How to find your way at Joy Motel

To READ Joy Motel from the beginning
then follow the link at the bottom of each chapter.

To JUMP to any chapter,
use the list of chapter titles in the panel on the right side of every page.

Or use the SEARCH box after each chapter to find what you're looking for.

57 Overtone's mustard

First manned spacecraft to escape earth orbit, circle another celestial body, return. Dark side of the moon, mysteryhistory. Braveboys ahoy.

Me? Landlocked drydocked stopclocked unfrocked cavorting, PJ springloaded exploded. Hoffman considering plastics, the graduate incarnate.

Pause. Somebody hit pause. Dick Overtone peering over rimless spectacles, gray brushcut vertically stubbed, blackclipontie rigidly centered.

Reams of closely spaced notes in an illegibly obscure crabby little pensmite. Calculations reverberation. Sliderule megatool greasestained.

Master of the Turbines, condensing Kindred's life into parcelized fragments for retransmissions on viable vectors emanating from Washington.

Government-controlled heebiejeebies, lifepulsing outward from the Joy Motel, whining notwithstanding, generators timegripping, offslipping.

Dick takes a wolfbite from his sloppy meatball sandwich, ketchup dripping onto the stained linoleum floor in the turbine room, redblots.

Glassdial gauges needles spinning, 1969 vibrating in tightwhite oscillations, on the mark preset with a thumbpress, tagged Kindred (altU).

Oilcans and wooden boxes full of records dating back to 1943. One labeled Trinity. Three boxes for Kindred. Papers spill crumpled. Charts.

Overtone manipulates, exacerbates Kindred's angsty perambulations through ticktocking unoduotreydimensionate pitapat lifebeats. Dialtwiddle.

One dialneedle spins redhotly counterclockwise, malfunction alternative universe, then hardstops, restarts, heart palpitations, not good.

He taps the glassdial with a grimed index finger, jars the needle and leaves a mustardsmudge on the indicator around about the 2oclock mark.

The turbine spins fractionally faster, Kindred feels his heartrace skipabeat but attributes it to the sight of Seashell's curvaliciousness.

Overtone can push Kindred forward or back, yearoveryear, independent of time constraint, but without influencing his freewill or lifespan.

Kindred convertiblized on the lowcanyon road with nubile passengers, tops down rolling toward the afternoon sun, 1:59PM then mustardsmudge.

Driving into a yellowwet fog that coats the windscreen, blotting out the road. The mustard from Overtone's jabfinger on the glassdial, 2PM.

Two worlds collide, Overtone's turbine zone directly whipsmacking Kindred's reality and then it's done as the convertible pops the smudge.

Kindred thumbwipes yellow off the lenses of his Italian sunglasses, inspired by Marcello Mastroianni. Pungent smell, hotdogs in ballparks.

He licks his thumb and tastes Overtone's mustard. Back in the Turbine Room, Dick finds a rag, wipes the glassdial clean, removes the smudge.

Kindred's car suddenly spotless, shining as if it just toasterpopped from a carwash, sunglinting Hollywoodstyle. Checks his Rolex: 2:02PM.


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