Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones Vagabonds Vol. 3 | Page 41

Psalms: Collectors
Weasel
“You have one new message. It is voice: ‘Hi, this is a message for Izzy ―.
This is Miranda from Cash Advance and this is an attempt to collect a
debt, we will need a return call.”
The phone buzzed violently at 4AM for only a few seconds before the
message was left. It appeared that the rumors of collectors having lives
was rather false as Izzy deleted it from his inbox. No matter, they would
call again, maybe shortly, or in a few hours. It was not a matter he looked
heavily into, especially so early in the morning. He placed the phone by
his television where it stayed for the most part when he was home. Phone
calls were not something he had hoped for. Izzy grabbed a half-empty
bottle of water and gulped the final drops of it before tossing the cheap
plastic into a can of unopened envelopes. Past due notices never stated
itself on the envelope as they did on television, that was the trick. You’d
still have to open them eventually, but he tossed them and never looked
inside them.
Izzy laid back onto the bed, the roar of his A/C unit blasting through the
silence of the room. It was on most of the night, helped him breathe while
sleeping. Suffocation was happening too often lately. His eyes closed,
capturing the last image of the off-white ceiling above him, his eye-lids
holding it warmly. The last image before the next interruption. The last
meditation before realizing nirvana is not available at this time, please call
again. Though bland, it was the last minute peace he could carry with him.
He turned over to look at his partner, inched closer to have some warmth
in the morning. Kissing the sleeper on the cheek, Izzy lay there for a
moment before feeling the body next to him shift and turn over,
unknowing of the fact that he was there. He breathed in and let out a deep
sigh before sitting up and turning on the television. Infomercials were the
savior of his sanity, the escape from the real because they were the only
thing available. The news didn’t start for another hour, cartoons for
another two, and although he could read, the light would have to be turned
on. Izzy did not want to disturb the peace because he could not afford the
ability to sleep. Television on low volume was his last resort.
He sat there, looking at the images on the screen, but not really paying
attention. Torrential rains echoed violently as he was flustered with the
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