Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


October 21st 2015 in Microfiction

“You true, man?” a voice in the alley rang out. “Yeah, man; I’m good,” came a response from farther down. “Wally?” the same voice called. “You facing north, Brother?” “Comin’ back; doin’ the work,” sounded another voice in reply. Nick heard footsteps and felt himself shaken gently awake. “You okay?” someone asked. “You true?” “Please fuck off,” Nick mumbled, bleary and sick. “I don’t even know what that means.” “It means,” Arnie said, sitting down with him and prodding Nick into a sitting position. “You understand that you’re not without hope unless you have no one to represent True North. You gotta always have that one person you can call who will tell you about yourself and you will listen – somebody who’ll kick your ass to save your life … and sacrifice the friendship to get you pointed in the right direction.” Nick accepted the cup of black coffee placed in his hands; it was a cold morning and it felt good just to hold it. “I got nobody,” he whispered. “Not true,” Arnie said, smiling and pushing two pieces of paper into Nick’s pocket (along with the coins to use the ancient pay phone two blocks down). “True Norths,” Arnie said into Nick’s confused and questioning face. “You can borrow mine.”

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