Meet Cafe (#204)(an instance of Generic Room with Seats made by Tarquin)The Cafe occupies one side of the Plaza, a maze of kitchens, restaurants, sleeping cubicles, perilous iron balconies and basements opening into the underground baths. Faces of the City pour through silent as fish, stained with vile addictions and insect lusts. The lighted Cafe is a diving bell, cable broken, settling into black depths. You walk throught the smokey cafe and sit at the table. You see sailor here. EXITS: Outside the Cafe the Interzone Plaza hovers in a black mist. [ east ] Interzone Plaza. You hear mountain flutes, jazz and bebop, one-stringed Mongol instruments, gypsy xylophones, African drums, Arab bagpipes, the sounds of ....... a series of catwalks and ladders lead to a small opening in the ceiling. [ up ] truck. This place has a certain ambiance... Catatonic youths dressed as women in gowns of burlap and rotten rags, push against you. A group of black marketeers of World War III enter looking for a table. On stools covered in white satin sit naked Mugwumps sucking translucent, colored syrups through alabaster straws. Traffickers in Black Meat argue angerly in the back of the Cafe. Two Dream Police undercover agents strip search a youth, while Reptiles suck their straws. A hum of sex and commerce shakes Interzone like a vast hive. Sailor takes a quick trip to the pissoir. A guard in a uniform of human skin, black buck jacket with carious yellow teeth buttons, an elastic pullover shirt in burnished Indian copper, adolescent-nordic-sun-tan slacks, sandles from calloused foot soles of a young Malayan farmer...the guard is a sharp dresser...he has a Latin handsome-smooth face with a pencil line mustache, small black eyes, blank and greedy, undreaming insect eyes....he is looking straight at you admiring your fine complextion. Dr.Benway walks throught the Cafe with Dr.Limpf and a nurse, Benway has a scaple in one hand and a cup of blood in the other. |