The Metaphor Peddler

Weed smoke fog-enshrouded the stoner moon. A majestic truck sped up the road, its circus lights dazzling the night. At the next-door neighbor’s, a dog howled a sustained note at the coyotes down by the creek, in a chorus of sirens and ululations. Back home later than usual, Ryan noticed that Nathalie had forgotten to close the windows. He saw a black spider riding a windblown wave in a blue curtain. As he gently shut the window, the blue wave settled to let the spider rest. He lightly knocked at Nathalie’s bedroom door. She didn’t respond. He decided not to disturb her.

He wanted her opinion about an enterprise he was considering getting involved in. Lucas, the guy who had become the boyfriend of a customer of his, after her post with one of his works had gone viral, had approached him at his stand to ask him over for dinner earlier that night. He was interested in discussing business. At Ryan’s suggestion, they went to a vegan restaurant, where they talked about their lives and projects over mushroom burgers and seasonal organic salad. Lucas had a friendly, joyous demeanor, and a thick Portuguese accent. A Brazilian from Rio, he had double citizenship, used to travel to whichever beaches in the world had a vibrant surf community, and intended to set up shop in the Bay Area, where he was buying a house of his own. Obviously a rich kid, mused Ryan.

“Remember when my girlfriend asked her followers for Natural-Intelligence-generated metaphorical captions like yours?” said Lucas.

“Sure, I do. Captions metaphorizing her selfie with you. How did that go?”

Lucas’ eyes were two supernovas. “It went amazingly, man. She was deluged with captions. And then her followers asked for captions for their selfies too, and so did the followers of her followers. It was huge. Long story short, I see an opportunity here.”

Ryan was skeptical. “Tons of metaphorical captions for… selfies? Weren’t they boring and repetitive?”

Lucas’ supernovas turned into nebulas. “Yes… So boring and so repetitive, most of them. My girlfriend and I wanted to die.”

Ryan sipped his orange juice in silence. He wasn’t sure Lucas had what it takes. He could be a delusional dreamer high on drugs.

“However, amid those zillions of repetitive captions, we also found some that were original and pretty good,” said Lucas.

“That’s encouraging,” said Ryan. “I figured out that photos with humans in them that no one can recognize are safer to work with. It’s a matter of respecting their privacy and my peace of mind. I mean, God forbid if I, despite my best efforts, do some work that a client, a recognizable person, finds offensive to her ethnicity, gender or sex!”

The supernovas were back. “Very well said! You’re the man! We must sit down and brainstorm on all of that and more. Like, Artificial Intelligence is replacing writers, right? But there is a hunger out there for Natural Intelligence works like yours. Public, artists and writers who crave connecting to one another in an organic, animal-to-animal way.”

“I agree. AI doesn’t have a nervous system, emotions. It doesn’t have a need, a will to say, and to respond to, meaningful things. I enjoy the creative process and I don’t see the point of resorting to AI to cut corners.”

“So, you’re against AI?”

“I’m not against it, but I think it should be just a tool for Natural Intelligence, not its replacement.”

“One hundred percent!” sparkled Lucas. “Now listen. Here’s my idea. Let’s join our efforts, you and I, and found a metaphor-peddlers start-up. I’ll be the CEO. You’ll be the President and the Creative Vision Director. We’ll try to employ the social media users who sent the best metaphorical captions to my girlfriend. For now, I’ll be looking into using a crowdfunding platform just to get off the ground. Before you know it, I’ll be bringing a venture capitalist from the city to the table.”

It was too much for Ryan to digest in one sitting. He’d been feeling so comfortable at the amusement park, after doing mind-numbing odd jobs for ages. Why even consider changing the course of things? On the other hand, the prospect of assembling and fostering a large community of inspired and imaginative metaphor peddlers was invigorating. Perhaps Lucas wasn’t deluded. There might be potential.

 “Sounds like a plan. I’ll think about your proposal,” said an empathetic Ryan.

They exchanged phone numbers and had vegan tiramisu for dessert. Then they went straight to a hotel and had sex.

No, they didn’t have sex. It was just a mirage that Ryan saw, as he opened his eyes during a wet dream. He got up soon after. It was late, he’d have to hurry up to get to his stand within forty minutes. He took a quick shower and went to the kitchen to have breakfast. Something was wrong. Nathalie usually set up the breakfast nook every morning. She was an early riser with a daily schedule of some medication to self-inject and many tasks to attend to. But the kitchen looked the same as the night before, which meant that she hadn’t followed her normal routine.

Her bedroom was still closed. Ryan knocked. No answer. He quietly opened the door. His grandmother was sitting on her bed, injecting an orange with her insulin syringe. It took her several excruciating seconds to recognize her own grandson.

“Nanna, what are you doing?” he asked, taking the syringe-impaled orange away from her.

“I’m making a metaphor,” she said. “Injections are painful to me.”