Angel Of Death: End Of Days, Route 9, Poughkeepsie Part Two – The Conversation

(This is a part two to something I wrote a few months back about seeing the “Angel of Death” in the middle of route 9 in Poughkeepsie NY, really just some guy dressed as one at rush hour, but what if maybe it wasn’t just some guy? Part one is the highlighted linked first sentence here to lead this off, read that first if you’re interested … The Conversation, this said part two follows. Do so at your own risk?)

So, are you that guy who saw me on Route 9 in Poughkeepsie a few month’s back?

What?

Are you that guy who saw me standing in between lanes with my hourglass?

(overly dramatic voice over – A dark horizon of damnation looms with hopeless flailing and violent blood lettings and grotesque gouging’s and all nasty similar assorted things and paintings of Hieronymus Bosch and posters of Farah Fawcett and Scott Baio all hang from damnation walls as far as burned out eyes can no longer see and even a child’s finger painted pictures of all the wretched , on multi colored thick grade school paper, hang on refrigerators with little cat magnets)

Ok, well that’s a somewhat unsettling and a bit silly, but I’m a little confused, a lot more than a little confused really, actually a bit freaked out right now as a matter of fact. Where the Hell am I?

Exactly

????

So, are you that guy that wrote about seeing me there in Poughkeepsie?

Well, yeah, I guess

You guess?

Ok, I jokingly wrote about some dude I saw dressed as the Angel of Death in the middle of Route 9 between a couple of mattress stores and across from a T.G.I. Fridays and a specialty soap shop and a convenience store but … but it was just me writing a story!

And that I may have been ordering a burger from that T.G.I. Fridays while I passed the time being all Angel of Death and possibly thinking of doing Angel of Death stuff?

Well, sure, whatever I uh … you’re not gonna “scythe” me by the way, or whatever it is you do, point a death finger or something are you?

Not yet … spot on on the burger by the way, blood rare, locusts, frogs, extra cheese and fries and the apple cobbler dessert special. Who doesn’t love themselves a nice apple cobbler?

Ummmm, alright, with ya on the apple cobbler, grant ya that, some vanilla ice cream for a bonus if the cobbler is warm, who doesn’t, but …

Hey, I can do warm …

Of course you can

… and at the end you asked, as you were worried if I were there in the middle of Route 9 in Poughkeepsie to bring about the end of days, if I could at least have let you grab your dinner, feed your cats and clean a litter box or two before the end?  

But that wasn’t real!!! You were just some nutter in a Grim Reaper robe and hood with an hourglass and …

Careful

Ok, not nutter, maybe just some freak who …

What did I just say about careful?

Fine, fine. You were an actual Angel of Death, not some random guy in a bad costume in the middle of Route 9 in Poughkeepsie but the real deal

Now you’re getting it

But that was the best you could do?

What?

The outfit? The bad costume? It was soooo High School stage production, and the hourglass was soooo small, there wasn’t anything that you could have grabbed tha …

Hey! I grab what I can from the old plays! Hard to come by trustworthy folks around here, people walk off with costumes and props all the time, for Halloween and freaky parades and funeral birthday parties and never return them … I just grabbed the last things left. It served its purpose though right?

Well not really, it was more of a dark thrift store long coat that someone probably died in smelling of alleyways and sweat and what looked like a dead flashlight in hand …

Died smelling of alleyways and sweat … that’s not bad … can I use that?

… with a sweatshirt hoodie

But I got a compliment on it

Probably just being kind … oh wait, that was one chick who’s all goth on the weekends, she sees what she wants to.

You’re a dick

I’ve been told. You need to get your costume and prop people in line and get them to return shit. Halloween and freaky parades and parties as funerals or funerals as parties may have their place but …

Ok whatever, but you know you’re dead right?

(looking around) Jesus dude … is the cleaning lady off today …?

Really?

Oh right, bad exclamation, especially for here

You still know you’re dead right?

What? No, I’m not, I have cats

You’re not Bill?

Bill who?

That guy with the bus this morning, the one who wrote about me?

Oh, I read about that … awful business … we’re all so freakin’ immersed in cell phones … just one bad step when you’re not paying attention and WHAP!! SQUASH!! Bystanders turning in horror and puking on their shoes … and, hey, this Bill fella didn’t try take credit for that did he, say he was the one who wrote my thing about you?!

So, you’re not that guy? That Bill?

Very much NOT thank you and my name is Steve by the way and I am very much alive, with cats … just fed them as a matter of fact

Yeah, you told me about the cats thing … you don’t have a girlfriend do you?

What?

Never mind, I’ll leave you be … a NOT Bill as you say … for now … here’s my card

/////////////////////////////

Dude can you NOT not knock shit over?

(overly dramatic voice over – A dark horizon of damnation looms with hopeless flailing and violent blood lettings and gouging’s and all nasty similar assorted’s and paintings of Hieronymus Bosch and posters of Farah Fawcett and Scott Baio all hanging from from damnation walls as far as burned out eyes can no longer see and even a child’s finger signed damnation pictures, on multi colored thick grade school paper, hang on refrigerators with little cat magnets)

Sorry (after bumping into a mantle and crashing a snow globe onto the floor) so sorry, I can pay for that.

How?

Well, I do have mone …

No, no you don’t, you’re dead, you couldn’t take it with you as all those fucking songs were trying to remind you.

You mean like that one Alan Parsons Project tune from … hold on … love that song … the one from … ummmm …

From Pyramid … from Pyramid? Third album? It’s just one of the litany of endless song drivel about the obvious Bill … and always in an attempted profound kind of way, like that was gonna somehow get you in her pants at that dive pub while you drunkenly jotted things on a napkin hoping to impress her with how “deep” you were …

My name’s not Bill

What?

My name’s not Bill, It’s Steve

What?!!! Seriously?!! You want to quibble about names?!!

Well, it is kind of important it seems, especially since he’s the guy with the bus and the WHAP!! SQUASH!! and shoe puke, not me!!

Do you hear yourself?  … (bending down to try and clean up pieces of the snow globe) Man, where the fuck is a broom and dustpan when you need one …

Probably with the cleaning lady who obviously isn’t here today

… you know this one was one of my favorites?

I really am sorry

It was Pompeii, all of them huddled together in fear while the ashes … oh those ashes … glorious stuff … how it floated death … you could shake it up and … like deadly Christmas … and now you’ve gone and fucked up Christmas

Sorry, I didn’t realize there was a mantle here, whodathunk? I can be a bit clumsy … plus I’m kind of new to this plac …

(overly dramatic voice over – A dark horizon of damnation looms with hopeless flailing and violent blood lettings and gouging’s and all nasty similar assorted’s and paintings of Hieronymus Bosch and posters of Farah Fawcett and Scott Baio all hanging from from damnation walls as far as burned out eyes can no longer see and even a child’s finger signed damnation pictures, on multi colored thick grade school paper, hang on refrigerators with little cat magnets)

Does that ever stop? Or is it like when you’re on hold for that associate that might or might not pick up in like 17 to 22 minutes?

Sorry, pre-recorded thing, usually closer to the 22 or really past that by a good margin, usually eternity … of course there’s a mantle Bill … why wouldn’t there be a mantle, or are you judging me, that I can’t have a nice house with proper house things, like mantles?

Have you looked around here lately?

Sarcasm not appreciated Bill … I mean where the hell are you going to display your proudest of knick knacks and set them up for the holidays?

It’s Steve

What?!!!

It’s Steve, you called me Bill again

You know Phil when I find my broom I’m going to beat you to death with it and …

Well, not much point in that if I’m already dead as you say right?

… well I’m going to beat you death with it twice and then clean up Pompeii (picking up tiny characters) I mean look at this, all spooned together, how cute is that?

It’s not really. It’s kind of sad

Ok ground rules Dave

It’s Steve

Ok ground rules Chris, I don’t care of sad, not caring of sad is pretty much what I do, it’s just a tired human trait that helps them explain how they feel when one of their’s gets dead. And I don’t care how it happens. It can be a bus …

That was awful … WHAP!! SQUASH!! puke …

Shut up Frank … it can be a bus, or a knife or a loss of head … like Highlander, loved that Sean Connery with his Scottish swish, though that whole immortal thing was just funny, so dramatic, so unreal, he’s right down this way if you’d like to meet him, it can be a tall bridge swan song, it can be cancer or a gun shot or shots like in the movies or even in your real world like at traffic stops, don’t be black by the way, even the simplest of cuts that just get ignored and then fester till sepsis sets in, that’s one of my favorites, so slow and so, so preventable … ain’t nothing sexier …

But?

Shut up Steve it’s all abou …

Finally, you got it right

What!?

My name, you got it right

Of course I did Steve, I know everyone’s name

But?

Have you looked at my mantle, the one you just bumped into and blew up my Pompeii snow globe from (with a just “hang in there” cat poster hanging above it with an infinite list of names superimposed)

Wow, that’s a lot of names … wait … hey, I had that poster!!

Everyone had that poster Kirk

It’s Steve

Shut up Sherry

Whoa I’m a woman now?

Does it matter? You’re all dead

Yes, it does …

Yes, I know Terry, Terry was was your mother’s grandmother’s husband’s name blah blah blah blah …

It was?

You just told me that right?

No, I didn’t, though I kinda like Terry by the way

What?

I kinda like Terry

Not Alejandro?

Where the fuck did that come from? No, I don’t speak Spanish though that is kind of sexy … no Terry’s Ok, I mean if you’re going to call me something that isn’t Steve I can be Ok with Terry.

Whoa hold up, this isn’t one of those gender things is it?

What?

It’s just those conservative guys keep gong on and on about gender things like it’s the end of the world … and if anyone knows the end of world, well, it ain’t that. Believe me.

No, I just like Terry, it can go both naming ways and oh, they were Steelers quarterbacks by the way

The whoers?

The Steelers … a football team. I loved my 70’s Steelers.

Ok, whatever old man but we’ll go with Terry, yeah, I’ll remember that now plus Steve sounds a bit of a dullard name

Hey, no it doesn’t!

Shut up Terry

I’m not dead by the way as you seem so intent on believing and I keep trying to tell you

Right, of course you’re not, they all say that

No really, I’m not

You’re not? (giggling to death self) You sure (more giggling)?

Yes, I mean no, I have cats like I said.

????

Yeah, cats, the one’s I fed like 5 minutes ago before this nightmare and you confused me with some dude named Bill who apparently was too much of a moron to not look up from his phone for a second before stepping off the curb and a WHAP!! SQUASH!! shoe puke … I’m so I’m not dead yet, as a matter of fact that one (peering into a swishy looking mirror thing) is meowing right now like she’s at the funeral of a lost cat friend and splashing water around her water bowls like some kiddie pool and annoying the shit out of me and that one, Bella is yawning at belly rubs on a kitchen table in a living room with an “oh you’re all good girlfriend” dinner’s right up … and that’s me, giving the belly rubs.

Well that’s weird.

What?

Me seeing you through this swishy looking mirror thing while you’re right here, that’s kinda new. But it’s more than that.

What is?

You have a kitchen table in the living room?

What?

You have a kitchen table in a living room …. that a cat sleeps on?

Yeah … your point?

You don’t eat there do you? Gross. Oh, never mind (looking around – fucking cats) How are you here then?

I don’t know, you tell me.

Dammit, really? (looking around twice) Son of a bitch I’m going to be in so much trouble.

Well, that’s all you, dinner and litter boxes and water bowls here man, just figure out a way to get me … ummmm, back to “me” I guess, probably through that swishy looking mirror thing. Here’s my card, my still living card.

///////////////////////////////

I don’t know Ma’am he seemed sooooo dead … if ya don’t mind my asking though, what’s with that swishy looking mirror thing? … Ok, my bad, gotcha, backing out of the room now …

///////////////////////////////

interminable that one. Bill? You didn’t lose another mirror did you?

What?