My neck is sore. I open my eyes. I'm sitting at a table in a small grey room. I'm alone. What am I doing here? I'm not wearing any shoes, or my skates? My arms are covered in goosebumps. I'm so thirsty. There's a door with a steel handle on it. I get up and try to open it but it's locked. I sit back down. There's another chair at the table. I don't have my bag. I try to remember coming here. I can feel my heart beating faster. I can't remember where I am. Why am I here? I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I put my hands on the table and close my eyes. It's fine. I'm safe. I'm not in danger. I'm just also not wearing anything on my feet. Didn't I put on my skates this morning? This morning!

The police came to my building this morning.

The laundry chute.

The dark room.

The child at the window.

The roof.

The blue cloaked finger pulling back a curtain.

The tunnel.




Those workers.

That weird shower room.

The McDonald's.

They must have just put me in here for interrogation. But why did they take my skates? Probably illegal tech for all I know. I push my hands over my hair. My hair isn't up? Did they take my hair ties too? Geez. At least I'm still wearing the rest of my clothes. I wish I had a little more on though— it's so cold in here. I look around the room. The security camera is happily blinking at me and I hear my stomach growling. I wonder how long I've been here. It's weird that I don't remember coming in. Actually that's really fucking weird. Why the hell do I not remember coming in? Did they knock me out? Did they drug me? The last thing I remember is them putting their hands on me in that McDonald's. I got arrested in a McDonald's. Fucking great. Mix is never going to talk to me again, hah! Mix. I should thank them for warning me about the police. I wish I could have actually stayed away. How did they find me there anyway? What the hell are they going to hold me for? Having illegal shit in my apartment? I wonder if they raided the whole building.

The door opens and an officer walks in a sits down. They say my legal name at me and I say "Yes.”

They ask me to confirm my birthdate and place.

I do.

They ask me why I have a crate of illegal magazines in my home.

"You wouldn't believe that I'm holding them for a friend, would you?" I manage to squeak out before laughing. Why am I laughing? Why did I say that? My heart is pumping so fast I feel like I'm going to explode. They tell me it's okay that I'm nervous and that nothing bad is going to happen to me, they just want to know where I got them. Is this really about Lime's crate of magazines? What should I say?

"I found them at a party I went to recently."

"You mean a rave?" they ask.

"Yeah. It was called Quicksilver. My friend got them from some person who had all these magazines. I didn't know they were old until we got back to my apartment. It was dark in there, you know? And it was a retro party, so I thought... I don't know. I didn't really think about it." I say. Are they buying it? I know the people who threw that party were only selling legal things to protect themselves but I don't see why I should rat on Dial and lose my job if I don't have to. Besides, who do they think they are, throwing an underground party and having people pay with legal currency? It's our scene, not those shitty companies trying to make money off the underground.

I tell the officer where the party was, and they ask me more questions about the person that the magazines came from. I tell the officer that I don't have the money to pay a fine, because I'm just a religious worker with a small city stipend for income. They tell me not to worry and put their hand on my arm. Their hand is hot and wet. I try to not pull a nasty face. I really wish they weren't touching me.

©2019 by Zita