Tequila Sunset: Chapter one

Chapter one of my novel! Yes, it doesn't exactly have a traditional structure- you'll have to bear with it. The prologue can be found here.

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Chapter one: Our Story Begins With Philip 

Philip is sitting in the cafe where he usually takes his lunch.

The seats are comfortable, though too trendy for his tastes. But the food - the food is worth the pretension of the seats, and the waiters who seem to expect more tips than their service warrants.

Today he is eating the caesar salad, heaping with eggs and croutons. He likes the satisfying crunch of croutons between his teeth, unmindful of his last dental appointment in which he was told that he should avoid eating quite so many crunchy foods. Philip likes crunchy food, and he's going to eat it.

The sky is a blinding white, reflecting off the buildings in the distance. Traffic is bustling pleasantly from place to place - pleasant, primarily, because he is not caught in it. The traffic lights blink walk/do not walk , red/yellow/green. Philip is comfortable.

The waiter asks "Is there anything else, sir?"

"Just the check," Philip says, finishing off a last tomato and wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. Around him, the other diners are conversing in low tones. Businessmen having lunch, a young couple with a baby, an art student from the university.

He smiles at all the happy people enjoying their meals. The waiter is returning with the check, and Philip is reaching for his wallet when a sudden tap on the shoulder surprises him.

Philip turns, and stares up at the well-manicured hand that belongs to a smiling young man.

"Hello?" Philip says, his tone a question that wonders what this man is doing disturbing him.

"This is a bitchin' dream!" the man says, a wide grin spreading across his clean-shaven face. Perfect teeth.

Philip blinks slowly. "A what?" he asks, a certain unease beginning to settle in his stomach - an unease that isn't borne of caesar dressing.

"Isn't that what you say, back then? Bitchin' right? I mean, I read the manual... but yeah. New York is KILLER in your dream. Man, the food - and these buildings! And everything's so tasty here - it's better than real."

The waiter delivered the check, and Philip reached for it... but found himself grasping a snake, instead. He dropped it, startled - and shook his head.

"A dream..." he whispered, looking around him as things began to shift, and change. The buildings became jagged... the baby grew a second head. In the distance, a brontosaurs roared, and began stomping towards the city from the horizon.

The man who had addressed him, began backing up slowly. Panic was evident on his face, and the faces of many other diners.

"My coffee tastes like chicken!" a woman exclaimed.

"I want to wake up," Philip whispered, shutting his eyes tight. Everything, sudden in the coming, went silent and black. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard his alarm ringing.

-----

"He's waking up!"

"What? Stop messing around. How is it possible?--"

"Check the monitor! His waves - they're changing. Play the sequence!"

---

Philip opened his eyes blearily, barely able to make out anything in the bedroom by the dim light of his night light. His limbs felt strangely heavy, and his head hurt from the effort of opening his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Philip," Mavis said. He could hear her voice, feel her familiar shape beside him in the bed they shared. "It's not morning yet. Not time to wake up."

He muttered something incoherent, unfocused. Philip was sure there was some reason he needed to wake up, right now. It wasn't that he needed to use the bathroom - he didn't feel any bladder discomfort. It wasn't that it was morning - it was obviously still dark.

"Go back to sleep, Philip," Mavis said again. "It's not morning yet. Not time to wake up."

He started to protest, but his eyes were growing heavy again. It was easier just to close them, to let the blackness engulf him again with its comforting familiarity.

"Go back to sleep, Philip" he heard her say again, then oblivion.

----

Philip is sitting in the cafe where he usually takes his lunch.

The seats are comfortable, though too trendy for his tastes. But the food - the food is worth the pretension of the seats, and the waiters who seem to expect more tips than their service warrants.

Today he is eating the caesar salad, heaping with eggs and croutons. He likes the satisfying crunch of croutons between his teeth, unmindful of his last dental appointment in which he was told that he should avoid eating quite so many crunchy foods. Philip likes crunchy food, and he's going to eat it.

The sky is a blinding white, reflecting off the buildings in the distance. Traffic is bustling pleasantly from place to place - pleasant, primarily, because he is not caught in it. The traffic lights blink walk/do not walk , red/yellow/green. Philip is comfortable.

The waiter asks "Is there anything else, sir?"

"Just the check," Philip says, finishing off a last tomato and wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. Around him, the other diners are conversing in low tones. Businessmen having lunch, a young couple with a baby, an art student from the university.

He smiles at all the happy people enjoying their meals. The waiter is returning with the check, and Philip is reaching for his wallet. He has just enough to pay the bill, and he smiles at the convenience. He leaves an adequate tip, and starts walking away from the restaurant. The other diners are very quiet and still.

Philip walks from the restaurant, down the street and into the city. The air is fresh and cool, and he likes the way it feels in his hair. He stops to read a handbill that has been pasted on the crumbling brick wall of building he is passing. The handbill has been washed by more than one rain, but it is still somewhat legible. He isn't familiar with the band, Tequila Sunset - but he likes the name, because it is both his favorite time of day and his favorite drink combined. He thinks that maybe he will go to see them play, if Mavis wouldn't mind so very much. But the date is worn away from the handbill - and so to is the venue.

He finds this very disappointing, so he walks on , hoping to find another handbill. The wall of the building seems impossibly long, and the bricks are growing more mossy and decayed the further down he goes. He considers turning back, but he's determined that he must find what he is looking for. Philip is not good at giving up - it's not what he does when things get difficult. So he searches. He places his hand inside the places where bricks used to be, and draws out many little things. A penny. A folded piece of newsprint. A votive candle. A piece of somewhat chewed gum. He drops them to the ground, and bends to pick up the penny because it is wasteful to do otherwise. But it has landed luck side down, so he steps over it, and walks on.

The improbable brontosaurs is waiting at the end of the wall. It grins a toothy smile.

"Hello," says Philip. "I think I'm dreaming..."

"You may be right," it says, nodding its massive head. "Yes,you may indeed be."