The VHS inside my coat pocket rattles and smacks my leg with each quickening step I take. I need to get home. I hustle through the streets of Numena: the city I live in, if you could call it that. It's more like a Seussian maze of gothic buildings stacked atop each other, the streets are narrow labyrinths crammed with neon signs that extend from the walls. It's a concrete jungle that twists and turns like an overcrowded ant colony. The buildings point high into the atmosphere with their sharp rooftops and tangled power lines that look like twisted intestines suffocate any chance to see the sky. The streets are bustling with a nightlife you wouldn't want to be a part of. Devilish fantasies parade themselves unabashedly in the homes of the populous. I keep walking through the copious shops and street vendors. A cacophony of smells and conversations parade around in the air. “Yo Ingus!” Esteban calls out to me from his restaurant. He waves his hefty hands to say hello and reaches up and out from the counter. He covers the camera nestled under the awning. I shuffle past a crowd to get to him. His place essentially is a kitchen closet filled with random ingredients and spices. Ain't no theme, rhyme, or reason to Esteban’s insanity: whatever you want he'll make it. I stand in front of the counter and he hands me my meal. Most customers have to pay but when I show up it's always on the house. 

Most people usually eat meat or somethin’ egregious but they don't see the truth: a true meal is what I eat. I get a can of peanuts and a bottle of soda everyday without fail. It's a meal of kings and I won't let anyone's confused looks tell me otherwise. I grab my food and exchange quick pleasantries. As I walk away Esteban removes his hand from the camera and says goodbye. I scurry around the corner and am soon met with my building. It's a behemoth vertically, standing an obscene amount of stories tall, like a shelf with endless shelves, each shelf adorned with tiny little apartments. It's held together by duct tape and gravel but it's all I can afford. I reach the front door and buzz Frank. He's probably up there watching his TV like he usually does. I'm not one to shame anyone, I'm just Ingus, but what this man does would disgust even the most degenerate of degenerates. He ceaselessly watches his programs in a blob-like state. It's like his mind has been hijacked by pleasure and he uses the media to get his kicks on the stuff. A pause happens after I buzz and I wait for a moment. 

My foot begins to tap rapidly as I feel the VHS start to sear a hole in my pocket. I buzz once more. Nothing. “Frank!” I yell. No answer. A man walks up to the stairs behind me waiting for his turn. I repeatedly press the button, nearly burning off my finger prints. “FRANK!” The man behind me looks at me awkwardly. I stop pressing and we stand in silence for a moment. We stare at each other as if we have never seen another living being. The silence is deafening. “So, nice weather we're having?” I ask as I sway from my heels to my toes. “Yup,” he says looking down at the stairs. I grit my teeth and buzz again, thankfully this time Frank lets me in. I walk up three flights of stairs and walk down the claustrophobic hallway. 

If a man of average height were to lay down from one wall to the other, he'd be squished like he was in a compactor. I squeeze past the volley of doors and eventually reach my apartment. I begin to feel twinges and sharp drops in my stomach as I feel around in my pocket for my keys. The movie calls to me. What could this being be that dances so vibrantly on the cover? I remove my keys from my coat pocket and unlock the door. I'm hit with a whiff of a bleached, fishy-like odor coming from upstairs. As I close the door behind me the roaches scurry past my feet. My apartment: one room, a kitchen and a bathroom. Stuffy is too nice a word to describe it, I'd say smothering is fair. I throw my keys on the kitchen counter and walk around Frank's bed to get to mine. Both of our mattresses are yellow and decrepit from the previous owners but hey, a bed’s a bed. They sit crooked next to each other plopped right there on the floor. I remove the VHS from my coat and rest it on the bed gently. I then take out the peanuts and soda and set them on the floor next to my mattress. I crack open the peanut can and dump in the soda. I throw my clothes into the corner and collapse on the bed for a moment. 

As my heart pounds in anticipation I realize I'm going to have to get Frank off of the TV. He cackles at it, *quack, quack, quack!* He kicks his webbed feet in a rapid stopping motion as tears flow from his eyes. “What an idiot! Do you see this Ingus?!” My eyes gaze at the boxy TV resting diagonally on a few pizza boxes. Its bunny ears reach to the sky and I always feel like you could feel the static from the screen a mile away. The news plays a video of two men trying to rob a convenience store but they get shot in the process. “DO YOU SEE THIS BOB?” the newscaster, more so announcer howls out. “I think it's time for an instant replay, don't you?” The program rewinds and plays the men getting shot repeatedly. *Quack, quack, quack!* It's not funny to me and to no sane person it would be. I look at the brown stain on the ceiling. “Frank, you know I was out there for like ten minutes waiting for you to buzz me in.” Frank’s beak doesn't even look at me. “Don't be dumb Ingus, you know I can't buzz you in. I'm insane, remember?” He uses his head to shrug at his body which is bound in a straightjacket.

Frank is a unique individual to say the least. He's a bipedal duck that stands at around 4’1. His eyes are constantly in shadow due to his furrowed brow. On the right side of his face rests a scar that runs from his forehead to under his beak; it was a self-inflicted injury. He'd tell you otherwise but it happened one day when he thought a scar would look nice. See, the thing about Frank is he thinks he's insane. He says he's been diagnosed with every illness possible so he plays the part and wears a straight jacket he found off of a dead guy. What's ironic is he can take it off at any moment and his arms are never actually restricted. I only bunk with Frank because he was here when I moved in. I tried to ask the people who run the place to get rid of him but the office doesn't care too much. I've tried to throw him to the curb but, isn't a man who thinks he's insane, insane? 

I just couldn't do it to the poor guy. The movie aches at my mind and I have to get him off of the TV. “Frank, can I ask you to let me have TV time for just a little while?” He turns to me slowly staring intensely. “Why?” he asks. “I kind of found a movie at my job and I want to watch it.” His tiny feet plop on the floor and he waddles over to me. “What kinda movie? One of the good ones I hope? Movies are always a great choice. Is it Head-Explosion 3?!” He peers over me on the side of my bed. “No, it's one I've never seen before.” He rips the tape off my bed. 

*Quack, quack, quack!* “Ingus you like this kinda stuff?!” He collapses to the floor as he cackles. “In all these years, I never thought of you as a guy to like smut like this!” “Frank, I don't understand, what kind of movie is it?” He coughs hysterically, “None that anyone should watch!” “Well, why not?” He weakly stands up and points at the creature on the cover. “That thing right there.” “Is?” I ask. “A woman numbskull. I ain't seen a woman look like this in ages let alone a movie like this that panders to them.” So it is a woman. “A woman, those are the people we see sometimes with the pretty eyes, right?” *QUACK, QUACK, QUACK!* “Why is her hair down and why does she look that way?” I meekly ask. “This is just how they used to look, idiotic right?” He throws himself down on his bed and tosses the movie at me. “Go ahead, put it on, maybe we can get a good laugh.”