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.

80 Sunset bound

They left the library and it was smackbam like deja vu. Facing the Michigan Avenue bridge K dad and Dick O were acting all secret crazy.

Tate, having his skiptracing skills of photogenesis, saw the name of the dedication plaque, barnacle white. Still had it in him, job skilled.

Then felt stupid next to Lala, she saw the brainstreams, red and black because black was everything about Uncle Dicky O, shoes, tie, brain.

Slacks, dented chin, cap, future thoughts past. Socks, hopes, expectations. Bowel movements, expunging soul oil. Soil. She'd never tell Tate.

They knew so little of each other's past, how close he was to this Overtone man who could pass for Judas Iscariot Exaggerist, sylph hunter.

The brainstreams stoppedquick hatemasked. She knew K Tate was excited about something, he then explained how you found people. P. I. work.

Not like a Panopticon, it was all wits. Puzzle pieces, quite different than this thing with his freaking freaked-out relatives. Got a look.

Talking too loud. Dude flashed peace said tune in turn on turn your mind around, K Tate wanting to say, man, you don't know the half of it.

Not like 2010 where yo could SlipSlate your memory card and read the notes, add new ones, like having phantom index cards around you coned.

He knew what he'd have to do back nowwhen, no bicellcyles, no touchprints, same same nix nix DNA RNA least of all PbNA. Good luck hippies.

That's why everyone loved each other, the mad mods. They could leave a trail of bad credit and dead bodies, false identities, multiple wives.

Did Dick O have a wife? Did he strangle her and stuff her in a Samsonite tomb? Flipcoin: has he ever been with a woman at all? Ponderous.

They had walked aimlessly back southward, Lala enthralled by foghorn boatwaves below them, river dirty green but oh the scents, freshness.

He saw a tall building looking west, Allerton Hotel, Home of The Tip-Top-Tap (Joy Motel, Home of The Four Hour Nap?!?), real Chicago 1965.

The Palmolive Building, I wonder what that was. An ointment? Food? K Tate knew nothing of brands, just the branding of people. Find a skip.

While Lala was in the library, he checked what they called a phone book. Franklin and Wells, Apollo Sparks, private dick. He could get work.

Walk in, no ID, no questions asked, prove himself fast. Money to live on, cabbage in dick lingo, he and Lala go live at the Allerton, yeah.

Go to that Tip-Top-Tap and let her watch the brainstreams twenty stories down, check the Panopticon for K & O, let them wander & get bushed.

Walking west, holding hands, past elevated trains red and brown, three flat walk up, K Tate now employed. Faces oh so close: sunset bound.


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