#6

“What's going on peeps?” I said as I strolled into the lab. “I just had a very freaky experience with an alien and a bogus begger.”

“Bogus begger?” said Dawson. “Nice alliteration.”

“Thanks big D,” I replied, bumping fists. Dawson's my man. He's awesome. But he's not The Man that's...

“Where the hell have you been!?” a deep booming voice yelled at me from some stairs leading up to an office on the other side of the lab. Yep, 'The Man', Rose Dario.

“Meant to warn you, dude. She's on the warpath,” Dawson whispered in my ear. I gave him a thank you pat on the shoulder and made my way over.

“Hey Rose – sorry, I was...”

“I'm tired of your excuses. I don't want to hear it...”

“I think you'll want to hear this,” I said interrupting. No one interrupts The Man. “I just ran into a bogus beggar and an alien outside,” I blurted before she could explode at me.

The expression on her face instantly changed. She raced down the stairs to the body strapped to the examination table, took out a small flashlight from her coat pocket and started to examine his eyes.

“You think it's because of the project?” I asked the obvious question.

“What do you think?” she barked back at me. “There was always a chance,” she continued almost to herself. “In this state his imagination is backed up. It has no escape. With no outlet, it's starting to manifest physically.”

“Sort of like a wet dream when you don't...” Yep, wish I had of kept that thought to myself. Dawson laughed.

“We need to find a way to get his imagination flowing again,” The Man continued, ignoring us. “If we don't find a way to unblock his mind, it could be the end of us.”

I looked down at the body. He seemed so peaceful. Hard to believe that his imagination now held our lives in the balance. I never expected the apocalypse to be named Dale Stephens.

# 5

I turned around and found myself staring face to chest with an eight foot, green, slightly transparent, slug-like creature wearing a cowboy hat.
“Oh hello there,” it said to me in a perfect North American accent. “I was wondering if you could help us.”
I stared up at the creature with my mouth agape. Finally I managed to get out an, “Ok.”
“Well, you see we've been receiving transmissions from your planet for decades now. We do quite like your TV and movies, but we had a query about one particular one. In The Terminator series, why don't the terminators travel further back in time to before humans had any real weapons and simply kill John Connor's great, great, great grandfather. Don't you think it would be much simpler?”
“I, ah, I hadn't thought of that,” I mumbled. “But it wouldn't be as good a movie, would it?”
“Ah, so Greg was right. Well, thanks for you help.”
I closed my eyes and when I re-opened them, the creature was gone, as was the bogus beggar.

I knew this couldn't be a good sign. Things were already in motion. I needed to get to The Man. And fast.

# 4

No! The hell with deep breaths. Who are they to judge me? Why should I feel guilty? I pay taxes. Not always on time, but I pay them. Those taxes provide help for the homeless - I've done my bit.

And what's so great about having a home? It's just a place to store bills. Phone bills. Electricity bills. Pay TV bills. The one time I'm lucky enough to find a fifty dollar note on the ground I'm supposed to hand it over to some homeless hobo? Well excuse me for changing the punchline to that sick joke! You may tsk tsk me, but we both know he'd just spend it on booze. Yes, it's wrong to think that, but it's not like I'd blame him. It's what I'd do if I didn't have so many bills. Although I guess I don't really need cable...

Great, now I'm actually starting to feel guilty. Stupid social experiment! Never mind, I'll make up for it. Some way, some how, I'll put this fifty dollar note to good use. I'll make it count.

I decided to take one last look back at the bogus beggar. And that's when something really weird happened.

#3

Or did I?

I slowed from a briskly paced power-walk to more of a casual stroll. Who was he to have me in such a huff? I'm bigger than that! Yeah, I'm gonna walk at the speed I choose! Ah, is that hobo looking at me? He's totally eyeing off my shoes. It's okay, just don't make eye contact again and you'll be fine... What the hell I said don't make eye contact! Yep, he's coming towards me now.

I broke into a jog.

Before I rounded the corner I looked back over my shoulder and saw the hobo--huh? Take off his hobo hair? And--oh great, start addressing a camera crew. Fantastic. A fucking social experiment. Dear God let it be for a small community television station...

Guess it could have been worse. At least I didn't full on spazz out and hysterically shriek, "These shoes are mine!!" and then run off flailing my arms.

I looked down at my feet and saw the edge of my fifty poking out. I pushed it back down again and tried to put the fake hobo and future humiliation behind me. Deep breaths...

# 2

By now you probably have a picture of me in your head. So, what am I? Young or old? Male or female? Or perhaps male and female? The shoe that now housed my fifty – do you see it as a sneaker, a loafer or high heel? Am I attractive? Rich? Maybe you're the sort that likes to argue that we can never truly know one another. But I want you to know me. So, what am I? Who am I?

The answers I'm afraid will have to wait. Because in this part of the story I looked down at my watch and realised I was running late. And on that dark afternoon, I knew I most certainly didn't want to keep The Man waiting.

#1

I found a fifty on the street. It was a bit wet and a little torn. But hey it was still a fifty. I was in the middle of the road. A breeze was starting to kick up and a little gust blew up my sleeve to my armpit. After breathing onto my hand and clenching it under my armpit I crouched to pick the note up. For the third time an uptight driver had a fit assaulting their horn repeatedly as they approached me and my new fifty. Some people at the corner cafe were pointing to me and probably agreeing that there was a lot of unnecessary honking going on. 'Thank you, reasonable cafe people.' I wonder if they have fifties?

I slid the note into my shoe for safe-keeping and carried on about my business.