Soma was a drug in ancient India, I think, and in the novel Brave New World. I had twenty of them in my pocket. No one in the lobby knew that, though. I stepped into the atrium with confidence.
Leo had been missing the past two nights, missing two meals. Soma would help me with the problem. I waited nervously as the elevator descended, bobbing up and down, jiggling the soma in my pocket with my hand. It was time. It was 4:55 p.m.
When the elevator opened, I did not see what I expected. I made a horrendous sound. It reverberated through the hall and back again.
Gigi. He was crouched in the corner, staring straight at me, with a Gigian look on his face. A large man stepped out in front of him. Jordan? Jordan Smith?
"It's Gigi or your life," he said. I reached into my pocket. Soma time.
The boy on the motorcycle came to warn us. We were outside the Phish show when he came. "Fffttbbbthh," he said, breathing heavily, waving his arms at the sky. I asked him what my story was about.
"It's about me," he said.
His stomach sagged over the sides of the motorcycle, his jowls producing saliva, which flung at our faces as he spoke.
The musicians on the stage stopped playing, as if to hear the story.
"This story is about the boy on the motorcycle," I shouted.
"Boy on a bike," the musicians sang.
The man on the motorcycle started peeing and thinking.
"From far away," said the man, as it started raining.
"Pee!" shouted the boy.
"But am I a man or a boy?" he wondered.
The band stopped again.
"A boy, I think," said the drummer.
(The "man" and the "boy" in this story are the same character; sorry, reader, for the confusion since the line "The man on the motorcycle started peeing and thinking.")
There was a rainbow.
It was red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.
The man seemed relieved, pointing to the sky, nodding.
Sorry about this story (that it was confusing at times, that it apologized twice, that [other reasons]); thank you for reading.