Dinwitty, our computer nerd, died last night. Six quick parries with an old-fashioned hunting knife to his torso and no one saw the killer. Dinwitty went to the rave parade wearing his facemask and swim fins along with a skin-tight, rainbow cat suit, his signature black duster and slicked back hair. He'll return in a shroud. Miss Silvia, Duchess of New Claysburg, stood aghast that anyone would try to assassinate her or hurt her adoring fans.
"Will no one be my Kavalier?" her voice echoed plaintively across the gray of Calder Benson Boulevard in the village of West Hovingshire. "The evening must have a Kavalier to deliver my gift to the party." Five of her followers stepped forward like modern-day Sir Walters and retrieved the marble heavy sack full of frozen Suzie's Brand Cream Cheese lying next to Dinwitty. She silenced the applause so the musicians and performers could harmonize a few soft chords of Libera me, of requiescant in pace and In paradisum deducant te Angeli over Dinwitty's dead body. Order and harmony restored, she pointed to the rave site where she would celebrate her twenty-first birthday.
Not far away, where Calder Benson crossed Dave Jenkins Avenue, the man in the Animal Collective tee shirt sat astride his fixed gear bicycle and watched her. He absently ran a hand over his upper lip, the moustache tattooed on his index finger lending his gaunt face a sinister air. I caught his eye and nodded. He made no response, save to pull his ski goggles into place and readjust his Walkman headphones before pedaling away. He disappeared behind the Tao Lin Teahouse as the techno quintet launched into the theme song from Alf.
It was a shame about Dinwitty, but in the game of checkers you sometimes have to sacrifice your battleship. And I was playing a high-stakes game of checkers, indeed. Miss Silvia would merely be the first to fall, followed by New Claysburg and then the Kingdom of Nova Brooklyn itself.
A cruel fate, but such was the way of the Hipsterpocalypse.
Opening: Dave F......Continuation: Sean