The crowd had arrived by Uber, or in Teslas. The grills had been smoking for hours and the smell of Terrapin Sliders ($8, vegan alternative available) filled the air. To the left were white people in comfortable shoes, and to the right were whiter people in more comfortable shoes. Doobies were passed, strains discussed, pocket vapes compared. It was a Sunday in Marin County and clouds had been outlawed by Governor Brown.
But in the small office in the belfry of Terrapin Crossroads, all was not well. Phil slumped in his chair and stared at the wall of video monitors; they were the only light in the room. A busboy stands behind him. There may or may not be multiple jars of urine.
“It stops here, you hear me? I win. Phil wins! This is a classy establishment and there won’t be any pooping on the bocce courts.”
“Phil, don’t you think you should say hi to people now?”
“Say hi? To them? One of them did it! Filthmonsters, all of them! Besides, if I go down there, I can’t watch the cameras. Hey! What’s that?”
“There! Right there! Do you see that?”
“What? Where? There’s nothing there.”
“My balls, there’s nothing wrong. Enhance!”
“WE GOT A CODE BROWN!
“Phil, that’s a leaf.”
“Tell Jill to grab the shotgun and meet me in the bar!”
“It’s a leaf.”
…
“It’s a leaf?”
“It’s a leaf, Phil.”
“Then tell one of the busboys to get a rake.”
“Sure.”
“Wait, something’s not right. I see something happening by the stage.”
“The stage is nowhere near the bocce courts.”
“Maybe that’s where they plan the pooping. Who knows with these sickos? Nah, I can’t see it on here. We need more cameras. I’m using Plan B. Come in, Eyes of the World. Come in, Eyes of the World. This is Reddy Kilowatt of the Grateful Dead. Over.”
“Eyes of the World here. Over.”
“I need you over by the stage. Over”
“What am I looking for? Over.”
“There’s something going down over there. Over.”
“Where over there? Over.”
“Over there! They’re over there! Over.”
“Where? Over.”
…
“Brent, if you’re going to be a pain in the ass, I’ll just throw a busboy in the outfit.”
“Aw.”
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