Hey~

  You know they're all the same~

  You know you're doing better on your own so don't buy in~

  Live right now~

  Yeah, just be yourself~

  It doesn't matter if it's good enough for someone else~

  As the uplifting music plays over the intercom, Jayson stares at the shower token in his palm. The token is hard plastic with the Tucky possum character stamped on it, its blue color brightly contrasting with his sticky, dark blue glove. The little thing even feels heavy. Like an iron coin instead of a plastic one. This token will give him twenty minutes of hot water in exchange for five bucks. Worth it.

  It just takes some time~

  Little guy, you're in the middle of the ride~

  Everything, everything will be just fine~

  Everything, everything will be alright, alright~

  "Not to be rude, but you gotta move. Other customers are waiting," says the possum behind the counter, making no attempt to hide his impatience.

  Jayson nods and clutches the token tighter. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going."

  The music fades in Jayson’s ears as he walks towards the shower room, not paying any mind to the one customer that was waiting behind him. The rumble of diesel trucks, family cars, and the chatter of tourists and drivers are just as faint in his ears as the music. His feet weave him through the crowd shopping for snacks and souvenirs, ignoring the wrinkled noses of those nearby. His eyes are focused on the shower room sign, which the room beyond is guarded by a possum sitting on a stool.

  Jayson shows the employee his token and he is waved through. Upon entering, the noise of customers and the music are abruptly replaced by the hiss, splatter, scrubbing, and light chatter of people taking showers. Jayson goes to a vending machine filled with scaled down toiletries and towels, uses some more of Lexia's loan to buy a shampoo, soap, and a towel (all stamped with Tucky’s smiling face). He goes to the men's side and takes the shower nearest to the emergency exit.

  The stall door clicks shut, and Jayson inhales deeply, then exhales slowly and grips a shelf bolted to the wall. He huffs to release more pressure in his chest and disrobes.

  He winces at the stiffness of the filthy fabric that hasn't been washed in weeks and makes a mental note to go to the laundromat after this. When his clothes are off, he stares at himself in the mirror. His white fur is dingy gray in places, matted in others, and thin pink lines desecrate his near skeletal body, marking where he was shot, where Mortimer bit him, where Ramsey scratched him, and other events leading to injury. His cheeks are hollow, and his blue eyes are jaded and sitting above black bags.

  Jayson runs his fingers through his hair, eyelids twitching at the tug from his fingers getting tangled in greasy knots. Then he tests his legs. Lifting one. Dropping it. Lifting the other. Dropping it. They still feel a little weird after the PLOT ARMOR injection, but he’s gradually gotten used to it. Next, he stretches his arms and his back, wanting something to pop, but no matter how much he stretches or twists, the tension never snaps. His muscles remain stiff as wood.

  Jayson slips the token in a slot by the mirror, and a twenty-minute timer starts as soon as hot water sprays out. Jayson adjusts the pressure to the highest setting, turning the steady stream to high-speed impact of millions of little punches that bash the sweat and grime coating his body.

  Jayson closes his eyes, ears flattening against his head and palms pressed against the tiled wall as the spray pounds away weeks of grime. His heart beats heavily in his chest, and tiny strips of white and brown are slowly revealed. The water tracing his body and pooling on the floor is a mix of brown, black and gray. Dirt, dried sweat, old blood, other bits of garbage, all of it coagulates on the floor, leading to the drain to clog and for Jayson to use his feet to break apart the clog.

  The water gurgles down the drain and patters on his body. Jayson stiffly reaches for the bottle of shampoo and pours a thick glob on his hand. After rubbing it in a leather, he scrubs his hair, wincing as hair is tugged loose, and with it, clumps of dirt, some twigs and bits of leaves, and scabs. The dark brown and gray water mixed with dirty soap bubbles flow down his face and the back of his neck like a filthy avalanche, tracing his spine and face, dripping down to the floor. He uses the whole bottle to get his hair soft.

  Next comes the soap for his body. Again comes the lather, and as he scrubs, he can feel his ribs on his chest and the bones of his shoulder. The water pressure stings against his tight skin, but the pain feels good, and he feels slightly lighter with each passing second as the hot spray brakes apart the filth coating his body. He tilts his head back, letting the hot spray rinse away the suds, revealing patches of his natural white fur. It's almost cathartic watching the filth circle the drain. Then he sees the timer displaying five minutes remaining, and he curses under his breath and scrubs harder, determined to remove every bit of grime before his time expires.

  The timer reaches two-minutes, and Jayson does one final rinse. The water runs a faint brown. While not perfectly clean, it is a huge improvement from before. The shower cuts off with a click exactly twenty minutes after it began, leaving him dripping and shivering in the sudden absence of heat. But now his fur and hair feels lighter and softer.

  Jayson roughly dries himself with the cheap towel and studies his reflection, pleased that he looks marginally better. Still hollow-cheeked and exhausted, but cleaner. But when he looks at his filthy clothes, his small smile dips to a frown. All that cleaning, and he has to put on the grease-mud-blood caked clothes that have become pasty, like soggy Play-Doh, from the humid shower atmosphere.

  He clicks his tongue and points at his filthy clothes. “Next stop, laundromat.”

  ****

  And just like that, in a blur of time and thoughtless travel, Jayson is now huddled in the corner of the bathroom stall at Suds-A-Lot Laundromat, perched on a cold porcelain toilet. The cheap towel her bought from the vending machine barely covers his essentials, his cosmic weapon is clutched in his hands, propped between his legs, and shivers ripple across his skinny body. Every time the bathroom door swings open, he tucks his knees tighter to his chest, praying no one tries the handle of his sanctuary.

  Currently, his clothes and boots are spinning and swimming in an industrial grade washer. He got strange looks when he came out of the bathroom the first time, wrapped in a towel and holding his gunked clothes, and the strange looks turned to disgust when the hot, soapy washer water turned nearly black in seconds. Now he's waiting for the cycle to stop, and has to rely on counting since there is no clock in the bathroom.

  The fluorescent light above flickers and buzzes, casting his warped reflection in the metal partition in sickly green hues. His stomach growls loudly enough that he winces, glancing at the stall door as if someone might have heard. Lexia's cash is cradled in the towel, and Jayson set aside the fifty bucks for the entrance fee, and he has made a note to get lunch as soon as his laundry is done.

  The thought of good food makes his mouth water and his stomach rumble, but he refrains from venturing out to the vending machines in the Laundromat lobby. He doesn't want to needlessly expose himself to customers and make more of a scene than he already did. And as he shifts to get more comfortable, another patron enters the bathroom.

  Heavy footsteps echo in the bathroom and stop by the urinal next to him. A zipper unzips, and a wet stream splatters against porcelain as the patron releases a loud, heavy sigh of relief.

  The steady stream sputters, drips, and stops, and the patron sighs with relief. Then the liquid drips, sputters, and turns into a stream again. The patron mutters, and Jayson looks to the noise, seeing only the green wall of the stall. But the stream gets louder, heavier, and suddenly, the stream turns to loud splatters as urine hits the urinal with increased force.

  "What the hell?" says the stranger, his feet shuffling on the floor.

  Jayson tries to make himself smaller on the toilet seat, pressing his back against the cold tank. His ears twitch involuntarily at the sound of the stream hitting the porcelain with the force of a garden hose.

  "You gotta be kidding me. It's not stopping," says the patron.

  The splashing grows more erratic, like a sprinkler gone haywire. Liquid begins to splash under the partition dividing their stalls. Jayson lifts his feet, balancing precariously on the toilet seat as he stares in horror at the green tinted liquid spreading on the tile.

  “You gotta be freaking kidding me! God dang it all! What the hell was in that vending machine drink!” cries the patron, his voice breaking in panic.

  Jayson holds his breath, not daring to make a sound. His ears press flat against his skull as the patron curses and punches the wall. The torrent continues unabated, now accompanied by the patron's labored breathing.

  Jayson's thigh muscles begin to cramp from his awkward position. He shifts slightly, wincing as the toilet seat squeaks beneath.

  “Stop peeing, asshole!” yells the patron.

  The door to the bathroom bursts open with a bang.

  "Sir? We heard shouting. Are you okay in there?" says another voice.

  "Your frickin’ vending machine drink did this to me! Call an ambulance you prick!" snaps the patron. There is more spraying and splashing and the patron releases a loud, growling yell, “Nhhhrraaarghhhhhh!”

  "Oh my God!” shouts the employee.

  “Call a damn ambulaaaAaahuAAANCE!!”

  ****

  Twenty minutes later, the heavy thud of the dryer door closing echoes in the nearly empty laundromat. Jayson slides four quarters into the slot with trembling fingers, still processing the chaos of what had just happened. The coins clatter down with metallic pings. He turns the dial and hits the start button. The machine rumbles to life, spinning his clothes and boots in the heated chamber, every motion making erratic thuds.

  Through the large front windows, red and blue lights flash across the parking lot. Two paramedics wheel a gurney toward an ambulance, the bathroom patron strapped down with a blanket over him and an IV already inserted in his arm. His face is ashen, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Nearby, the employee from the bathroom is giving a statement to a police officer while other employees are wrapping the vending machines in giant plastic wraps and taping warning signs on them.

  Jayson returns to the bathroom and sits on his stall again, and quietly begins the countdown for his clothes to dry.

  ****

  Later, after his laundry completed, Jayson’s stomach growls and tightens into a knot. Normally he can block hunger, but the money Lexia gave him has unleashed the restraints. Everything looks good in the immediate vicinity. The food in the trash, the buffet being advertised on the billboard placed on a roof, Taco King's King Don burrito meal advertised on another rooftop billboard, the smell of deep-fried somethings in a food truck parked outside a blood bank. So many choices. The hunger leaves his legs wobbly, and he forces himself to put fifty bucks in his shoe just so he doesn't spend it all. That leaves him with seventy five bucks.

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  Seventy five bucks for food and a haircut. And he still hasn't recruited anyone else for Lexia's show, except for the junkies she pointed out earlier. And even then, there is no guarantee that those junkies will even show up.

  The food truck's red and blue awning flutters in the breeze, and cheerful yellow letters spell Mama Moma’s Home Cookin’. Jayson's nose twitches as the scent of sizzling potatoes and frying meat draws him forward like an invisible rope. His stomach growls so loudly that a passing rabbit mother pulls her child closer to her side, eyeing him warily.

  "What can I get ya, hon?" asks the plump rabbit behind the counter when Jayson reaches her food truck.

  Jayson scans the menu. "Double cheeseburger, large fries, and a grape soda."

  The cashier rings up the order, Jayson pays, and she slips the ticket towards the chef while Jayson pockets the change and receipt and takes the bottle of grape soda.

  "Food will be out in a few minutes. You are order sixty six,” says the cashier.

  Jayson nods and goes to a nearby lamppost, leaning against it and hardly paying attention to the scenery around him. He did like the nice chill in the afternoon air, though. It was oddly peaceful enough for him to think the fight against Ramsey was a nightmarish fever dream. And as Jayson watches the civilians come and go about their business, he can't help but rub his clothes against his body.

  The freshly cleaned fabric feels ridiculously good and he can't help but smile a bit at it.

  "Order sixty six up!" shouted the cashier from the food truck.

  Jayson goes to her, and she gives him a warm, heavy paper bag. He takes a seat at a nearby bench and carefully unwraps his burger with trembling fingers. The first bite is an explosion of flavor in his mouth. Juicy meat, melted cheese, the tang of pickles and sauce. He closes his eyes, shuddering from the Bliss of the delicious food. It was way better than food from a trash can or Derrick's burnt hotdogs.

  "Well, what a strange sight. I didn't expect to see you here," says a familiar voice.

  Jayson's eyes snap open. Standing before him is Vanessa McNessa, her white fur looking almost translucent in the afternoon light. Her normally perfect blonde hair hangs limply around her face, and dark circles rim her blue eyes. She's swaying slightly, one paw pressed against the back of the bench for support.

  "Vanessa?" says Jayson through a mouthful of burger. He quickly swallows. "What are you doing here?"

  She gestures weakly toward the blood bank. "Just... making a withdrawal."

  Jayson watches her count a small stack of cash in a white envelope with shaking fingers. Despite his lingering resentment, something uncomfortable twists in his chest.

  "You look like you're about to pass out," says Jayson. He slides over on the bench and pats the newly opened spot. "Sit before you fall."

  Vanessa hesitates before slumping down next to him. "Thanks.”

  "When did you last eat?"

  “A few days ago." Vanessa attempts to stand. "I should get something from the truck."

  "Stay put." Jayson pushes half his burger and fries toward her. "Eat this so you don't faint."

  Surprise flickers across her face, followed by suspicion, then grudging gratitude. She takes the offered food and takes a big bite out of the burger.

  "You look different," says Vanessa after she finishes chewing.

  "I just took a shower and washed my clothes."

  Jayson sips his soda, watching Vanessa eating his food. Despite her not eating for a few days (as she claims), she manages to keep control herself. They sit in awkward silence for several minutes, the sound of traffic and passing conversations filling the void between them. Vanessa’s hands steadied as she finishes the last of the fries.

  "I lost my wallet three days ago," says Vanessa suddenly, staring at the empty wrapper. "It had everything in it. ID, credit cards, debit card, gift cards, cash. I cancelled all my cards and have prepared myself for any disputes. The bank is mailing me a new a credit and debit card, but I won't see it for another four days. So, I went to the blood bank to get some cash.”

  "It looks like they took a lot," says Jayson, nodding toward her pale complexion.

  "I told them to take the maximum amount. By the way, thanks for the food. Did you happen to win the lottery or get a job?”

  “No, but I need to get going. I need a haircut,” says Jayson.

  He stands up and runs his fingers through his thick hair, twitching slightly when his nails get caught on knots. Meanwhile, Vanessa looks at him with a raised brow.

  "Random, but okay," says Vanessa.

  Jayson takes a few steps away, pauses, and slightly lifts his eyes to look at the sun. The big, glowing ball of yellow surrounded by the cracks in the sky stares down at him, like the Eye of God it is. He exhales heavily, his shoulders dropping slightly, and he digs his foot into the dead grass to turn to Vanessa.

  “Have you reported your wallet to the police?” asks Jayson.

  “Of course I have, and they said, and I quote, ‘Sure, we’ll look into it, but there are no promises’,” says Vanessa.

  “The police station is along the way to the barber shop. I can escort you there and we can look in person.”

  Vanessa scoffs. “And you think they’ll have a random wallet that just happens to be mine sitting over there?”

  "They have a lost and found. People turn things in all the time. Maybe they got it in today? Or yesterday? Who knows? But what’s the harm in trying?”

  “Aside from looking like an idiot?”

  Jayson shrugs, palms out. “Hey, we all look like idiots from time to time. It’s mandatory for life. Now come on, let’s go and see if they have your wallet.”

  Vanessa looks at him skeptically but still stands up, and she keeps her hard eyes on him as she slowly walks to him. Once at his side, her eyes flick up and down, her lips hooked to a frown.

  "Why are you helping me?" asks Vanessa.

  “Two things. One, I've got nothing better to do, and two…" Jayson hesitates, muscles tightening, throat sealing. Another heavy breath, and… "If the wallet is there you have to see Lexia pole dance."

  Vanessa stares at Jayson, eyes wide, and lips sealed.

  "I'm sorry, what?" says Vanessa a few seconds later. You want me to see Lexia strip?"

  "No, pole dance. She’s very adamant about the difference," says Jayson awkwardly. "Look, she needs people to show up specifically for her performance. She gets extra money for each person who comes to see her, plus she's competing for an Apple C’s gift card. If she gets the most visitors she wins, and she really wants that Apple C’s gift card."

  Vanessa's lips curl into a smirk. "And you're helping her recruit an audience? How charitable of you."

  "She gave me money for a shower, laundry, and food. The least I can do is help her out," says Jayson.

  "By pimping her show to random people on the street?" Vanessa raises an eyebrow. "Including me, of all people?"

  "Including you, of all people," Jayson confirms, matching her tone. "Look, the deal is simple. If your wallet's at the station, you come to Stella's Strip House tonight at 8 to see Tempest Blaze perform."

  "Tempest Blaze?"

  Jayson nods, and Vanessa nods, nibbling her lip.

  “Alright, deal. Lead the way,” says Vanessa.

  Jayson walks ahead, and Vanessa follows. The pair are quiet as they walk down the sidewalk. Jayson keeps one eye on Vanessa, ready to catch her if she sways again. When they reach a crosswalk, Vanessa leans against the pole and gives the crosswalk button a few presses. Cars pass by, and Jayson keeps his eyes focused on the red hand across the street.

  "You still haven't explained why you're suddenly so... presentable," says Vanessa.

  "Lexia invited me to see her pole dance and told me to bring as many people as I can. She wanted me to look nice, so she gave me a wad of cash and told me to clean up. So that's what I did," replies Jayson.

  Vanessa's expression shifts to a teasing grin, and the light changes to a walking man. The two start walking and Vanessa stays close to Jayson, grabbing his coat sleeve and looking up at him, holding her teasing gaze.

  “Oh, I know what's going on. Jayson, she's coming onto you,” says Vanessa. “Granted, I don't know why since you're a hobo with no chance of a bright future, but she's definitely making moves to get your attention.”

  Jayson scoffs, the sound sharp in his throat. "That's ridiculous. Lexia's not interested in me. We hate each other."

  "Oh, please. She gave you money to make yourself presentable before watching her dance provocatively. She specifically asked you to bring people to see her perform. She's marking her territory."

  They finish crossing the street, and Jayson rolls his eyes.

  "You're delusional. Lexia and I have a weird rivalry thing. That's it,” says Jayson.

  "Mmhmm. And she just happened to give you cash for a makeover out of the goodness of her heart?" says Vanessa.

  "She wants to win some stupid gift card. I'm just helping her get customers. I can’t do that if I’m filthy. It’ll be weird… Er. Weirder."

  They pause at another crosswalk. Vanessa gives him a sideways glance, her blue eyes narrowing with amusement.

  "You know what your problem is? You're still hung up on Lexanne. It’s clouding your mind,” says Vanessa.

  Jayson’s face hardens. “How about you don’t talk about Lexanne?”

  Vanessa holds up her free hand eyes averted but her smile remaining. “Okay, my mistake. I’ll refrain from saying her name. But this thing you and Lexia have going on is obvious to everyone else. It’s basically at the ‘just kiss already’ stage, if you know what I mean.”

  “How do you know? We hardly see each other, and you only know Lexia because you like her mom. Other than that, you don’t pay attention to her.”

  “Her mom’s a sweetheart, though. Total opposite of me.”

  Jayson nods, and the pair reaches the police station, its gothic architecture standing out among the more modern buildings surrounding it. Cops and civilians come in and out of its large doors, and Jayson stops at the bottom of the stone steps, making Vanessa pause, too.

  "Look," says Jayson. "Lexia and I have known each other for years. If she was interested in me, something would have happened by now."

  Vanessa gives him a bemused look. "Something has been happening for a while. You're just pretending to be dense."

  "You're reading too much into this."

  "And you're in denial." Vanessa starts climbing the steps, her movements still slightly unsteady and needing the handrails for support. "And when she goes on stage, watch her eyes. If she's focused on you, then you'll know I was right and that she's showing off for you. If not… Well, that patchwork fur is on a good body, so you'll get wet dream material."

  “Oh, come on, Vanessa. Don't be gross like that,” says Jayson as he follows her, his cosmic sword thumping against his leg with each step.

  “Getting squeamish? That's cute,” says Vanessa, stopping by the door.

  Jayson stops by the door, too, and gives Vanessa a brief, annoyed look before pushing against the flat handle. The heavy doors creak open, revealing the dimly lit interior and old tiles. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, and the smell of coffee and floor cleaner fills Jayson's nostrils. A bored-looking desk sergeant glances up as they enter.

  "Can I help you?" asks the desk sergeant, his voice as flat as his expression.

  "I lost my wallet four days ago and was wondering if it was turned into lost and found," says Vanessa.

  The sergeant pulls out a form. "Fill this out and we’ll have a look."

  As Vanessa takes the form and a pen, Jayson scans the station. Officers move through the lobby, carrying files or cups of coffee. A few detainees sit handcuffed to benches along one wall, looking miserable. Vanessa sits down and Jayson leans over her.

  "While you're doing that, I'm going to use the restroom," says Jayson.

  Vanessa nods without looking up from the form. Jayson follows the signs down a hallway, passing bulletin boards covered with wanted posters and public service announcements. The men's room is empty when he enters, the harsh lighting making his freshly cleaned fur look almost stark white in the mirror.

  He splashes cold water on his face, trying to clear his head. He studies his reflection, noting the hollow cheeks, the tired eyes, the tangled hair that still needs cutting.

  The bathroom door swings open, and Nermal enters. He is a few steps past Jayson when he stops and abruptly turns to him.

  “Holy shit, I didn’t recognize you,” says Nermal. He stands next to Jayson and looks him over. “You know, when you’re cleaned up, you look like that one guy from that movie. But starved.”

  “Thanks,” says Jayson flatly, still looking at his reflection, tightly gripping the sink.

  “So, what’s the deal? Did you get a job?” asks Nermal, smiling.

  “No…” Jayson sighs heavily and looks at Nermal out of the corner of his eye. “Lexia invited me to see her pole dance and wanted me to bring as many people as I can so she wins an Apple C’s gift card.”

  Nermal’s smile fades. “Oh… Well, that’s… Not unexpected. Like mother like daughter. Her mother was a dancer, too. But it was a Joy City casino called the Peacock, and when Artemis saw her dancing on stage with the others, she had his heart hook line and sinker. He didn’t even gamble the entire week he was there. He just wanted to be with her as much as possible.”

  "But that's not important right now," continues Nermal, waving his hand dismissively. "What's important is Lexia winning that gift card. What time is she performing?"

  Jayson hesitates. "Eight o'clock at Stella's Strip House. But you need to get there by seven-thirty for good seats. And make sure you tell them you're there for Tempest Blaze specifically. Also, aren’t you like an uncle to her or something?"

  “Kinda, yeah, but I won’t watch her dance. I’ll just say I’m there for her, and then I’ll watch someone else.” Nermal leans forward. “Between you and me, I hate that she has that job, but she likes it, so I’ll support her decision.”

  Jayson nods, and Nermal pats him on the shoulder and goes to a stall at the far end while Jayson turns back to the mirror. His reflection stares back, looking marginally better than it did a few hours ago, but still a far cry from presentable. The tangled mess of brown hair sits like a bird's nest atop his head.

  “Oh, what the hell! These automatic flushing toilets are shit!” yells Nermal.

  Jayson grimaces, and a weak whirring noise echoes from the stall.

  “Flush, damn you! Flush!” yells Nermal.

  It is at that point that Jayson makes a swift return to the lobby. There he finds Vanessa standing by the front desk, clutching a leather wallet to her chest, her eyes wide with disbelief.

  "They actually had it," says Vanessa as Jayson approaches. "Someone turned it in yesterday. Everything's still here. My ID, my cards, even my cash."

  "That's... surprisingly decent of whoever found it," says Jayson, genuinely surprised.

  Vanessa opens the wallet, counting the money as she speaks. “According to the guy at the desk, the wallet was turned in by a tall ram with weird hair.”

  Jayson frowns.

  “And I think I know who he’s talking about because there is only one ram around here, so I’m going to find him and thank him,” continues Jayson.

  “Be careful when you do. I’ve dealt with him before, and he’s… not normal,” says Jayson.

  Vanessa looks at him critically. “Well, neither are you, and I deal with you just fine.”

  Jayson is about to rebuke her, but ends up closing his mouth and bobbing his head slightly in agreement.

  “And as per our agreement, I’ll… watch Lexia… pole dance.” Vanessa grimaces and shudders. “That is such a weird trade off. Do you think there’ll be any hot guys there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe?” says Jayson.

  “Eh. Good enough. I’ll see you later.”

  And with that, Vanessa wobbles away, and Jayson sighs, looks down with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and follows Vanessa out of the police station. The only thing on his mind now is getting a haircut. And more food that he can actually eat in peace.