Aidan San Francisco — 1987 Thwarting Fate

Aidan is tinkering with the message on his answering machine. He wants it to play bird song but every tune morphs into a dirge. It is the only time he cannot control something mechanical but, it is the only time he has ever tried to thwart his fate.

If Aidan were more human he might have gotten a new tape player. He might have returned it to the store, or traded in it for a new one. He might even have flung the sleek black box across the room. But if he were more human, he would not be having such problems.

Instead, he sighs and lights a lavender cigarette, slowly exhaling grey-violet rings around his orchids.

His Bulbophyllum dangles four striped petals, like gloved, tapering fingers. A fifth, which smells like rotting flesh to attract flies, rises from its open mouth. Aidan does not mind. He has never been, and is still not, a creature of the senses. He is an observer.