Congratulations On the Mess You Made Of Things

The clouds twisted over themselves, as the the wind ripped them into dark contorted shapes. People should be running for cover, battening down the hatches, stocking up on food; but not the people in this ruddy little town. Leon Van Damme stood in the field behind Castle Apartments and glared at this little dirty man wearing glasses with no lenses. The wind blew his shaggy gray hair over Leo's craggy features, he didn't move. He locked eyes with this grubby hipster, his useless glasses started to slip down his short upturned nose, his eyes began to dart about. All the other filthy little protesters we're taking cover in their shabby tents. The wind intensified, as did Leo's stare.

Tall and lanky, Leo stood a good head above the pig-man with the stupid glasses. The little man swallowed, and shifted his gut uncomfortably in his absurdly small argyle vest. Leo took a step forward with a well thought out statement poised on the tip of his tongue; He was cut off by the little man instinctively throwing his megaphone up to is mouth, squeezing the trigger and blasting a screech right into Leo's face. He reeled backwards, and collapsed against a tree a few feet back.

"Motherfucker! Ya little bitch..." Leo screamed into the wind, but it was lost in the howl, and never made it to the little pig-man squealing back to his tent. He slid the rest of the way down the tree and slid his hands through his hair. "Goddamn Protesters" he mumbled to himself. "All they do is complain." He didn't mind it when they first set up, brought something different when he walked to work, when he was late for the bus. He actually liked walking, the bus was too noisy, hard to concentrate. All week had Leo put up with the nagging little graduate school bitches, but today he snapped. He'd pay for it too, he was late for work.

However, it wouldn't be the unbearable Brit: Mr. Devon Tresp, who would rip Leo a new one. it would be the owner of WTF 100.4, a Mr. Lancaster, who would have that honor. Mr. William Lancaster probably owns about half of the small town radio stations this side of the Mississippi. He was in town deciding whether or not to keep this station.

***

After Mr. Lancaster sorted out the bureaucratic mess of the station's office, it turned out that Devon Tresp isn't Leo's boss at all. Both DJ's work under Mr. Lancaster as equals.

Despite his actual boss being present, Leo couldn't help but laugh in the face of the stoic Tresp, who just sat in his chair and shrugged.

"Nothing changes Van Damme. I'm still more important. Understand?" Tresp said, pivoting in his spinning chair. Leo glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Lancaster - consumed in his smart phone.

"Right," Leo said referencing Lancaster. "I'll believe that, sure Devon."

Lancaster looked up, "One more comment like that Mr. Van Damme, and you'll be fired. I don't tolerate insubordination at any of my stations. That includes in this piece of shit building, in this piece of shit town."

Leo was caught off guard, and confused. He looked at Tresp, his cold British hands, clasped together over his cold British heart. He just nodded and said, "Me and Willie been mates for years. He married my cousin. Good ol' chap he is."

Leo slumped against the console. Crushed.

***

As Leo walked though the park, away from the pig-man in his little tent, the wind bringing tears to his eyes, he dreaded what awaited him at WTF today. Yesterday Lancaster and Tresp had walked all over him, and Leo had the feeling that he might be walking in to the booth for the last time tonight. "As always ladies and gentlemen," Leo said in his best radio voice. "Keep it tuned into 100.4." He swung open the doors to the studio, the tears in his eyes having nothing to the with the weather outside.

Call In the Submarine

Leo slid his hands through is prematurely gray hair, as he sat hunched over the radio switchboard, eyes closed, he sighed. Even in the soundproof booth, three floors high, he could feel the city waking up. He felt the multitude of snooze buttons being mashed, the clank of coffeepots, and the building pressure of the water pipes in the bowels of Castle Apartments. Without even turning around to glance at the clock on the wall behind him, he knew it was 7:00AM, the end of his set. Leo, as usual, was exhausted. Nevertheless he always picked his last song with the utmost care, this was the song that was playing at 7:00 when all the alarms went off. He wanted to start the day off on a positive note, despite his eternal lack of energy. For this particular day he picked "Melancholy Hill" it had hopeful aura to it, Leo felt, however it still denoted a rather sad general circumstance. "Perfect" he said as he glanced at the weather chart, reading cool and foggy. "Just perfect." The song buzzed to an end, and without needing to think about it, Leo brought up the volume on his microphone, leaned forward and, using his best 'Good Morning' voice he said, "Good Morning everyone, it's a cool 55 degrees out today, and a bit foggy, so be careful out there. Also we have an announcement from Casa De Waffles," Leo read off a card Mr. Tresp had given him the night before. "Come in for the next fifteen minutes and get a free waffle with a purchase of a small coffee! Damn, sounds like a deal to me, everyone. Well, that's all for me, we have Devon Tresp on next for your morning news at 8:00. I'm Leon Van Damme, and as always keep it tuned into 100.4."

The Days And Nights Are Long

The dust caught the light as it hung in the musty air, Leo watched as it spun ethereally about the glowing dials of the recording booth. He lost himself in the spinning tapes, the hum of the panels, and the lingering echoes of "Everybody Hurts" as the last chords reverberated through his mind. Leo was having a cathartic moment, and he wanted it to last. He pictured this song soaring through the pre-dawn night, describing the town underneath, and giving hope to anyone who bothered to listen. He had a headache as it were, and he would've given his eyes for the chance to doze off until the next shift started. He thought better of it, though thinking of the trailer-trash Mr. Tresp, his boss. Leo shivered at the thought of dealing with that man; his boss had nothing except rage for Leo. He figured Mr. Tresp himself had nothing, so he took it out on his late-night radio DJ.

Earlier that morning, Leo was walking out of his apartment and noticed that that the zero in "room 1011" had fallen off and disappeared. He took a moment to search for it. A moment that he couldn't spare. He missed his usual bus and ended up running the next stop, but not before he was momentarily distracted by the haunting meanderings of Michael Stipe pouring out of a battered boom box, sitting in the lap of a homeless blind man. Leo only stood long enough to hear the song, and examine the poor man's situation. Bolting at the sound of the bus stopping a block ahead.

The song had latched itself to some dark center of his brain, he mused on the idea of a blind man telling the world of more fortunate people to "hold on" and smiled to himself. Leo respected the blind man's valiant motives, and thought he'd do him a favor and launch his song to a bigger audience, via the trusted bandwidth of 100.4 WTF.FM.

- - -

The song faded out and Leo brought up the microphone, then leaned in, saying "Okay everyone, that was R.E.M's 'Everybody Hurts' that goes out to a..." he paused, thinking of a way to describe the blind man. "A man who really knows whats goin' on. Up next we got some Pearl Jam. I'm Leon Van Damme, and as always... keep it tuned into 100.4."

The Usual Set

The day started out with the usual set, it's noon, that means Leo's boss is back at WTF-FM 100.4 broadcasting the same trashy, middle-America junk music across town. Leo sat at the bus stop on the corner of Brownstone and Poplar, his head cradled in his hands, holding his old walkman headphones over his ears. No matter how much he resented the honky tonk bullshit coming through their speakers, his boss would berate him about the "quality" and "character" of his morning set. So he obliged as he sat in the heat of the sun. Already the water in the air was starting to boil, causing beads of sweat to run down his face, catch on his nose, pause for a moment, then let go and spatter onto the ground. A puddle was forming around his feet, but Leo needed none of it. He shut his eyes and concentrated.

Soon the raspy voices of Americana lulled him into repose, he had the midnight to dawn shift down at WTF-FM. Not a bad gig, there were plenty of bars open late, and too many sad, lonely people who need the company in the early hours, so his music did get heard. His set was popular among his listeners, Leo had a knack of playing just the right songs, in a timely fashion. It rallied all those lonelies, all those angst-ridden apartment dwellers. This made Leo happy, or maybe that was just his growing ego getting the best of him. For who of any importance actually listens to late night radio?

The only catch was that Leo's boss demanded him there at 11:30AM every day, he was the techie as well as the late night DJ. After his set was over, he didn't have much time to trudge back over to Castle Apartments, take the stairs to the tenth floor, slam through the eleventh door on the right side, land on his couch and pass out for a couple hours; before his alarm clock woke him up with the opening song of his wondeful boss's set.

Leo opened his eyes at the sound of the bus getting closer, the old diesel engines straining to make the turn around the corner. He caught a whiff of something more than diesel, something muskier, like wet carpet, he glanced up at Castle Apartments as he got on the bus. "I don't even want to know," he muttered to himself.

Late to work, sweaty, stinky, but more or less content, Leon Van Damme found a seat, adjusted his headphones over his prematurely gray hair, and turned up the volume.