2.12 – Chicago in the Rye

One night La Renarde came over to my house to lay on my bed and make out with me. I was feeling unlonely and strong.

“Let’s go on a Great Reality Travel Trip right now!” I said.

“Yes!” she said. “You’re becoming so Reality Travel.”

“After reading Catcher in the Rye I now know we need to go to a huge city and wander around like Holden Caulfield. Ohio Industrial City (Rubber) is too small now. All the Ohio Industrial Cities are too small. We can only go to NewYorkCity and kiss in the Central Park.”

“We could go there… Or we could go to another huge city, Chicago, where I happen to know a guy. It’s only a few hours away, and we could crash with him, and it would make it a little easier on you since it’s your first big Trip and all.”

“Alright, Chicago in the Rye!”

We left right away and La Renarde drove us in her car.

“If you get your Driver’s License,” she said, “then we can split the driving like the Reality Traveler Teams do.”

“Good idea,” I said, “I’ll get one as soon as we get back.”

On the way La Renarde told me about the guy she knew.

“His name is Fucking Punk,” she said, “and he doesn’t take shit from anyone. He’s the one who first taught me about Reality Travel.”

“So he’s pretty Reality Travel?”

“The most Reality Travel! He doesn’t have a job or go to school. He just Travels all the time. Oh, and he used to be in a mental hospital. Not because he’s insane, but because he chose to so he could MeToo insane Realities.”

“How did you meet him?”

“He used to live in OIC(R). We dated.”


Fucking Punk was in the very center of Downtown Chicago. It was many times huger than our Downtown, and it had brighter lights and taller skyscrapers and stronger garbage smells. I was nervous and wondered if I was cut out for this level of Reality Travel.

“I love how huge you are!” La Renarde told the city.

She easily parallel parked in front of a gross and scary looking building with rusty fire escapes and graffiti and bars on the windows.

“This is the place,” she said.

And then we hadta go inside. It didn’t have an elevator, and we hadta go up a lot of staircases to get to the right floor. I felt lucky we didn’t happen to cross paths with any of the Realities who lived in a place like that. Then La Renarde led us down a hallway and knocked on a door, and when it opened Fucking Punk came out.

He looked like a skeleton. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his skin was bone white and you could see the outline of every single one of his ribs. He had no hair and his eyes were black and hollow.

“Yo,” he said.

And then La Renarde jumped on him and gave him a big hug.

“I can’t believe we’re in Fucking Punk Reality!” she said.

Then we went in. There was nothing on the walls and no furniture to sit on. The only thing I could see were lots of empty Jack Daniels whiskey bottles. Some were lined up in neat rows on top of the kitchen cabinets, while others were just sitting there on the counter and most were lying on their sides on the floor.

La Renarde wouldn’t let go of Fucking Punk.

“Oh my Gods! It’s really you,” she said.

Fucking punk just shrugged at her tho. The whole time his eyes were looking slightly past us. I didn’t know if he even knew I was there too.

“So we’re in the far off and exciting Realities of Chicago,” La Renarde said. “What should we do?”

“I dunno,” Fucking Punk shrugged. “Drink?”

“Yes, F.P.! Such a Reality Travel suggestion as always.”

“We could get a bottle of Jack,” Fucking Punk said, “then go to the Lake and get wasted.”

“Perfect!” La Renarde said, and I went along with them.