12. Winter

Part Two:
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There were no pelicans at the beach, or any beach within a thousand miles. It was winter. Tom stuck it through to the bitter end, to the day the lawyers sent their minions in trucks to pack up every last bit of the bookstore and drive it away. He was the last one standing in the doorway when the landlord locked and chained the door.

He had become an automaton those last few weeks, without direction, without purpose. He could not believe what had happened, how his careful plans had simply vanished without even a puff of smoke. He wasn't bitter about 'the kays'. He never believed they would get it right, but he had hoped at least to learn something from their mistakes. Instead, they taught him nothing except you can't trust anyone. Mostly, though, it was the loss of Chris that left him stunned. Part of him knew that he had no hold on him, that no one had a hold on him, that everyone wanted and no one had. He had seen it in the mad scramble of the roommates and understood that Chris was lighter than air and, like a beautiful balloon, would some day float off in some unpredictable direction. And so he had.

For days he peppered Chris with messages before facing the bitter truth that Chris was not receiving them. Chris had never been a big fan of the socialnet; he had too many real live friends to waste much time on vapors. Tom forgot about everything, even money, until the day he ran completely out of food. He had really thought those jumbo boxes of saltines would last forever. It was time to get another job.

But what? He had tried the various other bookstores in town, even the little kids' bookstore, although he was terrified of children. He even tried some music stores despite the fact he detested music. He applied to all of the radio and electronic parts shops but did not present himself well enough at interviews. He received no offers. He thought he might be good at bagging groceries, but there were labor unions standing between himself and the bags.

During those long and dreadful days he planned to scour the socialnet for opportunities but instead his mind was filled with ever darker thoughts of bitterness and doubt. He knew now he could never fulfill his dream of changing the world for the better through ideas, but he was beginning to think of the opposite, of changing the world for the worse. Was it even possible? Looking around through his increasingly negative outlook, he even doubted that. The world looked horrible enough already.

He took to standing downtown on the street corners in the financial district, watching the people in their rush to make more money and spend it. He was cold and the days were short but he forced himself to stay there. One day he brought a tin can with him and set it down on the sidewalk by his feet, like he saw other desperate people do. Soon he heard the sounds of coins clicking, dropping in. He forced himself to remain absolutely still, not even changing the expression on his face, until he was like a statue. The rattle in the can grew louder. The less movement he made, the more money he made. At the end of a few hours he had enough to get some decent groceries.

Arriving home he wondered if he could really make the rent this way, could really keep himself alive by doing absolutely nothing. He decided to give it a try, and for several days in a row he repeated his experiment, on different corners but always where he sensed the money was walking by. He had some trouble with other vagrants who attempted to run off with his can, but he was observant enough to snatch it away in time. As he stood there, senseless almost, for he was barely even breathing at times, he began to form a thought in his mind. The thought came closer and closer, remaining vague but circling around the notion that if he could not get people to do what he wanted by asking them, then maybe he could get them to do what he wanted without them even knowing it.

Mind control.

It would be the ultimate invention.