Liebe ist für alle da.

-Till Lindemann

Chapter I

Alexander sat peacefully at ease in the barber’s chair, musing softly as rain cascaded down the picture window. His only grievance was the placement of the shop sign. It obstructed his view of the bustling streets of Darien Town, and was oversized and egregious in his opinion.
Then came the moment he loved so much—when it came to getting his hair cut—the moment the apron was draped over him; floating at first gracefully at the hands of the barber, only to fall with the slightest caress of cool air against his face. He thought of gravity and time and the flicker of light within his own eyes which summarized the joy and pain of all history at once in the mirror before him like every man had done since the invention of the thing. Alexander’s eyelids lazily set aside their weight, and as the barber began his work, he drifted into a dark bliss for the duration.
—Oh my sweet baby Glee, I love it so much. Muah!
The sound of the barber’s ecstasy woke Alexander, who was completely unaware that he had fallen into slumber. He rose quickly and sighed, disappointed he had missed out on the pleasant sensation of fingers in his hair.
—Can’t wait to see you again love!
Alexander nodded and paid politely. He procured his coat with haste and stepped despondently out of the shop. The rainclouds had left the sky, but not his soul. Deep within he longed for a place he did not know; a place he had never known. A place that was perhaps far away, perhaps beyond the firmament, where he could be himself, and if at all quite possibly—if not selfishly—relate to the people around him on the most basic of levels. For once, if only for a little while, he would like to be in an environment where other people shared his view that the Earth was flat. Or, at the very least, could be reasonably persuaded that the Earth was flat. But, of course, the year was 1891 and the globe model had been standard issue for over two thousand years.
There was little to no hope for Alexander. He had been depressed about this fact his entire life. The several dozen diaries he kept hidden in his sock drawer could attest to this internal conflict, which could be evidentially traced backed to the age of four.
As it would happen, Alexander had one such diary in his pocket at the moment. After several blocks of aimless walking—Alexander was currently unemployed so his days were wide open—he decided to stop into Beauregard’s Bosom for a hot vodka and cranberry juice, his favorite drink. He could sip on the delicious nectar and angrily doodle cartoons with captions like, Earth’s not freaking round you morons, or Land curves? HA HA HA as if.
Fortunately it was eleven o’clock in the morning, so when Alexander stepped inside the pub he found it nearly empty, save for the bartender and a solitary drunk at the end of the bar reading a hardcover copy of CockTales: Stories For Boys. Alexander put in his drink order and sulked off to the most unassuming corner he could find. Upon receiving his requested beverage he produced his notebook and began to draw.
Several minutes of sweet silence passed by. Alexander drank, drew, drank, and drew some more. The morning began to take on a different tone; a pleasant one. For starters, the bartender hadn’t said a word to him since he walked in. He found that to be considerate beyond belief. The only thing that worried Alexander was the way the sharp-dressed man at the end of the bar was turning the pages of his book. There was a quality of laziness about him, careless towards time, almost as if he could approach Alexander out of sheer boredom at any moment and expect to have a personal conversation.
As soon as Alexander thought this, however, he kicked himself in the foot. He knew that his powers of observation were always on point, and that there was a high probability he was correct about what would happen in the next two seconds.
Lo and behold, there came a resounding thud. The man at the end of the bar closed his book and hopped off the barstool. Alexander immediately did his best to appear as if he were hard at work on something that required his devout attention. This was not an arduous illusion to maintain. After all, it was essentially true minus the aspect of requirement.

—Hello dear man. I am Mackenzie.

Alexander ignored this advance.
—May I sit down?
—We live in a free country.
—Do we?
Alexander perked up. Perhaps the fates had brought him a human capable of understanding the complex tribulations of the present generation. Not likely, but perhaps. Alexander decided against making eye contact, but he did respond with a question of his own.
—To what are you referring?
—May I sit?
—Yes.
—Can I tell you something about myself?
—Is it that you are lonely? For if so, I’ll have you know I’m not interested in the connotations of such revelations of character. I’m no lady of the night.
—I didn’t suspect that you were Mr. …?
—Alexander… Gleason, Alexander. Alexander Gleason. My apologies, these vodka crans are very dry.
—So um… May I… May I make my true revelation?
—I suppose.
—Sometimes, and keep in mind this is just me, but sometimes when I see a beautiful woman, one who is elegantly clad and well endowed with certain natural curves which could engorge the tender flower of any passing lesbian, I feel within myself a certain illness of the body. One which causes…

Mackenzie looked both ways and leaned in close.

—One which causes my abdominal muscles to ache, my legs to tremble, and a dull tingle to arise in the nether region of my manliness. Next thing I know my brain is alight with fantasy and sensual fever dreams. I’m crazy, and I know it. But! Something tells me that you might just be crazy too.
Alexander furrowed his brow, realizing the man may have mistaken the nature of his curvaceous and circular doodles. He stowed his diary immediately.
—Nope. I’m as sane as they make ‘em. I’ve never so much as looked at a woman.
—You know what they look like though of course?
—Well, of course. I know one when I see one.
—But you don’t… you know…
—I’ve never looked after a woman with lustful intent. Of course not, never even once.
—So you’re, normal.
—Yes, absolutely. Totally normal. And I think you are crazy and this conversation needn’t go any further.

Mackenzie mumbled something in frustration, but he wasn’t about to surrender. 
—Are you a man of science or religion?
Alexander swirled his vodka cran and ate an ice chunk.
—Are they mutually exclusive?
—Well, in most cases.
—You’ve conducted surveys?
—No, but you seem to have inadvertently answered my question so I’m going to press on.
—Toward what?
—The truth. I’m going to show you two photographs, both of which were surprisingly easy to come by, and I’m going to gauge your reaction to them.
—If I had said I was religious would you still have shown them to me?
—No comment. Are you ready?
—Absolutely not.
Mackenzie nodded in rejection of the sentiment. He reached into the breast pocket of his undershirt and pulled out two playing card sized carbons. 

—First, number One!

Alexander immediately saw before him the likeness of a man in leather pants, clearly aroused by his own titillations of the nipples.

—Second, number Two!

The picture of the man was stowed in exchange for a femme fatale, dressed to the hilt in formal attire, taunting the camera with her immaculate cleavage. Mackenzie made both cards disappear faster than the eye could see.
—I knew it! I sure as gosh darn heckle jeckel knew it!
Alexander blushed, his face downcast.
—I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about.
—You’re a freak! Oh boy. Oh me oh my! What a fantastic day! I knew I wasn’t alone in this terrible disorder. I just knew it!
—I am not disordered in any sense of the word. My home is in ship shape and my mind as clear as a crystal ball.
—That may very well be. But you my friend, are attracted to women. 
—I beg to differ.
—Nope, you are. When I showed you Number One you swallowed nervously and tightened your brow. Yet, when I showed you Number Two your pupils dilated and you shifted in your seat. You Alexander are as straight as they come, and if I’m not mistaken, in this day and age that makes you a freak of nature!
—Fine. So what if I am? Are you going to report me to the authorities?
—Mine own brethren? Of course not. See, this is exactly what I was referring to. We don’t live in a free country comrade, by no means!
—How are those two things related?

Mackenzie scoffed.

—Um… Because vaginal intercourse has been illegal in the state of New York for as long as I can remember! As a human man I should have the right to consensually make love to a woman without being persecuted. It’s just common sense! Gah! I’m so sick of the Nineties.
Alexander cast a glance towards the bartender.
—Don’t talk so loudly, someone might hear us. Besides, you’re wrong. It’s not illegal. Otherwise where do all the children come from? Generations are still moving forward.
—Yes, indeed, but have you not investigated this? In order to procreate naturally, one must first prove their homosexuality beyond all reasonable doubt before the court. Once approved, the donor is subject to a medicated state of arousal in a laboratory environment wherein the conception is conducted under intense supervision. This is quite literally the only way to legally participate in female on male action.
—And you know this how?
—I’ve investigated, obviously.
—You haven’t attempted to participate?
—No way partner! I couldn’t prove my homosexuality before a court. There’s no evidence first of all, and my conscience dictates that I cannot bear false witness about myself.
—So, you’re religious?
—No sir, but I do have a keen sense of my own internal principles which have evolved since my birth through various metaphysical revelations regarding the cause and effect of actions between self and other. The consequences of which can be observed continuously through the conduct and subsequent emotional state of those around me.
—Meaning what exactly?
—If I lie about myself in front of myself I’ll know for certain that I live in a world I am continually at odds with. Thus, my mind will never be able to even itself out and I will feel cut off from the divine purpose of my own existence.
—So you think there’s a divine purpose?
—You sure ask a lot of questions.
—Why not answer them if there are answers to be had?
—Fair enough. The answer is simple. If I have no purpose in being here, then there is no purpose in being. If there is no purpose in being, then when everything ends it will have all been for naught. Therefore, if all is for naught in the end, then there would not have been a purpose in beginning.
—Perhaps it was automatic.
—That means there was a purpose.
—No it doesn’t. It just happened.
—But it wouldn’t have happened automatically without a purpose. Everything automatic inherently has a purpose. The purpose of a negative pole of a magnet is to attract the positive pole. Thus, it happens automatically because that is it’s purpose.
—Well now… That’s nothing but cunning linguistics!
—No it’s not. How do you think the magnet knows to do what it does?
—It doesn’t know! It simply does.
—What if it didn’t do it?
—Then the universe would fall apart at the seams. 
—Exactly.

With the debate having reached a grinding halt, Alexander realized even though the progression of topics made little sense, he was enjoying it nonetheless. He couldn’t help but admit that Mackenzie was somewhat akin to himself. He was attracted to women first of all, which made him the only other man Alexander knew with H.D.—Heterosexual Disorder. Plus, he had outlandish opinions about the nature of existence, which paralleled—in spirit if not in fact—his own outlandish opinions about the nature of the planet Earth. Alexander had never felt more comfortable with a stranger. His lifelong depression lifted momentarily, and with it his inhibitions.
—Mr. Mackenzie, would you like to go for a walk down by the coast? There’s something very scientific I’d like to show you.
Apparently Mackenzie sensed no deception, nor ill will, because he ordered two more shots of vodka and they were out the door in no time.  

  Outside, whilst Mackenzie struggled to properly don his fur coat and matching gloves, Alexander hailed a Taxi. Motor cars were of course rare at this time, but luck was shining down upon them. Up to the curb pulled a quiet carriage with room for two. Mackenzie was too drunk to notice it at first, but once he did he was taken aback. 
—Excuse me sir?
—Yes fair gentleman? Where to?
—Sir, you seem to have put the cart before the horse. So much so in fact they may still be in the stables. I mean what the fuck is this crap?
—You’ll have to dismiss my friend here. He’s a little tipsy.
—No horses gentlemen. This is the way of the future. All electric. My name is Samuel by the way, pleasure to make your acquaintance. 

Mackenzie waved his arms.

—I don’t know about this Alex.
—It will be fine, get in.
Despite his reservations, Mackenzie stepped into the back seat. The driver dropped a lever into place and they were off at a startling fourteen miles per hour.
—I’ve never seen an electric car before.

Mackenzie’s tone was one of accusation rather than curiosity, but the driver didn’t seem to mind.

—As I said fair Gentlemen, they are the way of the future. This being one of the very first, invented by a dear friend of mine in London. Lord willing in a few short years they’ll be everywhere. We’re thinking of starting a company.
—Is that so?
—Indeed. We haven’t decided on a name yet, but there have been talks. We were thinking, The Electric Vehicle Company.

Mackenzie peered askance at Alexander.

—Sounds like you’ve got a genius marketing team.
—You’re darn right about that my good sir! Thankee. 
—If it were my company I would’ve ended up with something more run-of-the-mill like, Super Horseless Wagons. Or, Hummingbird Express Carriages. Or, my personal favorite, Lightning Rods Incorporated.
The driver flipped his lower lip.
—Ah yes, the old world sensibility. No shame in that.
—You remind me of my mother.
In his drunken state, Mackenzie’s attention span had drastically shortened. He began pointing at various establishments and pronouncing their names with indulgent propriety. He spoke as if to himself, yet he clearly wished to be heard. Numerous observations were made regarding the passers by. All the men were holding hands and all the women were arm in arm. Children were attempting to play fetch with pigeons.
—Look at them! They’re so dumb!

Mackenzie began absentmindedly searching his pockets; laughing when he found the picture cards.

—Remember when I showed you these Alex? Ah! We were just kids.
Alexander, unenthused by Mackenzie’s antics, straightened his hat and leaned forward to speak with the driver regarding their destination.