One-Of-A-Kind In Two

Seattle Times Sat April 29 2000

The newspaper ran a time-lapse photograph of that prom night. After "Boulder Drop," building after building lay in a heap: the martial-arts church, a Chinese restaurant as big as Dallas, Extinction High School. Flag-waving teenagers were seen hanging the mayor by a hair. A person of Indian descent was tying an internet browser to a post with recycled fibre. Windows broke. Elsewhere, giant pandas ran through folks' funerals, gripping battered paddles. TV dinners were scattered over the road. Rush hour drivers were copulating in the frozen entrees. Washington asked the Mounties to help clear dinners off the road. The Mounties demanded to use a telephone.

Something else. The photo shows white light streaming from One-Of-A-Kind near a highway interchange at the center of the upheaval. She was bright as a chandelier. "I refuse to be the chief of police," the incandescent two-year-old said. She refused to protect us. She refused to shelter us! Government attorneys asked a federal judge to break One-Of-A-Kind into two bodies in hopes of prodding them to mate, or use a telephone.

A stranger started a nasty game of twister. A person in uniform was piquing the interest of two hungry 10-foot pythons. One leg was found adrift on an inner tube, salt was found in the cashpot, and unruly demonstrations of photography devastated a 20-mile area. Police charged giant pandas with shop-lifting. People said an employee was tempting them with a Tiffany Turtle Accent Lamp. The employee demanded to use a telephone.

And right smack in the middle of an Extended StayAmerica Hotel was Christ, showing low-libido teenagers videotapes of others among their extinction-threatened species copulating with a chapter of the ACLU. "He was trying to get a Web site started," said the mayor. "There may be more to it than that, but he's not willing to talk to us. He demanded to use a telephone." The ACLU has received about 100 calls from people who said that the lord works in mysterious ways.

The day is being worn thin on all sides. You can see the light through it. You can see what you need.

The two-year-old was treated at a hospital and released. Two mini-One-of-a-Kinds went home. Her mother comforted one half. Her father comforted one half. Her brother, four schoolmates, their parents, and a former police chief planned a march down 20 blocks of Eighth Street to protest the government's "divisive" action. Her great-uncle insisted, perhaps naively, on wearing his favorite deodorant and standard oil, and revelers scrambled for shelter. He was apprehended and charged. He demanded to use a telephone.

She addresses him. He addresses her. Their addresses change. The telephone is a symbol of corrections, say Two-Of-A-Kind. A time-lapse photograph of the heart.

The deodorant fallout sank over the battered city. The deadly filigree is distracting but not unusual. Some people are saying it's just another day. Wrong. The telephone giant waited over us, in a blur of passing mention.

No calling area is an island. If you have information you think is news, use a telephone. This is a free call, the one you don't see coming.