Orange Turban

My name is King James and this is my dog Barder. We take adventures every day to travel the world, to escape, to dream, to fly. I wrap my orange turban around my head and mount Barder. We float above the cars and brick houses, and count how many tiny red cars we can spy with our little eyes. We watch the ant people fleeing below us, rushing somewhere, already grouchy.

It’s quiet where we go. Quiet and slow. We never get hungry here, and never have chores. I, King James, am the ruler with my best man, Barder. We land on the squishy carpet of grass, where our land has been waiting for us. We hold our banana leaf shields in front of us, with our stick swards at our sides; ready for battle. We run and shout, dodging trees bigger than elephants, running so fast our feet lift off the ground!

We run over the thick roots and uneven ground, fighting harder than ever before. It’s a battle for life, a battle for death, and a battle for the pursuit of happiness. Our swards clink when smashed together, they’re getting us Barder! We must go faster, run harder, fight with no mercy! We must fight for all of them! For the boy who’s lunch was stolen! And the girl who was pushed off the swings! And the little one who cant tie her shoelaces! We must fight for all the injustices of the world! We must!

My turban got caught under the enemy’s foot! It’s starting to unravel! Spinning me faster and faster around until all I can see is a blur of green, all I can hear is shouting as the sun begins to blind me. We begin to fall, fall, fall. Back to the ant people, back to the red cars and brick houses. We fall with the orange turban at our feet.

We go inside and I sit down to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (with the crusts cut off of course) that mamma made. My name is King James, and this is my dog Barder, and maybe we’ll beat the injustices of this world tomorrow.

Paavo on the Subway

Paavo is twenty-three years old, and moved to New York (permanently) from Michigan about a year ago. He has a Mexican Redknee tarantula named Lucy, and a Corn Snake named Geronimo . Paavo attended NYU and graduated last June, with honors. Throughout college he tutored with Kaplan Test Prep, and now works as a tutor part time at a high school near his apartment in SOHO. Leaving the high school at 2:45 every week day, Paavo takes the subway to the nearest library to do research for his thesis. Every spare moment Paavo has, he listens to his strange Indie music. Artists like the Velvet Underground and such. He feels freedom of expression is permitted when listening to music, and when his headphones are clasped over his ears, drowning out the noisy world, he isn’t embarrassed to do the hokey pokey and turn himself about. Paavo’s hair is shoulder length and is usually kept in a rubber band at the nape of his neck. He hasn’t bothered to get it cut in years, because he thinks it’s a nuisance to waste time thinking about haircuts and hairstyles. He has been buttoning up his colored shirt to the very top button ever since he could remember. He thinks clothes do not represent one’s self, but that they are merely something he puts on every day. Paavo’s mother sends him money every month (and clothes); she doesn’t believe he can make a living off of tutoring kids (she’s right). Paavo takes it for granted that his mom helps him out so much, he wouldn’t know how involved she is in his life since he isn’t much of a social butterfly and therefore wouldn’t know that other peoples mothers don’t send them new pajamas every couple months. All in all, Paavo enjoys his meager lifestyle in New York.