# 110 Where Do We Go
Joe banged his beer bottle on the wooden bar at the Beehive Café to get everyone’s attention. A strange looking man, Joe had pointed ears like Spock in Star Trek. He appeared out of nowhere two days earlier and began right away to spout his philosophical views.
“Where do we go when much too soon this life, we know concludes? Do our spirits go across a concealed veil to gather again with friends, or with anyone at all?”
“Why don’t you shut up?” echoed from the end of the bar.
“Can I buy you a drink, my friend?” Joe was always willing to pay for an audience.
“Take your drink and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine,” the voice said.
“Listen, my friend, nano-pieces are floating in the ether, becoming moonbeams and shimmering starlight. They’re drifting among our dreams, and when you die and are sizzling in that flaming house of pain, they’ll be compensating you for not listening to me.”
“You won’t have to wait until you die to visit that house of pain if you don’t shut your trap,” the voice said.
Joe tried to see who spoke, but the voice came from the part of the bar where many men watched an ongoing game of pool. He continued, “Universal vortexes are flashing energy in singularity space. Emerging intellectual conception gives humankind centuries of collective perception that is brilliantly restructuring in a select few, Einstein and DaVinci to name but two.” Joe took a drink from his beer and waited for a response from the loudmouth at The End of the bar.
“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” the voice responded.
Silence filled the air at the Beehive as patrons listened for Joe’s reaction.
“I know that right here, right now, unseen in this dimension is something strange and concealed from you, but before the night’s over, you will see what it is.”
“I fought in two wars to protect our freedom of speech, but listening to you spout off, I’m wondering if I did the right thing,” came the reply from amidst the crowd.
“Someday my friend, you’ll be living on a faraway star in an existence where you’ll be able to see through the veil cloaking the other side. You’ll look back and find out if what you did in this life was right or wrong.”
“I don’t think I need to wait until I go to the other side to know somebody should have shut your mouth long ago.”
The voice grew stronger every time it spoke. Joe peered through the smoky haze to see who it was. He saw a heavily built, giant of a man sitting on a stool facing the bar. He looked like a trouble maker. “Well, my friend, you’re lamenting for simply existing is part of the suffering prophesied. Mankind will suffer until time’s end.” Joe was on a roll and before the voice had time to answer he said, “Imagine what it will be like on the other side where you’ll exist for a million years, and if you discover what you have done in this life is wrong, how will you endure, not millions, but billions of years? Stretch your mind, how will you feel after a trillion years has gone by?”
“I think if I don’t kick your ass before I die; I’ll regret it all those years.”
No one made a sound and everyone backed away from the muscular man who sat staring at Joe, daring him to respond. Joe felt he had to go knock him off his barstool. The fool wouldn’t listen to what he was trying to tell him.
Joe took a swig from his beer, dragged his hand over his mouth to wipe off the foam and strode with intent to harm the man who had been mocking him. The man calmly watched. Joe made a fist, stepped forward with his left foot and swung a roundhouse right to the guy’s jaw. The man flew off the barstool onto the floor. Next to his stool was a pair of crutches. Joe looked where the man’s legs should have been and saw one with a wooden peg for a foot and a stump.
“Hey, Joe just punched a cripple,” a player said.
Angry muttering went up around the bar because no one thought it right to hit a man with no legs. Joe prepared to do what he had been sent to do. The man squirmed on the floor to his bar stool and hand over hand, he pulled himself up and sat on it once again.
Joe said, “Do you remember I said, ‘something strange is concealed from you, but before the night is done, you will see what it is?”
“Yeah, I remember that B.S.”
Joe reached into a bag strapped to his waist. His hand came out covered with what appeared to be Vaseline. Joe rubbed it on the stumps of the man’s leg and amputated foot.
“What are you, some kind of fag?” the man yelled and tried to squirm away.
The men playing pool headed for Joe with anger written on their faces. Before they reached him, the man screeched, “Holy cow, look at that.” He pointed at his leg that was rapidly regenerating. All watched. Within minutes, both legs reached an equal length and then feet grew on The Ends.
Honey had had a mastectomy three months ago. She ripped her blouse open and yelled, “Rub some of that stuff here,” She pointed to the scar on her chest.
Joe dipped his hand into his pouch, got some Vaseline like substance on it and rubbed both hands on her chest. Almost instantly, she grew two breasts.
Honey ripped open her blouse to see her new breasts in the bar’s back mirror. She saw she now had three, and the one in the middle was bigger than the other two combined.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Joe said. “My job here is to help the lame and crippled.”
“Yeah, you helped me all right. You’ve turned me into a fucking freak,” she screamed, pulled out a gun and shot Joe in the head.
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