Victor Alberto Bueno Marichal: The Monsters of the City

The Monsters of the City

The lights of the city illuminated white the background of the scattered clouds above it, the full moon was especially white that night.

The poet had been thirsty for alcohol and wanted to smoke, to sit at a table, to eat food made by street food professionals, to talk to someone who seemed despicable enough not to cause him to contradict all the stupid things could say. Or teach him anything. He wanted to practice the courtly pleasure of discussing unimportant matters with someone irrelevant.

He was at the south overlook, which was his favorite place to drink beer and eat hamburgers a thousand feet above the city, sitting at a table in the park.

The problem was that only couples and groups who were interested in socializing only with themselves arrived at that place at that time.

Below and ahead of him, behind the empty glass of his fourth beer and the remains of his second hamburger, the city night continued its routine of sirens and neon lights.

--Is that chair free? He was asked by a guy about two meters tall and one hundred kilos in weight who was bringing two of the largest hamburgers, and two large glasses of beer in his hands.

"Yes," he replied.

The guy sat down and finished off a beer and a hamburger in less than a minute without looking up.

"Nice night," he said before attacking the second burger.

--Yes, the air is clear, you can see the lights of the port at the end, to the north.

The guy got up and turned to look with the vase in his hand, turning his back on him and blocking his view of the city.

"Yes, and the industrial zone to the east," added the poet.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," the guy said.

The poet did not answer.

When the guy came back with a double slice of cheesecake and a double mocha, he earned the poet's curiosity and even began to like him even though he was blocking his view of the city.

Whenever he was on the south lookout he wondered how many interesting stories to tell were happening at that moment three hundred meters below, among the millions of electric lights.

The guy dispatched the cake and coffee in the same time he had two gulps of beer.

One hundref and fifty yards earlier, to the south, at the interstate turnpike, the traffic slowed a bit, but the steady stream of big trucks didn't slow down much at night, and the noise came to him like background music for a movie he wanted to make, and would be titled one day: “The city at night”

"I'm going to stretch my feet a bit," the guy said, looking at a bit of mochachino that was left in his vase and stood up.

Big truck driver, thought the poet.

Nearby was a hotel with a large parking lot that was advertised as the favorite with drivers.

The poet had been a driver for several years, and he knew that the prices and portion sizes of the food in the park were more appropriate than those in the hotel for a tired driver who wants to have a few beers before bed without leaving traces to the carriers and insurance companies.

The guy came back with two large plastic beer glasses and sat with his back to him blocking out his favorite view of the city and said:

--Down there at this very moment things are happening that would fill several movies of more than two hours with monsters and beautiful people.

"Yes, I think the same," answered the poet when he recovered from his surprise.

--Have you ever seen monsters?

--Nope.

-- I do, this is the third time.

--Oh.

"They're coming from above," the guy said, pointing his glass of beer at the sky, and then emptied it in one long gulp.

--From other planets?

--Yes--people come to the viewpoint to look down, but nobody looks up, there are more dangerous monsters up there.

--I had never thought about it, but since there has never been evidence that beings from other planets have come, it does not matter much.

--Do you think the government will inform you if beings from other planets visit us?

--Of course, I can't imagine why they wouldn't.

--Because the power. Imagine that you are on the beach the day the Spanish conquerors arrived on a Caribbean island. You should ally yourself with them. They needed translators and guides, business representatives, food providers.

--Could be.

--It is better to be on their side.

--Excuse my curiosity, do you work for the government?

--No, I'm a driver of large cargo trucks.

--Oh.

--And you?

-- I am unemployed, I worked as a driver years ago, my license and my certifications have not expired, but because of my age they no longer give me that job. Before it was more laborious, you could not let go of the wheel. I started as an assistant, but they are no longer needed.

---Companies are already using autonomous vehicles that no longer even need a driver.

--Yes, I have seen that.

--Insurance companies require a human assistant when the amount of the premium exceeds a certain value.

--I did not know that, so you are the assistant and not the driver.

--Yes, what I do is to supervise the guidance system, which is also being monitored by the transport company. Nobody really expects that I can correct a mistake, in fact I have to ask for authorization to take control, but I'm there, just in case.

--Very well, answered the poet, avoiding yawning.

Do you know what a monster is?

--I guess so, something very big, or disproportionate.

--Yes, but not only the physical size, it can also be a feeling, an attitude, in short, a disproportion.

--Yes, I agree.

The poet realized that the guy didn't talk like a trucker's helper, and he began to worry because the guy talked like a detective.

"If you want I can show you the last monster I ran over," he said after a loud belch.

--Just seeing a photo is enough for me.

The guy handed the poet his personal digital assistant.

The poet flipped through about twenty photos of a gigantic black cricket, sliding his fingers across the screen.

--This is the third time it has happened to me, the first was a yellow cockroach, the second looked like a mantis and this one looks a lot like a black lobster but about seventy kilos. They cut me off on the freeway. Nobody believes me, nobody cares.

The first time I ran over a monster I took it to the highway police, as I have several friends there, they advised me to get rid of the remains because they did not want to fill out the forms and do the cumbersome procedures that must be followed.

--What did you do with the remains of the yellow cockroach?

--I had to incinerate them, the smell was of beef, not of insects.

--Didn't it occur to you to make money publishing the news?

--My friends from the highway police explained to me that the annual average of run over monsters on the southwestern highway is fifteen, and that in the city there are ten, they also told me that if I forced them to call the authorities, those in charge of these cases would make them work excessively, and that I would be detained during the investigation, which on average lasts six months.

--What happened to you with the mantis?

--The same thing, just untangling it from the wheels I spent about two hours, three wheels punctured, the smell was horrible.

--It seems strange to me that those monsters always walk alone.

--Everything happens very fast, a second before I'm calm at two hundred kilometers per hour, and a second later I'm trying to control a truck that weighs fifty tons with a load. It’s not easy.

--What have the transport company told you about?

--Nothing, they have all the telemetry and the camera recordings, they only send me the crane with the mechanics. I think they are only interested in the load and having the truck circulating. It seems that running over monsters is a normal thing.

With surprise the poet heard himself saying:

"I'd love to see the 150-pound lobster"

--It's in the truck, in the hotel parking lot, about a hundred meters from here.

--Let's go?

--If you pay my bill. It is a special combo number five. I think you should order two more beers.

The poet took out the account, he would have enough left to buy alcohol until he received his unemployment pension again.

--Let's go!

The driver handed him his purchase receipt, they got up from the table and walked towards the fast food truck, but the guy didn't go with him to the checkout and stayed five meters behind.

The poet paid and gave the proof of payment to the guy, so that he could deliver it at the exit and he could leave the park.

As they walked toward the hotel parking lot, the poet said, as if to amuse himself along the way:

--I believe that monsters do not come from space, on the Dark Web they offer body transformations that go far beyond plastic surgery, and special pets with the ability to get rid of the neighbors' pets. War Labs dump their failed experiments, in search of the perfect soldier, on the highway. The relatives of some mutant that they had hidden abandon him or he escapes, There are many monsters on the loose now.

---Yes-- the guy said--the other time I knew that the monsters of a shelter escaped.

--Monster is no longer said, but: being with special characteristics.

--Yes, but I'm almost sure that the monsters that have come to me come from space, because who is going to want to transform into a black cricket of seventy kilos, have it as a pet, or as a soldier?

--Whenever I come here I think about the amount of monsters that must be in the city, when you lent me your personal digital assistant I reviewed your data and saw that you work in the biological protection police (BBP), it has been an honor to speak with you, I admire you, I see that your salary is not enough, I think it's like a police tradition - said the poet saying goodbye, while thinking that he already knew that the title for his film would be: The Monsters of the City.

"Okay buddy, I just needed a witness who wanted to fill out some forms, but I like you and I'm not going to bother you anymore" the guy said as he went to where another guy in a driver's uniform was.

Back in his apartment, the poet published the annex below, which was downloaded thirty-six times.

A night monster

Camouflaged in the night. Black with a large white spot, and a bunch of little dots, like come from space, a cricket came to my bed tired or bored, I don't know. My cat liked it so much that looked for more. Nothing she found. I wish more would come.

Li Tao Po

VABM 30/Ago/2022

Tienda en Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B00EZC7SRM/

Libro en Amazon

La Lástima de los Bots

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B9HH58R4

Demo

https://riistas.files.wordpress.com/2022/07/demolalc3a1stimadelosbots.pdf

The Pity of Bots

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BB51R2BC

Demo