I climbed the Monorail platform during the day yesterday. Every entrance platform, not just the one on Paradise, is blocked with unlikely debris. A Volkswagen, for example, sits upside down, windows crushed, on the second floor of this one.
So, had to climb the exterior, which was fine, until I reached the half-way point and saw the bits of broken glass jutting up from the hand rail. It was stuck there with some sort of bitter-tasting resin. At first I thought it was tree sap, from the smell, but it tasted somehow animal. Turns my stomach to think of it.
I continued the climb, wrapping my palms in handkerchiefs and trying to clear the glass away as best I could with my pocket knife. I usually carry an old Swiss Army knife, for the versatility. It proved nearly useless in this endeavor. Even with the precautions, my hands are full of cuts, and its taken most of the morning for Seline Jericho to take the slivers of glass out of my hands.
Typing this is agonizing.
I've seen a lot, doing what I do. Not much bothers me any more. But what I saw in the Mono, well, it shook me. I've mentioned before that they live in the monorail cars. I don't know how I pictured their living conditions, but it didn't prepare me for the reality.
The first thing I noticed was the flyblown meat hanging from the car's ceiling. Each carcass, skinned and gutted were evenly spaced and were suspended from hooks hanging from the ceiling.
Three spider-people(?) rested in the car, two on benches and the third, leaning against the opposite window, in some mock-cruciform position. I didn't take him in at first, just thought he was part of the scenery. But when my mind registered he was a person and not decoration, I actually screamed and nearly lost my balance.
I decided then that I was done, and began the long climb down, but not before taking a picture.
For now, I'm done with the spider-men. I don't feel comfortable that they can be reasoned with. I'll think on the problem while I'm gone to LA.
Until then, Cheers.
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