And the top of the walls start curving in. They bend lower and lower towards the couch until they converge. Their overlap warps the images of surrounding objects. The clock on the wall, the curtains, the table and the rug are pulled into strange angles. With it, the noises of the house, the muffled conversations and the birds, and the swarming streets, the racket and the clanging of the train, cease little by little - swallowed by the sudden contortion.

  The medium stands up and backs away, frightened. Her steps misaligned and hastened by the growing vortex.

    “What is this?” She asks and I catch her by the arms.

    “He’s collapsing.”

  He’s collapsing, I answer again, but space is voided and I don’t hear my own voice and neither do they. Her mouth moves in silence. She shakes her head at the sight. We join the others by the entrance. There's nothing left for us to do. I can't be stopped but we still seem like cruel on-lookers.

  The man’s large body is caught in the spiralling image. His limbs stretch and undulate within its swirl until he looses his shape entirely. It dilutes in the movement and, already unrecognizable, it disperses. He becomes one with the surge until he is completely annihilated.

    “Don’t go near it,” I tell Zosi and extend my arm in front of him. He stops, his breath shaking when he exhales.

  The man is gone.

    “We have to make sure no one does,” I continue.

  Whose story is it, I wonder again. I wonder if I can be arbitrary since I, too, am a victim of subjectivity. The city’s a liar, despite its name. The honesty you find here comes from within yourself. If there is any, the streets will happily mangle and torture you to bring it forth. 

  I feel the medium’s arms relax and I let go of her. Her shoulders drop.

    “How?” She asks. “It’s torn space, after all. You can’t move it.”

  Hermes recedes and starts down the hallway.

  I blink at the fractured space, at the small fracture it left behind - a ripple in space, unable to rip myself from it. I think of his empty chest. And the wife runs in with howling sobs. The medium lays a sympathetic hand on her back. 

  I can’t seal it or pack it away. I can’t appease it because it’s bottomless. But at the same time, it’s the size of a dot of a piece of paper. It terms of pull, it’s probably harmless. What worries me is the impact it has on the mind. For all I know, it’s just another manifestation of the singularity. 

Just like the bird.

    “Sure I can,” I say. “In fact, I think that’s all we can do with it. Have it tag along.”

  And tag along it does. Just like most things that happen into existence in Honest, Honest? once you figure out how to will them to. A tiny, tiny rupture-in-space, vestige of utter mystery companion. It’s like winning the greatest misfortune lottery. Who doesn’t want one?

  We’re walking around, waiting for the merciful city to spit out Hermes’ car. We pass by a pretty hand-made chocolate boutique with an elegant metal fence and, under the shade of tall palm trees, we come upon a large and round marble fountain. It launches ropes of crystal clear water from sculpted sea creatures.

  A chap with brightly-dyed pink hair stands on one of its gleaming edges. His big black combat boots pace back and forth as he shouts about a downtown club. Flaunting his damning allegiance. 

    "Come see Where They Fell! Come see Where They Fell!"

  He hands out blacked-out flyers to passers-by from the back pocket of his baggy blue-dotted overalls. He stops shouting when he notices us and he lowers his arm. I see them then, that’s all they are. Blacked-out sheets of paper. Little rectangular voids. Portable voids. Probably makes it easier to find the club.

  Reminders.

    “Spook,” the harpies correct me carefully. “Spook. Spook.”

  And a spook he is. Zosi doesn’t like being around them and the slight grimace of his mouth shows it. But he’s not the type to worry about. Just a flashy type of spook, doing his job - tricking whatever souls he can. Suppose most of them are flashy, though. He’s got flaming red nails and two piercings on his bottom lip. Tattoos up to his jaw.

    “No need, I suppose,” he says, tucking them back into his pocket with a childish sort of shrug. “You lot’ve been there before.”

    “I’ll take one.”

    “OK.”

  I don’t know if I agree with this practice. I wonder if the poor dwellers of the doom city really need any encouragement to slowly circle around and plummet into its infectious epicentre. Most end up in front of its polished black doors anyway. Most become entangled and enraged by their biases and predispositions. They let it take them and crush them. Maybe self-destruction is more satisfying than the perpetual paralyzing limbo.

  Not much escapes the gravity of the downtown. If you’re meant for it, you’ll end up there. But filtering through the riddles of the streets takes time and spooks pretend to be patient when they really aren’t.

    “Guess so,” I say, sharply. I’m not angry but stumbling upon signs of it stirs my gut. This spook reminds of the eternal problem, going unsolved right under our noses. Well, suppose it’s the eternal problem for those like Zosi and I. Most probably wouldn’t give the rupture so much thought.

    “I could take care of that no problem, philosopher.” He points at the warped friend behind me. “If you want.”

    “It’s fine, thanks.”

    “I’ll give Lilian your regards, then.”

    “Please do.”

  I smile. He smiles. The city is quiet under our feet, sometimes an indifferent witness and sometimes a plotting one. Our odds are a game of metaphysical whims and chance. The ground soaks in our words and whispers them someplace else, of interest or not. As we take our leave, I hear his voice pick up again, in the same monotonous shrill.

    "Come see Where They Fell! First (tasteless) drink of the night is free!"

    “I remember why I don’t like coming back here,” Zosi points out, folding his arms around his middle. “Chills me.”

    “Oh,” Hermes blurts out all excited and we both turn our gazes to him, “I see it, I see it!”

  Suppose it’s fun, having your car disappear and reappear like a set-up magic trick at some kid’s backyard birthday party.