1 He woke up stumbingly, blind at first. He didn't know how he got there, but he discovered
that he was lying on his back on a torn up, urine-smelling matress between two of the
more run-down buildings in Oktobrtown. Clutching his throbbing head with hands that felt
raw and hot, he tried to remember how he'd gotten here. He had difficulty remembering
anything at all. He had vague recollections of being a doctor, but that was a long
time ago. Then drugs. He'd gotten into drugs for a while. It was a haze from then on,
wandering from city to city. His wife and daughters had probably ceased looking for him.
After all, it was ... how long?
He found he couldn't quite piece it all together. Cops. Jail. Screaming. Dogs.
Running. Trains. A man named Fog, or something. The last of the drugs had probably
left his system about ten hours ago. He had chills and cramps as he tried to get
to his feet. He remembered being Alex Fosterburg, M.D. That was a long time ago,
before he'd realized the foolishness of such an existence. Now he was Soda, drug-dazed
wanderer and occasional playwright. This led him to another dilemma. Where was his
notebook? God damned bums.
2 the notebook was found by a yellow dog after it fell out of his coat pocket.
The dog laid the note book down by the fire hydrant. As he raised his leg to
pee the note book was forgotten,and he walked away.Sad
3 Alex crawled toward the notebook and shook the dog pee off with trembling hands.
He paused for a moment and looked at the urine-smeared page. Perhaps it was
just the drug use talking, but suddenly the words on the page seemed new to him.
They weren't the words he had left there, nor were they pee-smudged versions of
the same words. These were new words entirely, created by some sort of magic
reaction between the ink and the dog pee. They were brilliant words...words
that were neither poetry nor fiction or drama. They were like nothing Alex
had ever seen or written before. Suddenly, Alex's strength grew as he was hit
with a rush of adrenaline. Somehow, he had to find someone who would take the
pee-stained notebook seriously. Because Alex new these new words were going to
make him a legend, and quite possibly save him from the streets.
4
The streets, just a memory now, and a bittersweet one at that. Soda couldn't remember how long he was actually on the streets, but he didn't care any more. Because he was there no longer. He had made it big, so big, in fact, that he was pushing for the richest producer in Hollywood. He had sat outside a large building for what seemed like hours before he got the nerve to go in. The clerk at the desk took one look at him and a sour expression had come over his face. But when Soda had forced the man to read the urine stained book, his countenance went from bad to great in a split second.
Tale Tag