“What a con artist!”

“Yeah right, Tyson. Who, Disney or Lucas?”

“Don’t start in on that, Justin”

“DC versus Marvel? A no-brainer!”

“You reckon?”

“Just look at The Avengers. More bang for your buck. That’s the expanded universe I’m interested in.”

“Speaking of cons, did you get your tickets for the Comic-Con next month? They’ll sell fast…”

“Relax, Tyson. I got them.”

“Was that before or after you paid your share of the rent?”

“Double down, Dumbledore. We’ll have a roof over our heads for your birthday bash.”

“Hah! Not that I’d doubt it if you didn’t want to try it on with Sonia. The party is a perfect excuse. I just don’t want you looking for handouts before your next pay comes in. You really have to get a financial plan in place, especially if you want to show her a good time.”

Tyson and Justin suddenly realised Will was in the room.

“Please tell us you’re not really thinking about becoming an accountant!”

“I can’t help it if I’m good with my hard earned money, Justin. Where there’s a will there’s a way. Or just in time, as they say…”

The double storey student bachelor pad on Munster Terrace, North Melbourne, seemed to shudder and strain at the foundations in sympathy with the groans from Will’s housemates gathered round the coffee table in the audiovisual break out space.

A first time visitor could be forgiven for thinking they had literally entered a startup venture at ground level.

A big flat screen was mounted on the wall, above the home theatre set-up and surround sound speaker assemblage that resembled the choice items from a recording studio garage sale.

Another wall housed shelves containing a veritable bibliotheque of classic 20thCentury cult favourites and 21stCentury trendsetting cinema titles in Blue-ray disc collections. Several of the box sets almost appeared to be supporting the unit at the crucial load-bearing limits of the construction.

Two fit balls lay semi-deflated in a corner with a pogo stick and a Frisbee.

An ergonomic kneeling office chair (dubbed the ‘prayer chair’) was pushed in to face a design desk on which an iMac held pivotal sway as the main communal interface.
 Not that it was needed, as the array of devices scattered over the coffee table would attest to more immediate and transportable options for referential personal applications in the quest for a quick info retrieval fix.

An old style dial phone was housed in a flimsy mock-up of the TARDIS in another corner, beside which stood a sturdy composite unit featuring arcade games from the early 80s, such as GalagaandScramble.
The coin housing had been altered to allow for repeat re-feeds of tokens, which ensured uninterrupted period game-a-thons.

The ‘coffee table’ itself looked more like a prop from the movie ALIEN in the infamous dinner / rebirthing scene, complete with modular seating arrangements and a tribute to the holo-chess scene in Star Wars as a central piece-cum-lazy Susan.

Now this isa big space. It was a converted factory and retail outlet, after all. When there was a manufacturing sector alive and still thriving on the fringes of the city.
 Hard to recall whether it had been in the shoe trade or furnishings. Either way, a distinctive aroma of leather still permeated the premises – 30 odd years after the business had folded.

Hard to know if the bars on all the windows were a remnant from the days of commercial yore or a more recent testament to inner-city residential anxieties.

Still, there remained a grungy exposure of distressed brick and bluestone, timber and the occasional steel girder transversing the ceilings, and connecting reinforced structures or elevated chambers that no longer seemed to exist.

Justin reckoned the renovations had been done by the ‘Underlay Brothers’– resetting the grid for a retro-spatial future in a grim contextual concession to success.

“We could always have gone in together and rented another old place and simply put this up on AirBnB as part of our shared investment portfolio. Give it a certain cantina vibe for A New Hope devotees. Arriba, arriba! Get it?”

Will was quite taken with the idea and even formulated what would be required to offset the initial costs in one of his mathematical visualisations.

‘We really should have considered this sooner, Justin.”

“Oh, come on Will” Tyson parlayed.

“It’s too late for that now. Let’s make the best of what we have and then maybe further down the road when we can explore the options for mergers and acquisitions…”

Justin winked at Tyson in open conspiracy.

“Now hang on guys. You’re thinking outside the box. That’s commendable, but this isn’t the Big Bang Theory. We’re just shrimp in a very murky paste. However much a diverse mix we may be, we have to be realistic, and…”

Justin broke first.

“Yeah, right. A diverse group alright. We all look like members of the same Indie band, except one of us could sub as the manager as well.”

The three amigos appraised each other’s second skins, their promotional ‘merch’ t-shirts featuring Iron Man, Robbie the Robot and Boba Fett.

A brief hiatus followed, as though a curtain of silence fell, before Will yanked on the rope and pulley-like system that was the umbilical cord that connected them to their shared reveal, and resumed…

“But, we’re in Game Design and VR, not some Game of Thrones musical chairs spin off for the tone deaf. We’re not Sigur Ros or Daft Punk. We’re Amazing-Kettle.Inc.”

“You should be in PR…”

They shuffled their rubber soled feet in unison at mention of this and each was distracted by their smartphones vying for their attention.

The t-shirts were not only the obvious in-your-face manifestation of tribal allegiance or association.
 Corporate attire having gone the way of Silicon Valley, Google and Facebook, (although Mark Zuckerberg sure looked the part when facing a congressional hearing), it was de rigueur to expect the other accoutrements of Converse tennis shoes, jeans or cargo pants and hoodies.
 Perfect for blending into the crowd for a spot of espionage. (Well, that’s what Justin had fantasised about ever since seeing his brother’s old video copy of Sneakers…)

‘Anti-establishment’ was one term for it, but this in itself had morphed into a term of endearment for a group of likeminded individuals who had bonded as friends at university and had made a pact to change the world.
 It was now verging on respectable. For their needs, at least acceptable.
 They were in on the joke. Yet, no one knew what to really expect from the punchline.

At least they thought they did, as their right as millennials. They saw the irony writ large on the laneway wall behind their headquarters, albeit temporary address. ‘Cynically Passionate’ was their equivalent of the Manic Street Preacher’s adage of ‘Resistance is Futile.’

* * * * * * * * *

I should know, because I got sucked right into the vortex that spun out from such an open plan.

Being a local, I walked by their place almost daily between my home and public transport, to and fro on the way to uni.
 I always thought the place was an outlet for ‘out there’ kitchen ware, especially kettles, given the sign out the front of a futuristic water boiler in the shape of what looked like a cactus sprouting metallic prongs of steam and coils of attitude. But they could have been florid bookmarks that could double as pocket knife eating utensils. Who knows? Very Steampunk.

Now I’m letting my imagination run away with me.

Besides, how were they to know? Joke or no joke. Which begs the question: when isn’t a joke a joke?
 This had all the hallmarks of a prank that, well, just kinda got a little out of hand.

Anyway, I’d seen them around campus. Not that we mixed in the same company or anything. We’re not in the same year, but they were on the radar as ‘persons of interest’. Oh, god! Now I sound like an amateur sleuth with aspirations to join the police force. I think I’ll stick with a major in psychology. Maybe that should be ‘unknown entities’…

They were always a part of the stalls promoting themselves for O’ Week as a way to get undergraduates to join their social club: Booty Bonds Originals - Comics and Games (sponsored by their idea for a startup with the kettle logo; they could just as easily have sponsored a tea and coffee appreciation society. One of them must have been studying accounting or something. I’m not surprised they riff on the idea of derivatives).

The club traded in new and used comics and arranged games nights. Not your ordinary board games, mind you.
 These guys were into virtual reality and role playing. It wasn’t just ‘shoot ‘em up’ Art of Warcraft, Call of Duty or pitched battle stuff.
 A bit more cerebral I think, judging from their demeanour. Definitely not your average Hipster types, more indie and hip to bucking the trend, even if they did come off as a bit predictable. They were still likeable.

I’m not into that scene, myself. I am aware of the world of VR and it’s potential, and have read a few random comics in my time, but the whole gaming thing just leaves me cold. I suppose it’s partly the violence and to some extent the insular nature of just you and your console or keyboard. They rave about it being a ‘community’, yet it is still too far removed from reality for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I love sci-fi and the popular culture signifiers as much as the next member of Gen X, but I am a master’s student in the middle of my PhD. (And it has taken long enough.) Besides the inclination, I don’t have the time to waste. A bit harsh, I know. I have a certain standing to maintain in academia. I’m not judging them. Good luck to ‘em, the precocious nerds. God knows where they get the backing from. Parents I suppose.

Now, I’m not being a pretentious wanker, but I’m more of your connoisseur of analogue tech (I AM NOT A HIPSTER!) and vinyl records. And I love book fairs. I have a fair few sci-fi paperbacks in my own collection. And I love classic films like A Clockwork Orange (read the book first) - Kubrick is a genius – and art house over blockbuster, but I am NO snob. Not really. I even call myself a ‘misopogonist’: never had a beard and never will. Damn itchy affectations. I like a nice clean shave. Not necessarily a close shave, especially with fate.

I might even try my hand with creative writing again, once I can call myself Doctor.
 Plenty of inspiration to mine. Might even spin a strange turn of events I experienced thanks to the ‘kettle crew’, as I’ve come to call them. And what a witches’ brew it was too…

* * * * * * * * *

“Now that is what I call an orientation…”

Justin rocked back in his chair and locked his hands behind in head in an overly chuffed repose.

“Tsk tsk, Jus.”

“I am not a bloody gravy, Tyson!”

“Well, you seemed to be running all over the place, ‘agog’, I would say, in a bid to entice all the pretty first years to our vision of an alternate universe. What happened to Sonia?”

Justin rocked back into a neutral position and rubbed his chin in thought.

“Sonia, Sonia, let me see…”

Tyson rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Sonia. She’s just fine. I saw her this morning. She’s looking forward to your party.”

“What!? You told her? But we haven’t even sent out invites. What if she starts to spread word? I wanted to confine this thing to a certain crowd.”

“Relax Tyson. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Now why does that sound familiar?”

“I must be such a nag. Just be grateful I’m not a hard-arse.”

“It’s not your arse I’m worried about, mate. Sonia will have your balls if she gets word of how attentive you’ve been during O’ Week.”

Justin lent forward earnestly.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I take my role seriously.”

“I can see that.”

“Don’t tell me you never look at the produce, so to speak.”

“Look but not touch, eh?”

“Precisely. Now you get me.”

“As a friend I don’t want to see you get it. I hope she realises you’ve got schmooze to spare. How did we go on the sign-up in the end?”

Justin consulted his smartphone.

“Final figures aren’t in yet. I was preoccupied with the logistics of the event, as you know. Will should have all the info at his fingertips.”

“You can tell me. That trestle table is a bastard to get in and out of the ute and then set up.”

“You could try doing it out of character for a change.”

“You know how I feel. It ruins the mood and helps set the scene. Keeps them guessing and hovering about to see what it’s all about.”

And just what is it all about? Justin paused to reflect.

“Anyway, you could drag yourself away from logistical duties instead of leaving all the heavy lifting to me for a change.”

“But that’s what you’re good at. That and the art of the spruik.”

“Apart from the frippery, you mean. Where does that leave you?”

“Why, I’m the face of the collective.”

Tyson scoffed good naturedly.

“Hah! So, we’re a collective now are we.”

“Well…”

“That was meant to be rhetorical.”
Justin raised a quizzical eyebrow, as if to question his own IQ.

“Is that your brain creaking, mate”?

This question was immediately followed by a loud bang as the front door closed to announce Will’s return.

He was foreshadowed by the upright hand trolley he pushed into the room.

“So, what kept you?”

“Patience, Tyson, patience.”

“I’m in no hurry…”

Will stopped and let the trolley come to rest in front of the communal table.

“So, what have we to show for the day’s hectic schedule?”

Will stood beside the trolley like a used car salesman delivering his pitch or a politician preparing to kiss a baby. Either way, he looked pleased with himself, if a little nonplussed.

“You might well ask. I can report that I, sorry, wesigned up 25 first year students to add to our list of players and comic lovers. Not a bad aggregate, really.”

Justin was quick with the follow-up.

“So what’s the ratio of males to females?”

Will consulted his notebook atop the trolley stack of two milk crates, a laptop case and a bowler hat.

“You will be pleased with your efforts when I say that we have 15 males to 10 females. Not surprising, really. Not forgetting that these numbers could very likely increase over the short term as word of mouth recommendations spread. Having said that, we must make better use of our social media presence. We can expect a corresponding number of ‘likes’ on our Facebook page.”

“Good work guys. We do ourselves proud. I really appreciate your enthusiasm.”

“And we appreciate yours, Tyson. Don’t we Will?”

“Well at least you didn’t expect me to pull a rabbit out of my hat.”

“Wonders will never cease, Will. Wonders will never cease…”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

Justin and Tyson looked at each other uncomprehendingly, waiting for a clue to clear the mysterious air Will was creating.

“Just wait until you see what I have. There was a bit of impromptu swapping that I just couldn’t say no to. You know what that’s like, Justin.”

Justin rolled his eyes and shifted position expectantly.

Will lifted his belongings off the trolley and placed them on the table before removing the top layer of contents from the uppermost milk crate.

This seemed to reengage Tyson who fixed his eyes on the assorted slim sheafs in Will’s hands.

“I scored a couple of trades for myself – a couple of missing issues, so now the series is complete. The ghost who walks can now rest in the knowledge his legacy is safe with me.”

“You are a true custodian of culture, Will. That was a stroke of luck. Was it one of your regulars?”

“Thanks, Tyson. I do my best for the cause. Let’s just say it’s someone I have an understanding with. We know what each other is after and keep a lookout.”

“Cool. Nice arrangement. What else have you got there, besides The Phantom?”

Will paused, looked about the space as if searching for CCTV cameras, and then closed ranks with the others and took up a place at the table.

“I think I may be onto something here. Have you ever heard of Nano?”

Tyson and Justin looked to each other for confirmation of their own ignorance.

“Is that a something or someone?”

“By definition of the ‘now you see him, now you don’t’ rule, you could be forgiven for thinking he could be a close relation of the Flash’s.”

“OK. So it’s a person. What’s the connection?”

Justin chimed in with his own observation.

“It’s also a measure time.”

“As an extension of persona. Maybe…”

“Alright, alright. Let’s back up a little. A nice observation, Justin. Now listen, you’re not still talking walking ghosts are you, Will?”

“You’ll feel like you’ve seen a ghost when you see what I have.”

Tyson and Justin exchanged exasperated glances.

“Now what were we saying before about patience?”

“Virtuous only if you can wait long enough.”

Tyson laughed at Justin’s sympathetic quick-wittedness.

Will stopped himself from encouraging his offsiders any further.

“Understand that I have not gone beyond the realms of reason and I share this with you in good faith. Gentlemen, I give you Nano…”

* * * * * * * * *

It was an inhuman roar of protest that ripped the air as I passed by on my way home.

I had uncharacteristically missed my tram stop back from uni, so engrossed was I in a second-hand copy of selected pieces by H. P. Lovecraft. In order to get back to parallel with Munster Terrace and then cut back to Arden Street, I decided to take the laneway the runs behind.

I’m surprised I even heard it, my smartphone was turned up and my cans firmly in place to block out the sound of peak hour traffic all the way over from Dynon Rd.

And yet it still broke through to claim me.

Heard before I saw any sign of disturbance.

I was approaching the rear of the kooky kettle crew’s premises when another roar bellowed from out of the blue and seemed to pass by as a bone jarring presence along the bluestones.

Thinking there was a car behind me trying to get passed, I removed my headphones only to be confronted by the empty pre-trod route in my wake.

Talk about a rude awakening.

Just as I was about to come level with the rear of their property, an entire section of the back fence heaved and ruptured, showering the lane with wood and corrugated metal sheeting.

I jumped back out of the way, almost losing my balance in the process, and steadied myself up against the neighbour’s brick wall.

The graffiti seemed part of some plot pandering to the initiated: And I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences Don't fence me in…

Someone with a bent for Cole Porter and idiosyncratic spray script was surely having a lend of me.

As if I needed proof, the remains of the fence were shortly followed by someone on the wrong end of what had the force of a firehose, or a very angry elephant. 
He was sprayed across the lane, up against the opposite wall where he was pinned by the torrential stream of water, arms flailing and gasping for air.

“For the love of Nano! Please…”

I had no idea what this meant. Was the guy wielding the hose Nano?

“This is not some Global Game Jam, Justin. We have to remove the stain!”

It was no contest. The firehose was not to be argued with.

“Don’t shit in your own backyard…”

It was only when I looked more closely at the water logged wretch writhing on the cobbles that I noticed he was marked by something resembling a super-sized fudge sundae, smeared over hieroglyphic trace elements tattooed across every visible patch of skin – which was remarkably consistent considering he was only wearing a pair of Speedos; and yet the hose failed to make little impact on the residue.

Mud Apostasy. My random word generator kicked in. I was in the habit of ascribing potential band names to ludicrous scenarios that passed for the everyday.

That and Wretched Mittens. It’s what I assumed you would need to wear in order to perform any kind of first aid.

The wannabe ‘firee’ stanched the flow and stood with the limp nozzle pointed at its drenched and dirty target.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?”

This seemed rather rhetorical as the budgie smuggler was not immediately responsive to any request for information.

“Oh, hey. How’s it going?”

I could only hope that my answer wouldn’t unleash a torrent of abuse.

“I’m just going home. Do you need any help?”

“I’m not sure if chance offers from a good Samaritan could solve this puzzle.”

“He’s with you, isn’t he? I recognise you from uni.”

“He is when he’s in his right mind. And yes, we can be found on campus when we’re not vying to make our name with the IGDA…”

“I’m sorry? I kind of took you for marketeers, but not of the independent grocers’ variety…”

My observation was acknowledged with a groan from the bedraggled form slumped before us in the lane.

“Most amusing. That’s the Independent Game Developers of Australia to you…”

“I prefer Piedimontes to the generic IGA fold.”

“You’re still in good company in North Melbourne for choice.”

This line of enquiry seemed to be ignoring the obvious.

“I’m Dan, anyway. Just passing through on my way back from campus. What’s with your mate?”

“Tyson’s the name…”

He then proceeded to offer me the nozzle of the hose by way of an extended hand to shake.

“Oh, pardon me...”

He threw it with a thud back through the fence and into the yard.

His grip was measured and true.

“You’ll have to forgive Justin here. It’s not like this is normal, even him.”

“What’s he done to deserve the riot act?”

“He’s been ultra-manic of late. Never one to embrace exercise, he’s even taken up jogging. At all hours of the day and night dressed in only his togs and Vans. He’s even installed a bloody treadmill in the place. Pounding the pavement is one thing, but the shockwaves from it in the middle of the night are beyond a joke…”

“And that deserves the water treatment?”

Tyson shook his head in disgust.

“He’s gotta clean up his act. Would you believe he’s resorted to taking a dump in the fire pit? I bet he’s the loon who’s been leaving deposits around the neighbourhood and on campus. Even the residential colleges have been on the receiving end. Not to mention the Melbourne General Cemetery. It’s bloody creepy if you ask me.”

This jogged my memory of recent media reports. The MCG was one thing, but the sacrilegious act of defecating on graves was way out of normality’s league.

“You don’t think he’s the so called poo jogger…?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but now I’m not so sure. Whoever it is does their business in the blink of an eye.”

Justin emitted another mournful moan.

“What’s all the ruckus?”

A disembodied head loomed over the adjoining property’s fence in apparent sympathy with the unfolding sequence of events.

“I thought maybe the council had started to pick up our bins from the lane again after all this time. A beautiful late summer evening by all accounts. Perfect for a run. Can I be of any assistance?”

“G’day. Josh.”

“The very same. Someone seems worse for wear. Don’t tell me he’s had a liquid lunch.”

Tyson rolled his eyes and scoffed at the banality of the suggestion.

“If only it were that simple. Just because he’s a uni student. Let’s not jump to conclusions…’

“I didn’t mean to deride the situation with stereotypes. It’s not as if I fit the bill.”

“Dan, let me introduce you to our neighbour, Josh. He’s a reference jockey at the Baillieu Library. AND a one-eyed Kangaroos supporter.”

Josh winked me a hello. I vaguely recognised him as a member of the cardigan and crochet vest brigade.

“I prefer the time honoured term ‘librarian’. ‘Jockey’ muddies the mix between sporting codes. Footy’s my game. Racing is for mugs. Speaking of muddied, what’s with this display from my friend the chocolate cake?”

We all turned our attention to Justin’s recumbent pose as he gave an inkling of self- awareness.

“It all started after O’ Week. He has been putting himself under the pump, now that I come to think of it…”

Josh was quick to pounce on Tyson’s turn of phrase.

“Pump being the operative word in his condition.”

Tyson choose to ignore Josh’s attempt at banter.

“I say we get him on his feet and back on the inside.”

Will decided at this very moment to put in an appearance, on the outer as to what had taken place.

“What the fuck!?”

“Relax, Will. We’ve got it sorted.”

“Yeah, it looks like it Tyson.”

“Hello William.”

“Oh, hey Josh. Didn’t see you there.”

“William, this is Dan. One of the first on the scene.”

We exchanged looks of suspect familiarity.

“Has he been binging on Nano again?”

“Whenever he’s not processing himself on that stupid conveyor belt or running all the way to Princess Park to do laps, yes he has.”

“I prefer the Tan track.”

Will acknowledged Josh’s gag.

“Makes sense for someone verging on albino.”

“You can talk, William. Always want to remain sun smart. I prefer my recreation after dark.”

“And thanks to you, he’s become obsessed with Nano.”

“I knew someone would like it, but never guessed it would be so transformative.”

“And just what are you two on about?”

Tyson’ s body language was that of a tennis umpire as he switched his focus from one face to another.

“Nano was donated by Josh at the O’ Week sign-up.”

“Not that I’m strictly a member, but I’d done with it and thought it would be right up your guys’ alley.”

Justin let out a sob of surrender.

“I didn’t take you for a comic fan.”

“I prefer the term ‘enthusiast’. Fans are for decoration.”

I was completely bewildered by this exchange.

Tyson pressed the matter.

“And how did you come by it? We hadn’t even heard of it, and we would be in the know.”

Josh smiled mischievously.

“Why, I created it, naturally.”

“You’re the Illuminator?”

“The very same.”

Tyson and Will were dumbfounded.

Justin rolled into the recovery position as he began to shake off his stupor.

I merely wondered who this guy was, or thought he was, and what effect Nano could be suggestive of inflicting upon the washed-up exhibitionist sprawled in the nightsoil collector’s corridor of yesteryear.

“Well, I had to call myself something and Josh Pastures just didn’t cut the mustard. Anyway, I prefer a little intrigue…”

Will resembled a hybrid padre and life guard, as he began to offer ministrations to Justin.

“Posh Gestures, more like it”, quipped Tyson.

“Just a little harmless fun, or so was the intent. Now I succumb to regret that your brother-in-arms has fallen prey to an experiment in neighbourly concern.”

“Get off your high horse, or should I say fence…”

“More like an advertising hoarding, if you ask me. My heart was in the right place. I just wanted to make friends and not remain in the shadows as just that guy next door who works at the university library.”

“You should have called yourself the ‘manipulator’ if you ask me.”

“Oh, Tyson. There’s no need to be melodramatic. That’s where I fit in.”

And I certainly felt like I did not fit in. If a passer-by could claim any immunity from guilt by association, then I wanted to put in for special consideration.

“Don’t you want to know how I did it?” 

“Try one on?”

“Oh, Will. Don’t you start.”

“Come on then. Try us.”

“Wouldn’t you care to see my creator’s den, or laboratory as I prefer to think of it? I can’t stay up here like a galah forever.”

“Just cut to the chase, Josh. What did you do to Justin?”

“What I wouldn’t give to realise his admiration. I just thought I’d have to turn him slowly and inevitably he’d ask for more. I can’t believe his curiosity didn’t get the better of him. You mean he didn’t once ask where the comic came from?”

“You can see he was driven by a fever that held him in such a grip he lost all perspective. It was his reason for being and he didn’t want to share it with anyone. How many brick walls did he have to smash through before one issue proved inadequate?”

“All he had to do was ask. I’m more than willing to share.”

“I bet you are. Like that dreaded lurgy doing the rounds.”

“It is catching. I strive to make inspiration infectious. No need to use the hose on me. I’ll come clean.”

Tyson had sidled back in through what remained of the fence and picked up the discarded nozzle. He remained visibly on edge.

I moved across to where Will was crouched over Justin and murmured my dismay at what had taken place.

“That’ll teach you to take a shortcut back of our place in future.”

I could only shrug and nod, which felt a little like a childish attempt at patting your head and rubbing your stomach, in tandem with being lost for coordinating my thoughts when confronted with chaos.

Will seemed to read my mind.

“Disunity, right?”

I lost the shrug and only nodded vacantly. Just like Arden Street oval. All I needed was a gasometer and the picture of my puzzled outlook would be complete.

Josh had disappeared from his perch atop the fence and Tyson motioned for us to follow him back inside.

Too late.

Josh had reappeared through the gate in his back fence and strode artfully out into the lane, where he adopted a stance of challenged merit.

Legs spread and firmly planted, arms akimbo and chin thrust forward, he was doing a pretty good Superman impression.

All but for his costume.

He sported a pair of knee-high, lace up wrestling boots, a pair of brief running shorts and a knotted paisley bandana around his neck.

About his waist was slung a utility belt with what appeared to be detachable vials of unidentified contents. 
At the rear was a bum bag rig supporting tear off doggy bags and a roll of toilet paper. The chunky buckle at front was adorned with a capital ‘P’.

“One can never be too careful or leave things to chance.”

Tyson, Will, Justin and myself remained silent while we took in his presence.

Tyson broke the awkward tension of the moment.

“All that’s missing is a cape.”

“I leave that to the marathon runners for charity capers. Reduces my natural aerodynamic lines for a start.”

“What’s with the KISS boots?”

Josh paused to reflect on an apparent coincidence, expressed through his quickly flicked tongue.

“Funny you should mention that. It’s more WWF, but the era’s associations stay the same. Have you heard of or even better been lucky enough to see KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park?”

Justin stirred a little more at mere mention of this.

“It’s a classic shocker, for sure.”

“You disappoint me in your appraisal. It’s immortal glam! And I don’t mean galleries, libraries, archives and museums, although it’s a cute fit.”

“Sure was demented for Hanna-Barbera.”

Will couldn’t help himself.

“At least it wasn’t a made for television Star Wars holiday special.”

Justin groaned as if waking to the reality of the morning after.

“Now don’t be cruel. I have always seen myself as a kind of redeemer convenor. Here’s a piece of trivia for you: for the first issue of their very own comic series, the members of KISS donated their own blood to be poured into the vats of red ink to print the comic.”

Tyson wasn’t to be outdone.

“Yeah, yeah. Common knowledge amongst the Marvel family. But, did you know that they first featured in Howard the Duck#12?”

“Howard the Duck? Now, that’s hilarious! You’re definitely on my trivia team.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Now don’t be surly. After all I tried to do for you?”

Tyson chuckled.

“This is NOT my surly!”

Josh had begun to tap a foot in irritation.

“Well, if you must know, my tribute to the notion of family was to practice my own version of alchemy. I bet you’re just itching to know my secret…”

“And what secret would that be, Josh?”

Josh smirked derisively.

“Well, just as KFC has its own secret herbs and spices and Coke has a secret recipe, I chose to mix an extract from my own faecal matter into the ink I used for Nano. And, hey presto…”

He thrust his chin towards Justin.

Tyson erupted.

“What the hell are you talking about? What kind of a sick fuck are you?”

“I am the true poo jogger. Well, just in my spare time, you understand. Pasture by name, pasture by nature. Think of it as a way of giving back.”

“You are despicable. You probably poisoned him. Now that I think of his standards of personal hygiene. No offence intended, Justin.”

Justin burped inexplicably.

“You should have had a warning instructing readers to wash their hands after handling the filthy thing.”

“What, and spoil all the fun?”

I could not contain myself.

“You dirty, fucking fecalfeliac!”

“Well, it beats celeriac…”

I rose to my full authoritative height and stood astride the middle channel of bluestone.

Tyson sized me up and nodded in allegiance.

“You should know I swore an oath to never again stand by as a witness to any act of cruelty or harassment. You’re nothing but a glorified bully.”

Josh pouted in reproach.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones…”

I stepped forward.

“I undertake to exercise my right to enact a citizen’s arrest.”

“On what grounds, my dear Watson?”

“The preservation of decency!”

“Hah-ha! What is this, the Justice League?”

“I’ll give you a serve of justice, you perverted bibliophile…”

Before I could take another step, Justin distracted my attention.
 He had come to and surveyed the situation.

“Hang, on, hang on. What did I miss?”

Will was beside himself.

“Are you shitting me?”

“Will, wait. He could be onto something.”

“Yeah, right. Like bacterial warfare.”

Justin persisted.

“No, I mean it. This has been like a trip. Mind expanding. Just think of the potential. People have resorted to drinking their own urine to survive. No wonder they hallucinate when dying of thirst.”

Will stood and took a step back.

“You’re off your fucking rocker.”

Justin heaved himself up and stood unsteadily. 
“I’ve seen another dimension. It’s like the art of running, staying the distance. Straight through the pain barrier and brick wall of endurance.”

Will took another step back.

Tyson ducked back into their yard.

“A whole new venture in Manga I call Haruki!”

Tyson had remerged shouldering the firehose and brandishing an extinguisher.

“Here, Dan. Take this.”

He lobbed the tank over to me and instinct kicked in.

“Time the Illuminator had a good dousing!”

Aghast, he only had time for his pupils to dilate and close his mouth before he was covered in a sudsy foam from the top of his dome to the toes of his ludicrous footwear.

Stricken, he recoiled and went reeling back against the green waste bin outside his property.

His next utterance was even more bizarre than anything he’d said before, as he sat slumped against the bin wiping foam from his eyes.

“All it needs is some jam. Nothing like a Devonshire tea to activate the inner workings.”

Tyson swung into action and menaced Justin with the nozzle.

“Come on mate. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

Will supported him in this quest.

“Great idea. We can’t have you like this right before the party. I’ll even help dispose of the offending item AND help you dismantle the treadmill. Gotta make some room for the RSVP brigade.”

Justin complied without a struggle.

“Join us inside when you’re all done, Dan. We can sample the homebrew.”

I waved them away and placed the extinguisher on the ground.

Josh was whimpering and giggling simultaneously, as he made a frosted cockatoo’s crest out of his hair.

“What to do with you?”

I fetched the smartphone from my satchel and scrolled through emergency alternatives.

“Hmmm, let’s see…”

I paused and took a snapshot of the pathetic creature before me.

“Hello. Carson? This is Dan. Put me through to the Confabulator…”

Michael Haward.

It was an inhuman roar of protest that ripped the air as I passed by on my way home.

I had uncharacteristically missed my tram stop back from uni, so engrossed was I in a second-hand copy of selected pieces by H. P. Lovecraft. In order to get back to parallel with Munster Terrace and then cut back to Arden Street, I decided to take the laneway the runs behind.

I’m surprised I even heard it, my smartphone was turned up and my cans firmly in place to block out the sound of peak hour traffic all the way over from Dynon Rd.

And yet it still broke through to claim me.

Heard before I saw any sign of disturbance.

I was approaching the rear of the kooky kettle crew’s premises when another roar bellowed from out of the blue and seemed to pass by as a bone jarring presence along the bluestones.

Thinking there was a car behind me trying to get passed, I removed my headphones only to be confronted by the empty pre-trod route in my wake.

Talk about a rude awakening.

Just as I was about to come level with the rear of their property, an entire section of the back fence heaved and ruptured, showering the lane with wood and corrugated metal sheeting.

I jumped back out of the way, almost losing my balance in the process, and steadied myself up against the neighbour’s brick wall.

The graffiti seemed part of some plot pandering to the initiated: And I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences Don't fence me in…

Someone with a bent for Cole Porter and idiosyncratic spray script was surely having a lend of me.

As if I needed proof, the remains of the fence were shortly followed by someone on the wrong end of what had the force of a firehose, or a very angry elephant.
He was sprayed across the lane, up against the opposite wall where he was pinned by the torrential stream of water, arms flailing and gasping for air.

“For the love of Nano! Please…”

I had no idea what this meant. Was the guy wielding the hose Nano?

“This is not some Global Game Jam, Justin. We have to remove the stain!”

It was no contest. The firehose was not to be argued with.

“Don’t shit in your own backyard…”

It was only when I looked more closely at the water logged wretch writhing on the cobbles that I noticed he was marked by something resembling a super-sized fudge sundae, smeared over hieroglyphic trace elements tattooed across every visible patch of skin – which was remarkably consistent considering he was only wearing a pair of Speedos; and yet the hose failed to make little impact on the residue.

Mud Apostasy. My random word generator kicked in. I was in the habit of ascribing potential band names to ludicrous scenarios that passed for the everyday.

That and Wretched Mittens. It’s what I assumed you would need to wear in order to perform any kind of first aid.

The wannabe ‘firee’ stanched the flow and stood with the limp nozzle pointed at its drenched and dirty target.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?”

This seemed rather rhetorical as the budgie smuggler was not immediately responsive to any request for information.

“Oh, hey. How’s it going?”

I could only hope that my answer wouldn’t unleash a torrent of abuse.

“I’m just going home. Do you need any help?”

“I’m not sure if chance offers from a good Samaritan could solve this puzzle.”

“He’s with you, isn’t he? I recognise you from uni.”

“He is when he’s in his right mind. And yes, we can be found on campus when we’re not vying to make our name with the IGDA…”

“I’m sorry? I kind of took you for marketeers, but not of the independent grocers’ variety…”

My observation was acknowledged with a groan from the bedraggled form slumped before us in the lane.

“Most amusing. That’s the Independent Game Developers of Australia to you…”

“I prefer Piedimontes to the generic IGA fold.”

“You’re still in good company in North Melbourne for choice.”

This line of enquiry seemed to be ignoring the obvious.

“I’m Dan, anyway. Just passing through on my way back from campus. What’s with your mate?”

“Tyson’s the name…”

He then proceeded to offer me the nozzle of the hose by way of an extended hand to shake.

“Oh, pardon me...”

He threw it with a thud back through the fence and into the yard.

His grip was measured and true.

“You’ll have to forgive Justin here. It’s not like this is normal, even him.”

“What’s he done to deserve the riot act?”

“He’s been ultra-manic of late. Never one to embrace exercise, he’s even taken up jogging. At all hours of the day and night dressed in only his togs and Vans. He’s even installed a bloody treadmill in the place. Pounding the pavement is one thing, but the shockwaves from it in the middle of the night are beyond a joke…”

“And that deserves the water treatment?”

Tyson shook his head in disgust.

“He’s gotta clean up his act. Would you believe he’s resorted to taking a dump in the fire pit? I bet he’s the loon who’s been leaving deposits around the neighbourhood and on campus. Even the residential colleges have been on the receiving end. Not to mention the Melbourne General Cemetery. It’s bloody creepy if you ask me.”

This jogged my memory of recent media reports. The MCG was one thing, but the sacrilegious act of defecating on graves was way out of normality’s league.

“You don’t think he’s the so called poo jogger…?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but now I’m not so sure. Whoever it is does their business in the blink of an eye.”

Justin emitted another mournful moan.

“What’s all the ruckus?”

A disembodied head loomed over the adjoining property’s fence in apparent sympathy with the unfolding sequence of events.

“I thought maybe the council had started to pick up our bins from the lane again after all this time. A beautiful late summer evening by all accounts. Perfect for a run. Can I be of any assistance?”

“G’day. Josh.”

“The very same. Someone seems worse for wear. Don’t tell me he’s had a liquid lunch.”

Tyson rolled his eyes and scoffed at the banality of the suggestion.

“If only it were that simple. Just because he’s a uni student. Let’s not jump to conclusions…’

“I didn’t mean to deride the situation with stereotypes. It’s not as if I fit the bill.”

“Dan, let me introduce you to our neighbour, Josh. He’s a reference jockey at the Baillieu Library. AND a one-eyed Kangaroos supporter.”

Josh winked me a hello. I vaguely recognised him as a member of the cardigan and crochet vest brigade.

“I prefer the time honoured term ‘librarian’. ‘Jockey’ muddies the mix between sporting codes. Footy’s my game. Racing is for mugs. Speaking of muddied, what’s with this display from my friend the chocolate cake?”

We all turned our attention to Justin’s recumbent pose as he gave an inkling of self- awareness.

“It all started after O’ Week. He has been putting himself under the pump, now that I come to think of it…”

Josh was quick to pounce on Tyson’s turn of phrase.

“Pump being the operative word in his condition.”

Tyson choose to ignore Josh’s attempt at banter.

“I say we get him on his feet and back on the inside.”

Will decided at this very moment to put in an appearance, on the outer as to what had taken place.

“What the fuck!?”

“Relax, Will. We’ve got it sorted.”

“Yeah, it looks like it Tyson.”

“Hello William.”

“Oh, hey Josh. Didn’t see you there.”

“William, this is Dan. One of the first on the scene.”

We exchanged looks of suspect familiarity.

“Has he been binging on Nano again?”

“Whenever he’s not processing himself on that stupid conveyor belt or running all the way to Princess Park to do laps, yes he has.”

“I prefer the Tan track.”

Will acknowledged Josh’s gag.

“Makes sense for someone verging on albino.”

“You can talk, William. Always want to remain sun smart. I prefer my recreation after dark.”

“And thanks to you, he’s become obsessed with Nano.”

“I knew someonewould like it, but never guessed it would be so transformative.”

“And just what are you two on about?”

Tyson’ s body language was that of a tennis umpire as he switched his focus from one face to another.

“Nano was donated by Josh at the O’ Week sign-up.”

“Not that I’m strictly a member, but I’d done with it and thought it would be right up your guys’ alley.”

Justin let out a sob of surrender.

“I didn’t take you for a comic fan.”

“I prefer the term ‘enthusiast’. Fans are for decoration.”

I was completely bewildered by this exchange.

Tyson pressed the matter.

“And how did you come by it? We hadn’t even heard of it, and we would be in the know.”

Josh smiled mischievously.

“Why, I created it, naturally.”

“You’re the Illuminator?”

“The very same.”

Tyson and Will were dumbfounded.

Justin rolled into the recovery position as he began to shake off his stupor.

I merely wondered who this guy was, or thought he was, and what effect Nano could be suggestive of inflicting upon the washed-up exhibitionist sprawled in the nightsoil collector’s corridor of yesteryear.

“Well, I had to call myself something and Josh Pastures just didn’t cut the mustard. Anyway, I prefer a little intrigue…”

Will resembled a hybrid padre and life guard, as he began to offer ministrations to Justin.

“Posh Gestures, more like it”, quipped Tyson.

“Just a little harmless fun, or so was the intent. Now I succumb to regret that your brother-in-arms has fallen prey to an experiment in neighbourly concern.”

“Get off your high horse, or should I say fence…”

“More like an advertising hoarding, if you ask me. My heart was in the right place. I just wanted to make friends and not remain in the shadows as just that guy next door who works at the university library.”

“You should have called yourself the ‘manipulator’ if you ask me.”

“Oh, Tyson. There’s no need to be melodramatic. That’s where I fit in.”

And I certainly felt like I did not fit in. If a passer-by could claim any immunity from guilt by association, then I wanted to put in for special consideration.

“Don’t you want to know how I did it?”

“Try one on?”

“Oh, Will. Don’t you start.”

“Come on then. Try us.”

“Wouldn’t you care to see my creator’s den, or laboratory as I prefer to think of it? I can’t stay up here like a galah forever.”

“Just cut to the chase, Josh. What did you do to Justin?”

“What I wouldn’t give to realise his admiration. I just thought I’d have to turn him slowly and inevitably he’d ask for more. I can’t believe his curiosity didn’t get the better of him. You mean he didn’t once ask where the comic came from?”

“You can see he was driven by a fever that held him in such a grip he lost all perspective. It was his reason for being and he didn’t want to share it with anyone. How many brick walls did he have to smash through before one issue proved inadequate?”

“All he had to do was ask. I’m more than willing to share.”

“I bet you are. Like that dreaded lurgy doing the rounds.”

“It is catching. I strive to make inspiration infectious. No need to use the hose on me. I’ll come clean.”

Tyson had sidled back in through what remained of the fence and picked up the discarded nozzle. He remained visibly on edge.

I moved across to where Will was crouched over Justin and murmured my dismay at what had taken place.

“That’ll teach you to take a shortcut back of our place in future.”

I could only shrug and nod, which felt a little like a childish attempt at patting your head and rubbing your stomach, in tandem with being lost for coordinating my thoughts when confronted with chaos.

Will seemed to read my mind.

“Disunity, right?”

I lost the shrug and only nodded vacantly. Just like Arden Street oval. All I needed was a gasometer and the picture of my puzzled outlook would be complete.

Josh had disappeared from his perch atop the fence and Tyson motioned for us to follow him back inside.

Too late.

Josh had reappeared through the gate in his back fence and strode artfully out into the lane, where he adopted a stance of challenged merit.

Legs spread and firmly planted, arms akimbo and chin thrust forward, he was doing a pretty good Superman impression.

All but for his costume.

He sported a pair of knee-high, lace up wrestling boots, a pair of brief running shorts and a knotted paisley bandana around his neck.

About his waist was slung a utility belt with what appeared to be detachable vials of unidentified contents.
At the rear was a bum bag rig supporting tear off doggy bags and a roll of toilet paper. The chunky buckle at front was adorned with a capital ‘P’.

“One can never be too careful or leave things to chance.”

Tyson, Will, Justin and myself remained silent while we took in his presence.

Tyson broke the awkward tension of the moment.

“All that’s missing is a cape.”

“I leave that to the marathon runners for charity capers. Reduces my natural aerodynamic lines for a start.”

“What’s with the KISS boots?”

Josh paused to reflect on an apparent coincidence, expressed through his quickly flicked tongue.

“Funny you should mention that. It’s more WWF, but the era’s associations stay the same. Have you heard of or even better been lucky enough to see KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park?”

Justin stirred a little more at mere mention of this.

“It’s a classic shocker, for sure.”

“You disappoint me in your appraisal. It’s immortal glam! And I don’t mean galleries, libraries, archives and museums, although it’s a cute fit.”

“Sure was demented for Hanna-Barbera.”

Will couldn’t help himself.

“At least it wasn’t a made for television Star Wars holiday special.”

Justin groaned as if waking to the reality of the morning after.

“Now don’t be cruel. I have always seen myself as a kind of redeemer convenor. Here’s a piece of trivia for you: for the first issue of their very own comic series, the members of KISS donated their own blood to be poured into the vats of red ink to print the comic.”

Tyson wasn’t to be outdone.

“Yeah, yeah. Common knowledge amongst the Marvel family. But, did you know that they first featured in Howard the Duck#12?”

“Howard the Duck? Now, that’s hilarious! You’re definitely on my trivia team.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Now don’t be surly. After all I tried to do for you?”

Tyson chuckled.

“This is NOT my surly!”

Josh had begun to tap a foot in irritation.

“Well, if you must know, my tribute to the notion of family was to practice my own version of alchemy. I bet you’re just itching to know my secret…”

“And what secret would that be, Josh?”

Josh smirked derisively.

“Well, just as KFC has its own secret herbs and spices and Coke has a secret recipe, I chose to mix an extract from my own faecal matter into the ink I used for Nano. And, hey presto…”

He thrust his chin towards Justin.

Tyson erupted.

“What the hell are you talking about? What kind of a sick fuck are you?”

“I am the true poo jogger. Well, just in my spare time, you understand. Pasture by name, pasture by nature. Think of it as a way of giving back.”

“You are despicable. You probably poisoned him. Now that I think of his standards of personal hygiene. No offence intended, Justin.”

Justin burped inexplicably.

“You should have had a warning instructing readers to wash their hands after handling the filthy thing.”

“What, and spoil all the fun?”

I could not contain myself.

“You dirty, fucking fecalfeliac!”

“Well, it beats celeriac…”

I rose to my full authoritative height and stood astride the middle channel of bluestone.

Tyson sized me up and nodded in allegiance.

“You should know I swore an oath to never again stand by as a witness to any act of cruelty or harassment. You’re nothing but a glorified bully.”

Josh pouted in reproach.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones…”

I stepped forward.

“I undertake to exercise my right to enact a citizen’s arrest.”

“On what grounds, my dear Watson?”

“The preservation of decency!”

“Hah-ha! What is this, the Justice League?”

“I’ll give you a serve of justice, you perverted bibliophile…”

Before I could take another step, Justin distracted my attention.
He had come to and surveyed the situation.

“Hang, on, hang on. What did I miss?”

Will was beside himself.

“Are you shitting me?”

“Will, wait. He could be onto something.”

“Yeah, right. Like bacterial warfare.”

Justin persisted.

“No, I mean it. This has been like a trip. Mind expanding. Just think of the potential. People have resorted to drinking their own urine to survive. No wonder they hallucinate when dying of thirst.”

Will stood and took a step back.

“You’re off your fucking rocker.”

Justin heaved himself up and stood unsteadily.

“I’ve seen another dimension. It’s like the art of running, staying the distance. Straight through the pain barrier and brick wall of endurance.”

Will took another step back.

Tyson ducked back into their yard.

“A whole new venture in Manga I call Haruki!”

Tyson had remerged shouldering the firehose and brandishing an extinguisher.

“Here, Dan. Take this.”

He lobbed the tank over to me and instinct kicked in.

“Time the Illuminator had a good dousing!”

Aghast, he only had time for his pupils to dilate and close his mouth before he was covered in a sudsy foam from the top of his dome to the toes of his ludicrous footwear.

Stricken, he recoiled and went reeling back against the green waste bin outside his property.

His next utterance was even more bizarre than anything he’d said before, as he sat slumped against the bin wiping foam from his eyes.

“All it needs is some jam. Nothing like a Devonshire tea to activate the inner workings.”

Tyson swung into action and menaced Justin with the nozzle.

“Come on mate. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

Will supported him in this quest.

“Great idea. We can’t have you like this right before the party. I’ll even help dispose of the offending item AND help you dismantle the treadmill. Gotta make some room for the RSVP brigade.”

Justin complied without a struggle.

“Join us inside when you’re all done, Dan. We can sample the homebrew.”

I waved them away and placed the extinguisher on the ground.

Josh was whimpering and giggling simultaneously, as he made a frosted cockatoo’s crest out of his hair.

“What to do with you?”

I fetched the smartphone from my satchel and scrolled through emergency alternatives.

“Hmmm, let’s see…”

I paused and took a snapshot of the pathetic creature before me.

“Hello. Carson? This is Dan. Put me through to the Confabulator…”

Michael Haward.