A Long Journey for a Small Box

“This box,” said Weathers, “Made its way here all the way from Marakesh.” He was blowing grey smoke and the ribs of the window blinds showed in it. It was hot in his office.

”Really,” I said, humoring him, and then I focused on the smart-looking yellow letters. “What’s Ediblo,” I asked.

”When you hear Marakesh,” he deflected, “What do you think about?"

"I dunno, carpets?”

He tsk-tsk’d me. “How about William Boroughs. The Beat Generation. Naked Lunch. Any of that ring a bell?"

"Yeah, kind of,” I lied.

”Well, Ediblo is a brand from Naked Lunch."

"Remind me what naked lunch is again,” I said.

”It’s a novel about a bunch of junkies crossing the boundaries of reality. It’s funny how somebody made a box for a fictional brand. It’s like it crossed a boundary to get here as well."

"Yeah,” I nodded.

Weathers was barely visible in the cloud of cigarette smoke he had conjured up. Was there no ventilation in the office?

”So what do you want me to do about it?” I asked, “Find out who made it?"

"No, but you can help me find out what it is that’s inside.” He pushed the box across the desk to me. The whole box was blue cardboard and it was pretty weathered. I picked it up and opened the lid, it was filled with a solid brownish-black substance. It smelled like bug spray and licorice.

Just outside his office, I started formulating a plan, and I hardly noticed his secretary. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Benson?” she asked. Strands of her hair were glued to her face with sweat, it was so hot in there.

”Yes, see you around,” I said. Had she been there when I came in? Frankly, I could not remember how I got into Weather’s office in the first place.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk