Martin Goes Crazy

Martin finally snapped. Driven slowly but surely insane with boredom, he welcomed the breakdown with open arms. He overturned his desk, and tearing at his hair and clothing, sprinted for the elevator. A crooked grimace on his face, his eyes shone with joy. Long had he wondered when the slow descent into tedium induced madness would finally end. It seemed as though today was that day. He sang and danced as he rode the elevator car to the ground floor for the final time. The city exploded with colour and sound as he burst into the street and began running. He gesticulated wildly, shouting gibberish and biblical quotes of his own invention. Three blocks down the street he passed a hot dog vendor and without breaking stride, downed an entire bottle of spicy mustard. As he ran, he fashioned a special tricorne hat from bits of aluminum refuse he collected along the way. He masturbated into his special hat and placed it firmly on his head, at a rakish tilt. Deeply persuasive, imaginary, scent triggered memories flooded his mind. The car exhaust reminded him of his racing career in Milan, the smell of a passing woman's perfume brought back his torrid love affair with Jacqueline Kennedy. Onassis. He began to see clear, deliberate patterns in the ways people chose the colours of their socks. These patterns, he knew, were cleverly disguised non-verbal forms of communication between seemingly average pedestrians and their invisible alien masters.
Typically, these "conversations" were of the most mundane sort, but every so often complex sinister details were revealed to him. He defecated in a public telephone booth and collapsed in a small city park. Fascinated by the shifting, multi-hued auras emanating from the ducks and pigeons, he lost track of time. At nothing o'clock in the early evening or late afternoon, his new found super acute hearing detected the faint and beautiful singing of a group of what he believed at the time were women.