he dog barked, and the whistle man stood silently still. It was getting dark, yet no clouds had formed. The sun setting was the sky’s only defect. The whistle man felt doubtful and checked his pockets in an effort to feel more together. His mind was dipping in and out of thousands of thoughts; What did I have for breakfast? What time will I have dinner? Is it too late to buy a paper? Too many confusions, too many doubts, too many dilemmas. Still drifting, the whistle man heard a voice; he recognized it as his own.

“I hope everything works out well for you!”

“Who, me?” The lamppost replied.

“Yes.” The whistle man wasn’t sure who he meant, but only the lamppost was in front of him. Evidently, the whistle man was unstable, his mind still drifting in and out of trivial matters; matters too trivial to be mentioned here.

The lamppost was shocked by the whistle man’s outburst and watched dumbfounded as he wandered down the road towards the beach.

He was talking to me! The lamppost thought, He wanted to talk and be honest and I let him walk away.

“Who knows why I am here?” shouted the lamppost. The whistle man turned.

“Because there is a lamp in your brain and the world needs light.” The whistle man was friendly and knew that order exists in absurdity. Furthermore, he knew the lamppost was lonely and needed to feel like he had a friend.

The lamppost looked relieved. The sun was setting, though the whistle man felt like it was coming down on his shoulders. He thought a bleak thought:

You can give away hope, but you can’t always be hopeful too.

***

The whistle man stood in the crowd facing the band. Around him were strangers, half-familiar faces and a couple of friends. The music was full and finding its way through all the side streets, main streets and curly avenues. Shops turned off their radios and joined the temporary community, bonded by the bounce in the music (although some were reluctant, most likely). In the crowd, the whistle man was happy to be just another bubble in the puddle. Yet, he noticed some bubbles were bigger than others; some were causing more fuss; SOME WERE STRANGE!

A black umbrella emerged above the heads of the crowd. The whistle man followed the dark flower as it weaved through the crowd. He slid down the metal stem with his eyes and saw it was held by a pale and clenched meat-pink fist. Small grey and black hairs were barely visible on the fingers but became thick and bushy as they stretched up the arm. The face was covered in ghost-white powder, topped off at the cheeks with cherry red rose blossom blusher, and it was fat. The weather was overcast, but not raining, so the umbrella acted as a warning to stay away from this…clown.

But what could the whistle man do? The umbrella was bobbing above the crowd and coming in his direction. Above the heavy hum of the music, the whistle man heard a whimsical chant:

“Penny for your company,

Penny for your clothes.

Tell me of your secrets,

I’m not happy with my own.”

The whistle man, amused by the chant, ignored his gut and let the umbrella bob further and further towards him, until its holder was standing squarely opposite the him, staring.

The dog barked in the distance and the whistle man grew pale, almost ghost white! On top of this, he felt a burning sensation on his cheeks that planted cherry red rose blossoms on the surface of them.

***

“It isn’t easy to be honest, and I don’t intend to be so,” said the whistle man as he stood at customs, “but I’ll show you what I have in my bag, my pockets and my shoes, and you can make your own mind up about the rest. Although, I warn you, the content is much darker.”

“I’ll make my own mind up,” replied the official.The whistle man stood as the official flicked through his documents; he was nervous. He looked through the window: at the planes, at the passengers, at the policemen, at the carpet.

“Go through,” said the official, who then motioned him toward an X-ray machine.

“Thanks,” said the whistle man with a half-smile: the same half-smile he despised seeing in other people.

“Go through and wait at the machine,” said the official. “Go through and re-mold yourself; redefine yourself: don’t be that same old whistle man! Let it strip the flesh off your bones and redesign you; let it open up your head and release all the moths and mothballs and then reinvest! Reinvest in yourself! You’re such a tired idea, you’re such lame breed.”

The whistle man turned around. “I know. I feel worthless. Look at these bags under my eyes and my crooked jaw. I’m worthless.” He wasn’t sure if he believed what the customs official said but when the whistle man said this he felt his stomach drop and his eyes well up. He always thought these were the indicators of a marvelous realization; the moment when he began to grasp a deep truth. Funny, he thought to himself, how I only realize the truth through a half-lie.

The official wasn’t interested in the whistle man anymore and began inspecting someone else’s papers, so the whistle man turned and headed to the X-Ray machine. A sign read “Place shoes, belt, wallet, bags, laptops in the tray and walk through.” And the whistle man dutifully followed the instructions. “Why would I want to reinvest now? It’s too late. I’ll just put my shoes though the machine. Just my shoes, my belt my laptop and my bag- like the sign says.

“Does everyone think I’m worthless?”