1 - ANGEL

 

It’s early morning in Toon Town. I can’t sleep, so I’ve been up all night. I’m yawning but I must be up for work in a few hours. The only solution is coffee, but I’m out. So, I walk down the street to grab some more at the local coffee bot.

 

I'm immediately accosted by overpriced taxi drivers, honking their horns and vying for my attention.

 

“Taxi? You want a taxi?” 

 

 I shake my head and ignore their persistent calls. Taxies are a crazy ride in this city and very expensive. Instead, I step onto the autowalk. 

 

I slide past the Ink and Paint Club, a favorite hangout spot for people looking for cheap drinks and lively entertainment. But the gorilla-sized security guards outside give me pause. Their angry expressions warn me to stay away. I walk past a dress store and my favorite pub, the Bulldog Cafe, which serves excellent hot dogs and cold beer. 

 

A busty redhead rabbit named Jessica is smoking on the sidewalk. “You want to have some fun, detective?” I glance at her cleavage but walk past her. I’ve been on that ride before, but am not in the mood tonight.

 

I press the buttons on the coffee machine for an espresso macchiato from the machine. It's pricier than I remember, but I scan my ID to pay. I finish paying, grab my steaming hot coffee topped with whipped cream, cocoa powder, and a plastic lid, then head home.

 

On my way back, my scanner lights up with a red alert. A nearby teen boy is a runaway Yippie, so I’m being ordered to send him to Heaven.

 

 I march right up to the kid and flash my ID. "Hello, my name is Detective Gary Wolf, and I’m an Angel. You are a Yippie in violation of God’s law.”

 

“Buzz off, loser.”

 

“You have to go to Heaven. It’s the rules.” I explain.

 

The kid gets mad. “You aren’t my parents. You can’t tell me what to do!”

 

 “Where are your parents?”

 

The kid looks down at his feet. “My mom and dad both went to Heaven.”

 

I feel bad for the kid. “Don’t you want to go to Heaven to meet them?” 

 

“No! I want to live here on the streets. On my own, my way.”

 

I set down my coffee. “If you won’t go willingly, I’m afraid I have to take you to Heaven by force.”

 

"Fuck you, pig! This is bullshit!" He starts to run away. 

 

I pull out my taser and aim. I have him dead in my sight. 

 

I pull the trigger, and a bolt of lightning shoots out. 

 

These things pack a punch. Healthy people can take a few shots before they go down, but the electric shocks cause heart attacks. Of course, it’s not just older people who have problems. There was that one kid… I try not to think about him. It still hurts even now, a couple of years later. 

 

I don’t remember his name, but I’ll never forget his face. I shot him for sneaking into a club with a fake ID. The bolt hit him in the back. The kid’s whole body went limp then he hit the floor. 

 

“My legs are gone, my legs are gone!” he kept on yelling. “What’ve you pigs done to my fucking legs?” We all thought he was joking. He wasn’t. 

 

After a few moments of screaming agony, his heart stopped. We tried calling an ambulance, but it was too late. The kid had a seizure and then died two months before prom. And it was my taser that got the shot in. 

 

But today, I intentionally miss. My shot hits the wall behind him, and asphalt explodes. 

 

The kid is stunned. He’s shitting his pants in fear. I gesture for him to run away, but he doesn’t understand.

 

A patrolling Angel notices the commotion. He’s dressed like a 1920s copper. “What the hell, man?”

 

I shrug my shoulders. “Sorry. I missed.”

 

The kid finally gets the message. He turns and runs.

 

The copper stares at me suspiciously but then chases after the kid. I shoot a few shots at the wall, but the Angel is fat, and the kid is fast, so the kid gets away.  

 

I pick up my coffee and keep walking home.

 

If I had shot the kid, I would have been paid more. But sometimes, it’s not worth it. 

 

When I get home to the Eddie Valiant apartment building, I ride the elevator to my floor. I unlock the door, sit on the couch, pour a bowl of Cheesy O’s, and start flipping through the channels on my wall screen.

 

Skip the news, skip the bad action movie, skip the preschool Wally Rabbit cartoons. Instead, I land on the Classic Movie Channel. A black and white noir is just getting started. 

 

2 - DETECTIVE WALLY

 

I’m at the best part of the Angels with Dirty Faces, where Bogart, a sleazy lawyer, and his pal Mac, played by George Bancroft, are having a conversation about double-crossing their partner, Rocky Sullivan, played by James Cagney.

 

The screen is black and white. 

 

Bogart stares into Bancroft's face. “I don’t care how you take care of Sullivan, but it’s gotta look like an accident.” 

 

Bancroft smiles. “Leave that to me!” 

 

Meanwhile, Cagney is outside the door listening. He hears the whole thing, and now he is hurt. His face morphs from heartbreak to rage.

 

He puts his hand on his pistol and prepares to kick open the door.

 

“Good morning, everyone, and welcome to another perfect day in Sidneyland!” 

 

The movie pauses mid-frame on Cagney’s face. It changes the channel, so now I am staring at a live video feed of God standing in the middle of a stage wearing a white suit and a twinkle in his eye. 

 

“How is everyone feeling this morning?” 

 

God gives these announcements every morning, and after 25 years of hearing this shit, I’m annoyed by them. This one, in particular, irritates me because it interrupted the movie at the best part. 

 

“I didn’t hear you, everyone. How is everyone feeling?”

 

“Good,” I say with a fake smile. Every citizen in Sidneyland is expected to answer or get reprimanded, and I hear my voice and the other citizens talking to their screens. These screens with HD video plus cameras and microphones are everywhere in Sidneyland for security’s sake.

 

“This morning, techs are coming to install a new bed that will add warming features and fix the vibration problems.”

 

I’m glad to hear that. Ever since the last patch, my bed has had problems. The heating won’t work, or the vibration will shut off randomly. Sometimes with these patches, it’s two steps forward and three steps back, but I guess that’s what they call progress nowadays.

 

God keeps talking. “So get up, get dressed, and head to breakfast at one of our fine dining locations! I’ll talk to you soon at the Breakfast Show.” 

 

God waves goodbye and then disappears in a twinkle of animated fairy dust.

 

After that, the screen switches back to my movie. 

 

Cagney walks into the room, aiming his pistol at his two best friends who had betrayed him. 

 

Bancroft tries to open the desk and grab a gun, but he’s too slow.  We don’t see the gunshot, only its reflection in the mirror. Then, Bancroft falls over and slumps to the floor dead. 

 

Bogart watches his best friend die. Then Cagney aims at Bogart. Bogart drops to his knees and starts begging for his life. “Rocky! No, don’t! I’ll do anything!”

 

But Cagney isn’t listening.  “Oh no, you don’t!” Cagney says with a pointed gun and a sneer. “You’ve had your last chance, and you can take this with you. I never let go of those papers; all you had to do was let me off.”

 

Cagney aims his pistol, but old Bogart won’t give up without a fight. He kicks a lamp down, which hits Cagney and distracts him long enough to run for the door.  

 

Cagney recovers and shoots like he’s punching, firing jabbing shots as Bogart runs into the ballroom. The extras in their fanciest suits and ball gowns start screaming as bullets destroy the glasses on the bar. 

 

And then Bogart gets shot. He slumps over. He grabs a cloth and holds it to his heart. He slumps over dead. His eyes close, and Cagney gloats above him while the police sirens wail. Cagney grabs the biggest gun he can find and runs up the fire escape.

 

I try to keep watching after that, but my bed has other plans. It slides into the wall and then drops me onto the autowalk, a moving floor like a conveyor belt that carries me through my tiny home.

 

 I peer around the walls, trying to watch the rest of the movie, but can’t see the screen any longer. It’s okay. I’ve seen that film a thousand times, and at least I got to watch the best part. After Bogart dies, Rocky goes down a dark path and ends up a yellow-bellied coward who dies in an electric chair. It’s one of Cagney’s best roles, but my heart belongs to Bogart, and he’s not in it after that scene.

 

I have posters of all his movies on the walls. Maltese Falcon, Casablanca, The Big Sleep. Plus, other noir films like Charade, Kiss Me Deadly, and Notorious, and animated classics like Who Censored Wally Rabbit and The Great Mouse Detective.

 

I also have a Detective Wally poster. That’s not a movie; it’s a short children’s book starring the famous cartoon character Wally Rabbit. I always wish it were adapted into an animated film. I had the book as a kid and read it a thousand times, and I still have my dog-eared copy stained with orange juice on my bookshelf. I always thought it would make a fantastic movie, but it never happened. However, I guess life is full of little disappointments like that.

 

Also on the table are pictures from my college years at the Angel Academy. I see photos of my friends and me drinking, laughing, and smiling. I enjoyed hanging out with them years ago, but we’ve drifted apart. They moved to different parts of Sidneyland, and we lost touch over time.

 

While I reminisce, the moving walkway carries me into the bathroom, where a shower curtain lowers onto me, and a nozzle that orbits around me sprays me with cold water. That certainly wakes me up, but the water soon warms to a reasonable temperature. 

 

My body feels heavy and tired. Squirts of soap foam spray onto my skin and hair. I blow a few bubbles before the water rinses me. Running water fills my ears as I stand under the stream, then the water stops, and an electric dryer blasts hot air.

 

A toothbrush on a robot hand is shoved into my mouth, and razors fly across my skin. I try not to move much while the machine sprays shaving cream and trims my beard. Mustaches are illegal here, so I must be freshly shaved not to get a ticket.

 

I look at myself in the mirror. I’m around 6 feet tall, lean, but reasonably muscular. However, I have a bit of a beer belly that I’m trying to get rid of. My hair is brown, and my eyes shimmer between hazel and brown. It’s an odd feature I’ve had since birth; depending on the light, they change color. I turn away from the image in the mirror.

 

I’m naked when I hear the sound of someone rustling through my trash. “Hello? Who is it?” I shout. Is someone robbing me?

 

I hear a feminine voice respond. “Hello? I’m an uhh... Architect”

 

I’m naked, and that sounded like a girl. “I didn’t call for a tech!” I shout while trying to get dressed. 

 

I quickly press the button on the dressing machine. I have multiple outfits unlocked. Some are free, and others you have to pay for with extra cash, but I wear the same one every day—a white shirt, brown pants, suspenders, tie, rumpled trench coat, and a fedora. After I click it, I unlock an Achievement named Sam Spade because I have worn this outfit for over 1000 days. I feel a minor swelling of pride. Only 1.6% of citizens have this achievement.

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m here for, uh… bed repair. That’s it! The bed repair that the Wakeup Show talked about.” 

 

“What’s the problem?” I shout from the bathroom.

 

I hear the voice say. “Your bed had a bug fix, and we want to install the patch update and reformat the hard drive. Should only take a few minutes.” 

 

“I’ll be right there!” I pull the clothes out of the machine and button my pants.

 

After getting dressed, I leave the bathroom and see the beautiful girl in my living room. She walks around like she owns the place. Technically, she does. God owns everything, and she works for God, but I mean that she acts as she does. She’s dressed in a jungle outfit but with the sleeves rolled up. She has long black hair, tan skin, a voluptuous figure, and a clipboard.

 

She is currently bent over using a special screwdriver to unhook a panel on the wall, giving her access to a console panel that she uses to unhook the bed. When she presses a button, the bed folds out, and it’s plastic covered and clean.

 

“Doesn’t look like it gets much use,” she smirks.

 

“Well, yes,” I stammer. “It’s because of the bug. It uhh.. is broken. Otherwise, I would be using it all the time. I like sleeping.” This girl gets me so nervous that I start to stammer.

 

“Do you want to? After I fix it?” she asks.

 

“Do what?” Is she suggesting what I think she is?

 

“Sleep together,” she purrs.

 

I am appalled at the idea. “That’s against the Manual. We have to set up a date first. After that, I would be happy to.” 

 

“Haha. I was just kidding. God, you thought that you and I?” She’s laughing so hard she’s snorting.

 

“That’s not very funny,” I growl. “I’m going to rate you one star for that joke!” I finish dressing and push past her.

 

She stops me. “Hey, wait. I was just kidding. Scan my ID card. In case your bed breaks again. Or the new patch has issues or something.” 

 

 Everyone has an ID. IDs are neural link computers embedded into everyone’s brain. I know that sounds weird, but everyone is born with one, and it has a camera and a cell phone. So, technically, I’m a robot.

 

 You can scan other IDs to pull up their social media profile, see their bank transactions and social security numbers, or just see a list of their favorite bands and drunken posts on their timeline.

 

To share ID info with others, you use ID cards. Thin pieces of plastic with microchips on them that have contact info. You can order stacks and hand them out to anyone you meet or do business with. You can use them to pay, prove who you are, or register for classes. 

 

She stands there, pushing the ID on her chest toward me. I smile, say, “Okay, Thanks,” and scan it with my ID.

 

 Our sensors swap data, and I see her profile on my portable screen. I check her profile and am surprised to read her name.

 

“Gary Walton?” I ask while being very confused. She doesn’t look like a Gary.

 

Mary gets nervous. “Yeah, I stole it from some idiot to drink when I was 17. But you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

 

Some Yippies find stolen ID cards, then use them to steal money and lie about who they are, but it’s highly illegal. It’s so weird to listen to someone talk loudly about that. 

 

I’m so stunned I don’t know how to respond.“Uh… no.” 

 

“Forget about the name on the ID and just call me Mary,” she says with a purr. 

 

“Uhh.. okay.” This girl makes me so nervous. 

 

“I better get going.” She quickly closes the bed and walks out while holding a pile of my appliances. 

 

“Why are you taking those?”

 

“They are all broken, and I’m taking them back for repair.”

 

One of the appliances she holds is my toaster I use to make toast. “I used the toaster yesterday, and it was working fine.”

 

Now she’s a bit nervous, but she recovers quickly. “Yeah, but it has a bug update to make it toastier and less likely to burn down your place.”

 

That seems logical, so I go with it. “Okay, great.” She walks out as I shout after her. “Bye!”

 

I hate to see her go, but I enjoy watching her walk out. I still smell her perfume and can’t stop thinking about her. She was so rude and yet so beautiful. So mean, yet so kind. I try to put her out of my mind, but it’s complicated. Eventually, I do, though, and step onto the autowalker.

 

I need to leave now. I autowalk out the door. My ID opens the door automatically. I walk through the Eddie Valiant apartment complex. 

 

I leave the apartment building, my mind preoccupied with the conversation with Azrael about a possible riot in Toon Town. As I try to hurry past my landlord Mario, he calls out to me.

 

"Gary, you're late on rent again. And the prices have gone up," he says with a scowl.

 

"I know, Mario. I'm sorry, but I need to go right now. Is there any way we can talk about this later?" I reply, already halfway down the steps.

 

Mario shakes his head. "No, Detective. We need to talk about this now. You're two months late on rent, and I can't keep letting you slide like this."

 

"I understand, but I'm really in a hurry. Can't we talk about it later?" I plead, desperate to leave before the potential riot breaks out.

 

"Sorry, Gary. I have other tenants to worry about, too. I need to collect the rent from you," Mario says firmly, blocking my path.

 

I let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. How much do I owe you?"

 

"You owe me $2,000 in total. That's $1,000 for last month and $1,000 for this month. And with the new rent increase, that brings your total to $2,500," Mario explains, his tone growing increasingly agitated.

 

My heart sinks as I realize just how much money I owe. "I don't have that much money right now, Mario. I'll pay you as soon as I can, I promise."

 

"That's what you always say, Gary. And yet, here we are. You can't keep avoiding your responsibilities like this. If you don't pay up soon, I'll have to kick you out," Mario threatens, his voice growing louder.

 

"I know, I know. I'll make it right, I promise. But right now, I need to go," I say, trying to make a break for it.

 

Mario steps in front of me again, blocking my path. "I need a concrete plan, Gary. When can you pay me back?"

 

I rack my brain, trying to come up with a solution. "I can pay you back in installments. How about $500 a week until I'm all caught up?"

 

Mario considers my offer for a moment before nodding. "Alright, Gary. But don't make me regret giving you more time. I have other tenants to worry about, too, you know."

 

"I won't, Mario. I'll make it right, I promise," I say before hurrying outside, my heart heavy with the weight of my debt. 

 

3 - TOON TOWN

 

The sun has risen in Toon Town, and I take in the sights and sounds of the bustling street. 

 

I see the iconic red car trolley making its way down the street, filled with eager tourists taking in the sights of Toon Town. The trolley's whistle blows as it passes, and I can't help but smile at the joy it brings to those on board.

 

I walk down Sunset Boulevard and Hollywood Boulevard, where tourists flock to take pictures with their favorite movie stars on the Walk of Fame. I step on Alfred Hitchcock and Marilyn Monroe.

 

I went to high school on this street at Wally Rabbit High School. Donald’s Middle School and Goofy’s elementary school are on the same street. I see school buses full of kids ride past and kids walking down the street holding hands for the first time. I remember what I was like at that age. Nerdy, quiet. 

 

After high school, I went to college in London and then lived a few years in Future Land. However, I always knew I would be back. I love to travel, but Toon Town is where my heart lives.

 

As I keep walking, I cross the border. The topsy-turvy houses dissolve into three-bedroom, two-bath cookie-cutter homes with white picket fences. 

 

Flags are waving everywhere. This is America Land, a safe, pleasant area filled with balloons, popcorn, houses with lovely lawns, picket fences, and families with two kids. It’s got great golf courses, schools, and baseball fields. Boring as fuck, though.  Would never live here. 

 

“Ice cream? Do you want some ice cream?” A man stands on the side of the street and shouts at me. He has all sorts of frozen treats, but I shake my head no. I’m trying not to gain so much weight.

 

I keep walking until I stop at a crosswalk where autowalks intersection. Various other citizens are next to me, but I don’t speak. I don’t talk to my neighbors, and I don’t know their names. They seem nice enough, but they are also gossipy. I heard one of them report another citizen, and he got arrested. I’m sure there was a good reason to stop him, but it’s best if people just mind their business. Let Angels like me do our job. The citizens shouldn’t arrest each other.

 

As I keep walking, I see Wally Rabbit taking pictures with kids. A 7-foot-tall furry animal with moving ears and tail that dances around and talks to kids. “Hello, kids. Welcome to Sidneyland! So great to see you!” 

 

The child grabs onto their mother's leg. “Ooh, mommy, can I get a picture?”

 

The loving mother lovingly pulls out her wallet. “Of course, sweetie.”

 

“Say cheese," the Rabbit says, and then there is a flash. The image is taken by a floating drone that hovers around and is sent straight to the cloud. 

 

“Ooh, I want one too!” A new family walks up and swipes their ID against the floating drone, and Wally Rabbit poses for another kid.

 

I remember I had a book of signatures when I was a kid. I endeavored to run over the whole Land, getting every character to sign it. I got all the Princesses and Princes, Wally, the Genie, Pinocchio, and all the other fairy tale characters. I caught Captain Jack and Davy Jones, also. My collection was about 99% when I asked Chef Wally to sign it. He did, and then I realized that I already had Chef Wally. Not only that, but the signature was different. So different that I started to learn the truth. There was no Chef Wally. Just a pimple-faced dweeb in an Animatronic suit. After that, I threw away the signature book and never got another signature.

 

Watching the kids pose for pictures, I've considered whether I want the job. On the one hand, it must be miserable. I’ve piloted an animatronic Security Wally a few times for training purposes, but there aren’t enough Yippies to be a problem, so they don’t get used much. Anyway, it sucked. The mask is heavy and hot, with servos flying near your eyes, ready to snip your eyebrows. It’s noisy and uncomfortable as you hear the constant hum of the machines. I never want to do that again. When people vote for hot weather, it must be miserable. I'm sure you sweat buckets. 

 

On the flip side, the electronics keep you warm at a lower temperature. Plus, those kids believe in Wally. You get to make those kids happier than they've ever been in their whole lives. I look at the children smiling with the Wally Rabbit while their parents say cheese, and I can’t remember ever being that happy. I have a picture of me that my parents took of me before I can remember, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
 

4 - BANJO BBQ

 

I first hear the bluegrass music while walking through America Land, then I follow the crowd. Many people come here for breakfast, and many of them are old. Their canes tap on the autowalk, and they move so slowly. 

 

The hospitals are clogged, and the restaurants are jammed with them. They are racist and homophobic and constantly vote for terrible political decisions every election. Half of our budget is spent keeping them alive after they’ve retired.

 

Sometimes I wish they would just go to the funeral home already. I know that’s a harsh thing to hope for, but it might improve the world. 

 

I push past them to get where I’m going. I follow the path to a giant buffet with food dispensed by the machine. I grab a tray and walk up to the omelet machine, which looks like a robot chef with a hat. 

 

“Bonjour! Do you want an omelet?” it squeaks at me.

 

I select ham and cheese, click okay, and the animatronic chef shouts, “Oh boy! Those are my favorite! Coming right up!”. But then the machine sputters a bit without cooking anything, then returns to its original loop. "Bonjour! You want an omelet? " 

 

Sitting amid the apparatus is a human chef with a nametag labeled Pierre. He is wearing a white coat and wearing a traditional chef hat which is called a toque. Did you know that? I have a word of the day calendar, and that was the word two weeks ago. 

 

Chef Pierre is seated behind the buffet and reading a book titled ‘How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying’ while the machines do all the work. I see machines slicing, dicing, and cooking all sorts of food. However, the omelet machine is still broken, trapped in its loop.

 

At first, I wave at Chef Pierre, but he doesn’t see me. Then seeing no other option, I shout politely at him. “Hey, the omelet bot is still broken. Do you know when it will be fixed?” 

 

He looks up from his book with an irritated expression. “Sorry, mon frère. I am waiting for a part to be delivered, so it should be fixed in a week or two.”

 

He turns back to his book, but I’m not satisfied. “Can’t you cook me an omelet?”

 

Chef Pierre looks up again, this time with an angrier expression. “Sacre bleu. I said, wait, you deaf fool! You have no patience. There is plenty of food. Eat it and leave me alone!”

 

I grumble and move down the line. I place a few slices of steak, bacon, sausage, and chicken. I’m trying to lose weight and gain muscle, so I’m mostly a carnivore lately. 

 

However, I cheat by putting hazelnut cream in my steaming hot cup of coffee and a big slice of the famous apple pie. Nobody’s perfect.

 

 The autowalk then carries me to my table, where I find my mother, Hannah eating donuts while watching old-school Wally cartoons on the screen.

 

“Hey, Mom!” She stands up to greet me and reaches her hands out to hug me. I hold her tight and kiss her on the cheek, then let go and sit across from her. She takes a donut and then looks right back at the screen.

 

After a few moments with no sound but the cartoon, I start a conversation. “What are you watching?”

 

She turns away from the screen and smiles at me. “Oh, just some old-school cartoons from when I was a kid.” 

 

I sigh. She watches this same cartoon almost every day. “Don’t you ever want to see anything else? Something new?” I say.

 

She smiles again and shakes her head. “Nope! Nothing beats good old cartoons, and I take memory pills to forget the old episodes and see them for the first time.”

 

“You should ease up on those pills, Mom. They aren’t good for you.”

 

These pills don’t help with memory; they erase it. Have you ever gotten so drunk that you forgot what happened to you the night before? All you have are vague memories and flashes of recollection until your friends explain what happened. These memory pills create that effect.

 

“Nonsense, dear. They are doctor-prescribed.” She opens her purse and pulls out a tiny pill box to prove her point. She opens it up, takes out a pink pill, and puts it in her mouth. Then she takes a sip of water and swallows with a smile.

 

I sigh. “Well, just try and take less of them.”

 

I go back to eating breakfast. I eye her plate, which is almost exclusively donuts and pastries.

 

“Mom, you aren’t supposed to be eating those.”

 

“Why not?” she questions mid-donut bite.

 

“Your doctors told you to cut back and go on a diet.” I try to explain it to her for the millionth time.

 

“Screw doctors. They don’t know anything. Enjoy life one donut at a time, is what I say. I’ve been eating them for years, ignoring doctors, and now look at me.” She proudly shows off her big belly.

 

“Just try and cut back.” 

 

“Okay. You eat them instead.” She shoves a donut into my mouth.

 

I take a bite and then laugh. “These donuts do taste good.”

 

My mom smiles and then eats another pastry. “Have you met a girl lately?”

 

Not this again. She keeps bringing this up every time we talk. “I did meet a girl today, but she wants a date.”

 

“So what’s the problem?” my mom asks.

 

I think about Mary, the tech who came earlier. She is cute, but I don’t want to get my hopes up too high. “I don’t know, and I just don’t think she’s right.”

 

My mom won’t give up, though. “Well, keep trying. You can’t succeed unless you try.”

 

“That’s what you always say,” I respond.

 

“Why not? I’m not getting any younger, and I want some grandkids.” I look at her and see her wrinkles. She isn’t wrong.

 

As if it’s that easy. “I just haven’t met the right person.”

 

She won’t give up. “Well, start looking. Anyone at work?”

 

I think about my coworkers. “No, most Angels are male.”

 

“That’s a bummer. Lots of people meet partners at work.” She thinks for a minute. “What about your friends?”

 

“Azrael is single. I go out with him to meet girls but haven’t met anyone serious.”

 

“Well, that’s good, at least. Keep doing that. What about your ex Beth?”

 

I roll my eyes. “That is done. She was crazy, so we broke up, and I don’t regret it. She blocked me and met another guy, but they seem happy together.”

 

“Okay, I understand that. Do you have any cute neighbors?”

 

I whisper my response. “Yeah, but they all wear cowboy hats, and I don’t like them.”

 

“Give it a shot. Ride a cowgirl.” My mom laughs at her crude joke.

 

“I did. It was fun, but then we started talking about politics.”

 

“Well, keep trying. Use one of those dating sites.”

 

“I will, Mom. Just hard to meet the right person.”

 

“God, don’t I know it. Your father and I did not get along that well.” She folds her arms at the memory of him.

 

“I know, Mom. You’ve told me many times.” I never met my dad and have no memory of him, and I’ve only seen a few photos of him, but that’s it.

 

My mom takes my hand. “Promise me you’ll keep trying? Get out there and meet people instead of hiding alone in your cave.”

 

I hold her hand. I genuinely answer, “Yeah, mom. I promise.”

 

My mom smiles and drops the subject. She turns back to her cartoons and keeps watching.

 

I stab a fork into my pancakes covered in butter and syrup. We eat silently until the lights dim and the screens switch from cartoons to a closed curtain.

 

My mom points at the screen. “Get ready! The Breakfast Show is starting.”

 

5 - BREAKFAST SHOW

 

I stare at the screen and watch a live feed as the red curtain rises and God steps onto the wooden stage. 

 

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Breakfast Show!” Everyone claps, and I can also hear the applause from other people in other restaurants.

 

“Hope you all are enjoying your breakfast!” 

 

It is delicious. Every bite is better than the last, so I take another one.

 

“Before we get to the fun part of the show, here’s Roy with the financial reports.”

 

Fat ugly Roy steps onto the stage, and everyone boos when they see him. Nobody likes Roy; even God doesn’t like Roy, and God loves everyone.

 

“Hello..hello... hello, everyone.”

 

He stutters over his words. He’s had a problem since he was a kid. Part of you wants to feel bad about his disability, and the other half just thinks it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. I mean, learn to talk, right?

 

“Yesterday. The day before today. The profits were down a little, and we are... overall down year after year. So..uh.. we are asking that you work extra hard.”

 

We’re all working as hard as possible. What else do you want? A miracle? This is why we all hate Roy, and he’s the WORST.

 

Thankfully God appears and shoos him away. “That’s enough of that boring stuff. Get out of here, Roy''. I clap and laugh at Roy as he’s dragged off stage.

 

“Yes, Roy, we know we all have to work hard. But I want you to focus on the fun. Focus on the delicious breakfast and our new lineup of shirts available for free at the store!”

 

Models step on stage, and T-shirts blast out of cannons all over the city. One of the shirts lands in the restaurant. I reach for it but miss. It lands on the ground, and people crowd to be the first to grab it.

 

“I tried to create the perfect world. And you all live in it. You know how great it is. Don’t you? Look around.”

 

I do complain occasionally, but God is right. He’s a fantastic man who created a magnificent city.

 

“But after I finished, I realized that most people loved the city and were happy. That’s great! But I wanted more, and I wanted a better city!”

 

We see God inside the golden city of Heaven, eating lobster and drinking champagne. I read about food like that in books, but I’ve never eaten it.

 

“You think the food is excellent where you live? You won’t believe how great it is in Heaven. The houses are better, and the subway is better. In Heaven, everything is perfect!

 

See? He admits it could be better here. That’s all I’m saying.

 

“But I knew that I couldn’t just give it all away. If I did, you wouldn’t appreciate it. You have to work for it, and you have to earn it. So I allowed people to retire and live in this perfect city forever! Earn a million dollars, and you can retire to Heaven!”

 

Everyone claps.

 

“Our first retiree is Abraham! He has worked for years as a farmer.”

 

The screen turns to an old man with a straw hat and overalls. “Oh, thank you, God! I am so happy!”

 

“Next up is Ishmael, who has worked in finance and has quickly risen up the ranks.” Ishmael cries in joy while wearing his crisp suit. He is much younger than Abraham but has plenty of gray hair and wrinkles from stress.

 

The screen shows God again. “That’s it for the retirees, and let’s give them one last round of applause for their years of hard work!”

 

The crowd claps, and Ishmael and Abraham sit down. 

 

God continues his sales pitch. “But Heaven is not just for the rich and old. It’s for everyone! So when I built it, I knew it couldn’t be tied to the corporate ladder. Many business people are criminals, and many homeless men are saints. So I created the Lottery Wheel!”

 

God cheers, and the crowd cheers. Confetti rains down from the sky. It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. A giant wheel falls into view, and everyone has their face on the Wheel.

 

God reaches his hand to the lever.

 

“Yippers! Let’s go!”

 

The Wheel starts to spin.

 

My mother grabs my arm. “I hope I win!”

 

“You always say that.” It’s true.

 

“I know, but I’m praying for it hard today.”

 

She clutches her Manual tightly and prays to God quietly. She goes to daily church services held by Priests. Most people treat God as a God, but I’m more of the divinely inspired camp. I wouldn’t dare say that out loud, though.

 

“Let’s spin the Lottery wheel again and see who will win today!”

 

The crowd claps, and the Wheel starts spinning.

 

My mom holds me tight. “Oh, I hope I win!”

 

The machine spins for a few moments while the music plays. When the song stops, though, the Wheel slows down. It teeters between two faces, and then it stops. God reads the name on the picture.

 

“Ruth Grimes!”

 

A young teenage girl is so happy. She is well-dressed with giant hoop earrings that shake and jangle while she weeps in joy. “Thank you, God! I am so lucky to be chosen!”

 

She looks so young. Elementary school age. It’s hard to believe she will go to 

 

“Isaac Lazarus!”

 

The camera cuts to a live screen recording of Isaac in his apartment. It’s dirty, unkempt, and covered in posters of rock stars and supermodels. 

 

I see Isaac. A punk rocker with a mohawk. “Fuck you, pig! Heaven is bullshit!” He runs outside. 

 

The camera cuts back to God watching all this. “What a bummer. Another Yippie. Not to worry. Our Angel squad will take care of it. “

 

“Let’s spin the wheel and see which lucky citizen can go to Heaven!”

 

Everyone claps and cheers. I try and clap just so that the screens see me clap.

 

My mom holds me tight.

 

“Oh, I hope I win!”

 

“And the winner is….”

 

The wheel spins around over and over. Eventually, it starts to slow down. 

 

Clack, clack, clack.

 

The wheel stops spinning. God reads the name under a very familiar photo. 

 

Is it who I think it is?

 

God says it out loud. “Our winner is Hannah Wolf!”

 

My mom is freaking out. This is her dream come true, and I’m freaking out. How is this possible? 

 

“Thank you, God!” She starts to cry. “Oh, my God! I won! I always knew this day would come. Thank you so much!”

 

My mom is crying, and I am in shock.

 

The audience applauds. God smiles. “No, Hannah, you have earned this vacation to Heaven! Pack your bags because you are going to a place so great it makes Hawaii seem boring!”

 

The audience applauds. My mom jumps up and down. “Oh, I can’t wait!”

 

“A round of applause for Hannah, everyone.”

 

The crowd claps.

 

“Clap louder, and we can spin another wheel!”

 

There is a roar of applause. People in the diner we are in hoot and holler. I can hear people shouting from all over the city.

 

“Let’s keep the good times rolling, everyone.”

 

The crowd claps. The wheel starts spinning. 

 

Clack clack, it rolls past my name. It passes my moms even though you can’t win twice. It’s already X’d out. 

 

Then it stops on a familiar-looking face. God reads the name, then pauses. He rereads it out loud.

 

“Sidney Walton.”

 

Who is Sidney Walton?

 

Instead of cutting to another person like usual, the camera zooms into God’s confused face. 

 

God tries to stay calm and keep the show going. “Is there a Sidney Walton here anywhere?”

 

The screen pans left and right, but I can’t find anything. Just God’s face. His mustache droops. His expression goes from happy to sad. He starts to cry. He stops himself with a deep breath. Then he smiles, “I just want to say what an honor it has been to host this show. I had so much fun. So goodbye, adieu, adios, and sayonara my friends. Work hard, and stay happy.”

 

He sniffs while a tear rolls down his cheek.  “That’s the end of the Breakfast Show today! Join us for the Evening Show! Until then, work hard and have a wonderful day!” 

 

The show ends, and some people clap, but most people just seem confused. The screen goes black, and the lights go up. 

 

Most people go back to eating breakfast. I hear a man at the table next to our murmur to himself. “What does that mean? Why was God saying goodbye?”

 

As for me, I’m still in shock about my mom.

 

“Oh, I’m so excited!” Mom shouts. “I’ve been dreaming of this my whole life.”

 

“What do you think happens in Heaven?” I ask Mom.

 

“I think I get to eat great food all day and enjoy myself. Just like God says.”

 

“But why don’t we hear from anyone after they go to Heaven?” I wonder aloud.

 

“Because they are having too much fun. Plus, you hear from them occasionally. Also, many of them are very old,” my mom replies.

 

“Well, will I hear from you after you go to Heaven?” I ask.

 

“Of course you will, sweetie. You know all this, and you sound like those Yippies on the show,” Mom says.

 

I get defensive. “I’m nothing like those filthy Yippies! As soon as breakfast is made, I will arrest the lot of them.”

 

“Good boy,” Mom says. 

 

“I am just going to miss you,” I admit. “I don’t want to think you might just go and—”

 

I can’t get out the words. I try again. “Can’t bear to think you might go and just—”

 

“Just what, honey?”

 

“Disappear, you know?” I whisper, barely able to voice it.

 

Mom softens. “You already know I won’t, and you know all these answers, and you’re just scared of them.” 

 

“Maybe?” I weakly acknowledge. “Yeah. Maybe.”

 

But I can’t convince myself. Something is amiss, something wrong, and it feels terrible.

 

“You need more faith in God. You believe in him, don’t you?”

 

“Of course.” 

 

Honestly, I just don’t know. There’s a problem somewhere, a red flag, a gut feeling in my stomach that says, don’t let Mom go. But I shrug it off, saying nothing.

 

“Then trust his judgment. He knows what’s best for all of us. And someday, you will join me in Heaven. And we will finish this conversation. I promise you that.”

 

I promise you that, she says. But how can you, Mom? How can you promise me? You have no idea what awaits you there, and you can’t know if we’ll ever get to see one another again.

 

“I’d like that.” 

 

That's all I can say.

 

I enjoy the moment by eating breakfast with Mom now while I still have her. It isn’t great food. The eggs suck, and I wish the omelet machine were working.

 

“I know, sweetie,” Mom responds with a knowing look. “But can we spend some time together?”

 

“Of course. I will see you at the Evening Show.”

 

“I’m looking forward to it.” She beams proudly.

 

We hug for a moment. Then, I step onto the autowalk, which carries me outside.

 

I autowalk down the street toward the marker given to me. I’m supposed to be focused on work, but my mind keeps repeating how Mom will be gone soon. She’s only leaving for a better place, I say to myself, desperate to feel convinced by that. She will have such fun. 

 

My eyes are wet. I don’t buy into the story. 

 

I don’t. I don’t. I don’t.