09.Mar.2013 Untitled 1 by Matt Diamond

“It’s pronounced bo-bob, like ‘bow’ in ‘bow and arrow’ and then ‘bob.’ Bobob. Do you follow?”

Bobob Erickson tapped a wrinkled finger against the pleat of his starched pants. The ash-gray fabric was distractingly dull, which seemed to J an inexplicable paradox. The room smelled faintly of sausage.

“I’m Bobob. Get it? Bobob. Me Bobob.”

“I understand,” said J. “You can let it go now.”

“I can’t let anything go,” said Bobob, looking downward, not in a wistful way, but as if he were examining his crotch. J wasn’t sure what was going on.

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” stated J. Bobob laughed and tapped his finger against his left ear. He seemed to be a fan of tapping.

“You’re simply lost, my poor boy,” said Bobob. “You’re lost in your own mind, but more importantly, you’re lost in mine.”

“Does that statement mean anything?” J asked, his voice sincere with a hint of incredulity. “I’m not sure if you’re just stringing words together.”

In the distance, there was a faint rumble. J thought it could have been thunder, or perhaps a distant explosion. Bobob’s eyes widened.

“Did you hear that?” he asked. “Did you hear that sound?”

J nodded.

“Good,” sighed Bobob. “I thought perhaps I had stepped outside the consensus reality.”

“Are you on drugs?” asked J, after a long pause.

“Is anyone really on drugs?” countered Bobob. He laughed a strange, tiny laugh, as if a small mouse were calling for help from within his larynx.

“I don’t really understand the question,” mumbled J. He wasn’t sure how he got here or who he was speaking with. He could barely remember his own name.

“Don’t worry, son.” Bobob’s voice changed timbre to a low, soothing pitch. “Don’t worry about anything.”

In the corner, a snow globe began to levitate, almost imperceptibly.

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