be clinging to them like a sock on the back of a fresh-dried shirt.”

Suddenly sensing physiological changes in himself, most notably in his pants, Zag changed the subject.

“The girls are late.”

Kerb glanced at his watch. They’d been waiting 12 minutes already.

“They’re always late.”

But not in the applying make-up, fixing hair sense of the cliché. Not these girls. By being late they established independent importance. Identity, it’s usually called, though that’s not quite an accurate description.

Someone snatched the magazine out of Kerb’s hand from behind him.

“Damn, she hot,” said a girlish voice.

The boys found Blue McTaggart behind them, ogling over the even-tanned blondness more than any self-respecting male could get away with.

“I haven’t paid for that yet,” said Kerb.

Blue threw it at his chest. “Honestly, I’ve seen better. Seen…along with the other senses.”

The boys did a mental checklist, and their legs quaked a little when they reached taste.

Thinking about baseball, Zag asked, “Where’s Canary?”

“How should I know,” Blue answered, “probably at the library.”

“Do we actually know that she goes to the library, or can we just not think of any other place she might go when she’s not with us?” asked Kerb.

“I usually imagine you on the shitter, when you’re not around,” said Blue.

“Well, that’s usually where I am.”

Unnoticed, Canary Vitus had slipped beside them even as they talked about her.

Zag jerked away when he caught sight of her in his peripheral vision. “Shit! Canary. Where’ve you been?”

“Finding my way in this ever-expanding universe.”

Everybody paused for one thoughtful second, then Blue stepped over and kissed Canary on the top of her head.

The difference between the girls was pronounced. Blue was leggy and beautiful by any standard, soft fine blond hair (naturally blond, to the distrust and dismay of a slew of jealous and doubting women). Her clothes were carefully selected to reveal new alluring aspects of her form each day. Such revelations never went unnoticed, and seemed to be innumerable.

Canary could be the only object in an empty white, doorless, windowless room and remain unseen. She couldn’t be objectified. Her t-shirt and cargo pants (the exact article changed daily, but the categories were consistent: t-shirt and cargo pants), were loose and hid anything that might otherwise be memorable. Kerb had openly commented, however, on the potential of her ass.

He walked over and took her hand in an affectionate squeeze, frowning again at the tattoo on the bottom of her wrist, a dashed line above a scissors icon and the phrase cut along dotted line.

Zag and Canary stayed apart like similar poles on two magnets.

“Let’s go,” said Zag.

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NEXT: 2 - The Den of Defomo