THE INNER MAN

"BREAKFAST AT THE INNER MAN"
(THE PROLOGUE)
I'd seen it all before. Countless times. History City was on the move, as if the lunatics had taken over the asylum. The morning rush hour was in full swing. Traffic and people competing for the ever, diminishing space. The city was a living, breathing 24/7 kinda place. At first acquaintance it appeared hard on the outside. But it did have it's heart more or less in the right place.
Now after a hot, lazy summer, winter had come in with a vengeance. First the pleasure, now the pain. As always, if I walk bravely down any rush hour street, the prevailing wind & rain always blows right into my face. Slicing me with it's stinging, cold, wet edge. This time I had it beat. I had a sudden plan. I made a sharp left turn, right thru a doorway & into a diner, "The Inner Man". My first ever visit. It had a pace of life a damn site slower & warmer than the street. Fresh & as yet untrammeled rainwater dripped from my waterproof & gathered in a silent pool at my feet. Standing just inside the doorway, I surveyed the feeding frenzy. No one noticed me. They all carried on with their food & their lives. Exchanging words of wisdom, advice & solving all life's ills. They had an answer for everything. Throw it in a dumpster. Sell it. Cure it. Bomb it. Bag it & tag it.
I'd found a comfortable looking sanctuary though. The diner was a routine bacon & eggs, meat & veg kind of place & and it smelt good. It wasn't big though. Well I don't know the true size. I can tell you how far a punch has traveled & I know how fast a car is moving. Static distance & size though are different. Both lack perspective in my head. Anyway, I stepped past 4 or 5 busy tables, say 15 or 20 guys. The counter had a handful of customers & some space. I peeled off my waterproof, moved on up & sat down on a vacant stool. I had elbowroom & space to breathe in. Cross-town Traffic, orchestrated by Jimi Hendrix, roared out of the jukebox. My ears were in tune, even if my silent vocals weren't.

(THE CHALLENGE)
"Someone sure enough pissed on you brother"
I looked up, and wiped my hand over my wet face. A big, middle-aged, gnarled man, wearing a starched white apron & a badge that said, "I AM THE MAN", stood on the far side, grinning thru his humor at my discomfort. I smiled grimly & nodded painfully. My hands & face tingled in the warmth as they tenaciously retained their grip on life.
"You eating ?" THE MAN asked as he poured me a mug of coffee.
"I guess so" I replied and tried to raise some enthusiasm.
"The blackboard ---" he said, jerking his thumb backwards behind his head --- "has a full list of runners & riders. Everyone's mounted & no-one's scratched"
I felt reassured, I wasn't in a roach farm. Even more reassured when I found my cigarettes were still dry. Disappointed though that my matches were sodden. THE MAN moved like a silent cobra. He suddenly splashed a Zippo under my nose & I sucked dry smoke into my mouth & throat. I coughed fit to choke, whilst my eyes did a good impression of the rain clouds outside. A young, serious looking guy, younger than me, sitting 2 stools along, looked round & spoke in very somber tones.
"Some day they'll ban smoking"
THE MAN looked round at the voice. "Yeah ? Why ?" he asked, as if the idea was unthinkable, inhumane, even in these unenlightened days of the new millennium
"Health" said the young man coldly & pulled back one side of his raincoat to reveal his authority. The badge on his white smock said "Doctor, 'someone or other'.
"A big report's about to be published. Sums it all up. Confirms everything". He said in a flat monotone.
For about one millisecond I felt a shade chastened. Not THE MAN though.
"Not whilst I got ashtrays too empty" he said, suiting deed to word, then putting the piece of pressed tin back down in front of me. I twirled my habit & dropped ash in the tray. The circle was complete. Whilst the doctor was left to silently consider the report.
"What'll you have ?" asked THE MAN as he wiped down the counter. My eyes scanned his list of runners & riders. A directory of potential taste bud pleasure. Some of the chalk had run down the board under the weight of condensation that had risen from the hot stoves below, leaving the menu open to some degree of speculation.
"What's The Works ?" I asked, nodding at the middle one of 5 boards.
"No one has ever done The Works" said THE MAN with the hint of a challenge in his voice. "It's like a Full English Breakfast, only bigger". I sniffed, took a drag on my smoke & picked up my coffee. "Out of curiosity, tell me what's in it & maybe I'll do it" I said, surprising myself with such brevity.
"OK. For curiosity's sake" said The Man, with an indulgent tone. Hearing those words, the doctor's ears & eyes perked up. THE MAN began to slowly reel off the list.
"Two eggs. You can have 'em fried, sunny side up, over easy or torched both sides. There's scrambled, poached, boiled or raw." As the litany of options stretched out, other ears began to prick up & take notice. Something big was about to go down. The doctor leant forward on the counter, his ears hot with curiosity. I merely nodded at the eggs, eager for the next item.
"Then you can have 4 slices of ham or 4 large slices of bacon."
"Large bacon ?" I asked, by way of clarification.
"Normally they are half the size of the ham" came the authorative reply. "But we also get a special cut". I sucked on my cigarette & nodded, taking in the words of knowledge and wondering how long the special cut had been in THE MAN'S giant industrial fridge.
"Then there's sausage. German and English. Regular, smoked, herb or spiced. If you really want to pig out, you can have some of each"
"Does that cost more ?" I asked bravely, more on behalf of my stomach than my wallet.
THE MAN shook his head in silent reverence. "We merely adjust the portions"
The doctor smiled & shifted his weight on the stool. The bigger audience gathering on the sidelines was now taking more notice, getting very eager, edging forwards. It was as if they were watching some chick strutting her crown jewels, in a red light strip joint. It was time though that they were outta there, and back at work. The Brats.
THE MAN continued.
"There's hash browns". I nodded. "Tomatoes". I again nodded. "Baked beans". My ears kept pace with the voice. It was now becoming an incantation. Three Hail Marys & a Rosary ? Nah, but close.
I jabbed out the cigarette & hunched forward. "It's building up" I said. "So let's see. We have eggs, ham or bacon"
"You could have both, if you want" came the offer. I nodded but kept my own counsel.
"A variety of sausage" I added & counted out my fingers.
"You'll need both hands at the very least" said THE MAN, as if raising the pot in a Dodge City poker game.
I remembered a scene where James Stewart left a poker game to attend to some lawlessness. Only Jimmy left a burning cigar resting on top of the playing cards. A big hand for "cowboy savvy". THE MAN gave me the condescending look that is, as a rule, reserved for the Tenderfoot who ambles into town & then leaves 90 minutes later, having rescued a Damsel in Distress
But that was then & this was now & reality was writ large on that blackboard.
Then the word "Mushrooms" hit me hard. THE MAN seemed to shoot it out. His six-gun hit the target. Heartburn. I was not fond of mushrooms. In pasta ? Yeah, maybe. But on the side ? Not today Jose.
I took a few seconds grace & pulled out another cigarette, looking for a little time too maneuver in. The Zippo splashed. Smoke curled. The Doctor shook his head disapprovingly. THE MAN was now stony faced. It was very much a case of game on. At the same time I figured we must be inside the last few morsels.
"Right" I said, quickly backtracking, whilst hurriedly picking the cigarette out of the ashtray. "Eggs, ham, bacon............"
"Sausage" interjected the Doctor. I nodded, striving nervously to keep pace, whilst avoiding confusion.
"Mushrooms" someone else unkindly reminded me. I again nodded.
"Hash browns", I almost spat the words out. "Then the freaking beans"
"Language" muttered THE MAN sharply. "We cater for a family trade". I apologized profusely even though there were no women or children in sight or earshot.
"Then there's Onion rings" he continued. I couldn't believe there would be any more. "Onions ?" I asked in surprise.
"Eggs bind, onions loosen", said the doctor. "It's one of nature's balancing acts"
"Great. Thanks doc. Pearls of wisdom" I added sarcastically. My list of breakfast items was still rising rapidly. I was very much out of fingers & the plate was still not fully loaded.
"Then you'll want ketchup, toast, jelly, coffee - large, & of course orange juice", said THE MAN as if adding the final coup de grace. Adornments. All ready, willing & able to ambush me & annihilate my digestive system.
The crowd was now extremely rich in anticipation. Baying for blood, or worse. "The
French Revolution and The Guillotine. The encore," I silently told myself.
"I've forgotten something" said THE MAN. He scratched his head questioningly. His face screwed into a furrowed relief map & then he tapped his nose with his forefinger and a slight smile crossed his brow. He could have been some guy leaving the office, who had forgotten his battered hat.
"I wonder" he muttered & purposely strode several paces to the fridge door. As he threw it open, his face was lit up like a Christmas tree. "It's in here" he chuckled with much mirth, if not gratification. I cringed & fell back into my pack of faithful smokes as he turned round & offered up what resembled a thick, black car tire. My God what was it I wondered. Some heathen mojo, or perhaps love potion #9 ?
"This is something else". THE MAN'S voice of exaltation rose several points on the Richter Scale. His body, a beacon, like a lighthouse in the blackest night. The whole of the diner was agog with wonder & awe at this specter that stood before them.
"What is it ?" I asked, mystified. My question seemed to quaver over several octaves.
"Black pudding, from the Highlands of Scotland. A traditional family recipe. Handed down from ancient crofting Celts via my beloved wife's dear old granny. From the days of the kilted hoards that fought with tooth and nail, hammer and claw and put the fear of God up the Softy Sassenachs. His joy, his face, indeed his whole being was ready to launch a march of retribution from deep within the heart of History City. He was like Mel Braveheart the 2nd. The Redcoats would been destined for fire and brimstone and shallow graves.
"What's in it ?" I asked thru trembling lips & chattering teeth.
"Oatmeal" he replied. I melted slightly, relaxed & wondered what you did with it and why it was black.
"Congealed sheep's blood" he added, by way of an evil afterthought. A sudden, loud barrage of applause greeted this devilish information & engulfed me completely. I was frozen back onto the stool. My earlier initial question had become the nightmare that only the dead might suffer from. My number was up & my horse had bolted. First fungi and now this black pudding thing. My vital organs cringed inwardly.
"You've forgotten something else" said a wizened, cracked voice from the crowd.
"What" said THE MAN, his eyebrows twitching.
"Cereal"
"You're right", said THE MAN joyously, whilst turning his gaze to the other end of the counter. My eyes followed him & landed on a large round carousel loaded with boxes of breakfast cereal. There must have been at least fifty sorts. Everything from All Bran to Weetos. Fruit, fiber & roughage to order. Le piece de resistance.
"Are you kidding ?" I asked in amazement.
"Nooooo. Just choose your favorite", I was told.
"The honey nut corn flakes" I answered quickly. "I'll finish with those"
"Right" THE MAN nodded.
"Right" I confirmed.
A brief pregnant pause settled on the whole gathering, as if everyone was settling down, for greater things to come.
"So you wanna do this ?" asked THE MAN, the challenge etched large on his face. I couldn't turn chicken & split, now could I. Nah. I had too suck it up & do The Works. I could only nod in acceptance & mutter "Yeah, sure thing, the lot". Touched with my deep sheen of bravado, these words were greeted with rousing applause, cheering & whistling.
"It isn't priced", I said, nodding at the board.
"You eat the lot brother & it's on the house. You waste any & 10 quid is on the ticket", THE MAN said pointedly & splashed his Zippo for me once more.
"Let's do it then". The hell with the cost I thought as I sucked life into my cigarette. Faint heart never won fair maiden.
"Now where's the bathroom ?" I asked. I needed a change of scenery as well as a pee. My face was still wet from the rain or was it nervous sweat.
"Other end of the counter" was THE MAN'S sharp answer.
So The Tenderfoot was taking on The Cookhouse Kid. No holds barred.
The bathroom offered some sweet relief, a respite for silent meditation. My bladder sighed with pleasure. The rest of me still trembled nervously at the prospect of the potential for highly saturated Technicolor yawns.

(THE MAIN EVENT)
When I got back to my stool, THE MAN & his short order chef, were hard at it. The kitchen was being fully utilized. Doctor 'something or other' was reading a tract in a medical journal about the respiratory system. He looked up & smiled the smile of an eager professional, about to witness at first hand some great scientific breakthrough. Or maybe a heart attack.
"Smells good", he said, looking toward the kitchen. I nodded in uncertain agreement & found my smokes.
My place at the counter was now furnished with cutlery. A glass of water. Salt & pepper. Tomato ketchup. Plus three napkins. The clunk & clatter of cooking utensils emanating from the kitchen was getting louder. The cooking smells enticingly flooded the diner.
"Any minute now" said THE MAN & a young woman appeared as if by magic & produced firstly, a tumbler of orange juice, followed by a mug of coffee, a large plate of toast & butter & a look that spoke silent volumes. "The madness of men" it said & she then quietly slipped away, back to the ether she had come from, only to be replaced by the largest meal for one that was ever produced & on the largest plate that I'd ever seen. Gargantuan was not the word for it. Immeasurable would be closer. Infinity more apt. There was enough to feed the 5000 & still need a doggy bag to go.
"Tuck in & enjoy" beamed THE MAN. The crowd was all around me, encroaching on my comfort zone. Roman gladiators had more space & less danger.
"Let the dog see the rabbit fellahs" I urged, flexing my elbows. They grudgingly retreated half a pace.
First. I downed the orange juice. It was chilled. Tasty & fresh enough to sharpen my palate. A few murmurs went up from the audience. I raised my eyes & smiled at THE MAN. His face carried a blank expression, his arms folded across his chest. It was two or three seconds before he suddenly reacted. "I've got work to do" he claimed & headed towards the cold drinks cabinet & the cereal carousel.
"Tuck in" the doctor said encouragingly. Easier said than done I thought. Instead I stared at the plate & thought of the starving masses. Didn't I subscribe to all those worthy charities, that salve our collective conscience ? Yes, I told myself but this was a different kettle of fish. It was personal. So get on with it.
I decided that I would take the aerial approach with this meal. Start at the top & work down, layer by layer. That meant the black pudding first. It was cut in slices, about a quarter inch thick. They were kind of heavy looking, with lumps of course cut fat packed in the congealed blood. Hardtack, for vampires. I dived in & ate at a steady pace. Bite, chew, swallow. Repeatedly. The taste was unexpectedly peppery. That was ok, but the black pudding did bind on my teeth & cloy in the roof of my mouth. As the quantity on my plate decreased, I gathered confidence. Four slices went down fairly well.
The murmurings behind me were getting busy & bets on my success or failure were changing hands. Two more slices vanished, just two to go. My stomach was coping & it even managed a little inward smile as I completed the first hurdle.
The hash browns & then the tomatoes were easy. The first was soft & feathery, the latter watery.
They slid down a treat, but it was time for a breather. Don't force it down. Don't risk overloading. There was no time frame to be achieved. It was time in fact for coffee. It was at a comfortable, drinkable temperature. Half a mug, swallowed steadily seemed about right. OK. What next, I wondered.
The sliced sausage. German & English. Spiced & herbed. Four of each. Light texture but fairly bland. They were comfortably dealt with, thank God. There would be sterner tests ahead.
THE MAN, his cook & the waitress were no doubt contemplating their own private thoughts about me. Idiot, ringer or glutton ?
I looked round at the doctor. He was beginning to lose interest. His head was buried deep in his medical tract.
"What are you reading about ?" I asked.
"The female reproductive system" he replied.
"Don't you know how to do it ?"
"Sure I do, but I've got an exam this afternoon"
"Yeah, theory or practical ?"
"What ?" he asked thru a frown.
"Do you get to test on some hot chick, you know, hands on so to speak ?"
"Chance would be a fine thing" he scoffed. "Hey. You're slacking", he added, suddenly, redirecting me & putting the action back on track.
I looked back at my plate. Oh no. A mushroom was peering up at me from under a slice of bacon. I quickly pulled the bacon over & flicked at the baked beans, thus hiding the offending fungus. It had lasted this far, it could remain a little longer. It was that woody, musty taste they have, waiting to shoot you. Bang, bang, you're dead. You've no escape. Still for the moment it could stay out of site & out of mind. Were there not, still other tastier morsels waiting for me ?
Indeed there were. The bacon indeed was nice. Lightly smoked with just a hint of saltiness. It went well with the toast & was followed by the remains of my coffee.
"You want that topped up ?" the waitress asked in a flat voice as the coffee slopped around precariously in her pot. I nodded & said that I would.
"It's fresh brewed" she told me. Her words emphasized by a billowing cloud of steam, as she poured the brew.
"It looks hot" I said, stating the obvious, simply for something to say.
"It would be" she said coldly, "it came from a hot place" & then she sauntered off along the counter looking for more trade, but too no avail.
I went after the eggs next. The curate had obviously had a big hand in their construction. The first one had been cooked over easy, the underside was perfection, whilst the side on show had a crisp tanned appearance on the edges, but the inboard area was mainly fine with good texture. The yolk was a nice runny consistency. Overall, 8 out of 10. The other egg had a congealed yolk, similar too the filler stuff you use on the cracks in the walls when you redecorate at home. The white had shrunk to nothing & was best forgotten about. As food then, 0 out of 10. As wall filler 8 out of 10
Next. Taking my bravado to it's limits, I again revealed the mushrooms that were now languishing under the ham and onion rings, next to some beans & a slice of toast. The mushrooms were six in number, the size of a man's watch & they looked like legless spiders & just about as edible. I looked round. Sawbones was still reading. I coughed, swallowed & he looked up.
"You OK ?" he asked "not sickening for anything are you ?" His voice was friendly, reassuring. A nice bedside manner I felt.
"You still boning up on girly things ?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. Digestion and the stomach" he said cheerfully. The mushrooms flooded into my mind & my stomach flooded into my throat. I needed all my self control, allied to a spine of steel & very deep breathing. That moment of abject horror lasted for what seemed an eternity. A cold sweat ran down the inside of my shirt, my legs turned to jelly. As I slowly regained some level of equilibrium I turned back to the counter & steadily drank the tumbler of water.
That helped. It soothed my gremlins and settled my nerves.
I had done well. Achieved miracles even. Now the onion rings melted on my tongue & the thin cut ham slid down easily. The last major hurdle though, was still there to be jumped. The mushrooms loomed large again, in solitude on my plate, daring me to indulge myself.
My hypnotic intrigue & the hushed silence were suddenly broken by the door being thrown open. In rushed the roar of traffic, the howl of wind & the flood of rain. In close attendance was a middle aged, weathered & very plump man. He slammed the door & huffed & puffed his way towards the counter.
"Hi Gus" he called out painfully.
THE BIG MAN replied quickly, "Arch, you're here, such heroics "
Arch heaved his bulk onto the stool next to mine. "This him ?" he asked rapidly.
"Yep" snapped Gus as if I was a new, exotic display at the city zoo.
Arch looked intently at my plate. What was this I wondered. The word had leaked outside. Who, what & why was this guy here ?
I felt a little clarification was in order. He offered me his hand.
"Arch Bridges" he said from behind his smile, "I'm with the City Press". He turned his body slightly sideways & his face into a frown. "I know you don't I ?"
"Don't think so" I said, correcting him.
"Hmmmmm" Arch sighed and his attention returned to my plate. "Mushrooms" he said eagerly, then scooped up two large pieces & pop. They were gone. Out of sight & in Arch's mouth. "Nice. I love mushrooms" and swallowed them quickly.
"Hey Arch. He doesn't need you helping him" Gus protested. "You & me have got 100 quid each riding on this"
"Sure" & Arch smiled at Gus & then winked at me. "Very tasty Gus. What's he got left to do ?"
"Just that bit & then the cereal" said Gus, sounding a bit annoyed. The 100 quid being a bone of contention.
Arch smiled, "I always have my breakfast in here, long time customer but I have to watch my diet", he proclaimed, whilst rubbing his stomach. He then moved on. "The Works. Gus & me talk about it, but we can't do it. So we have a little speculation on other people" said Arch enthusiastically.
"You talk the talk but you can't dance the jig" I said smoothly.
The audience followed the conversation impatiently, eagerly urging the drama too continue. Waiting was not their bag.
Arch smiled sheepishly. "Gus says The Works will never be done. A few have tried & fallen at the wayside. You might succeed though"
So I was a laboratory test. A £100 guinea pig.
"I'm sure trying" I said, then ASAP, I downed the remaining mushrooms, & took another liberal swig of coffee. The crowd gasped. Their goading changed to cheers & they clapped their hands long & loud. I smiled, grinned, whooped & hollered. My plate was well & truly empty. The game was nearly mine.
"Last hurdle Gus". I said confidently. Gus slowly shook his head, then glared back at me. If looks could kill.
"No sweat" I beamed in response too Gus's silence.
Gus's glare was cast in stone. "We'll see" he said & then added "£100" in a quiet snarl.
"I'll take it in 10s & 20s" said Arch. Any leanings Gus had towards humor were now long gone.
"Shelly, one large bowl of honey nut corn flakes" The order flared out of Gus's mouth, traced in fire & brimstone.
"Could I just pause here Gus & have a smoke ?" I asked.
"You pause, you lose" came the hot reply.
Shelly slapped the bowl of cereal down in front of me, followed by a new carton of full cream milk.
"Enjoy" she ordered, sounding like a clone of Gus.
The crowd was getting more & more vocal, "you can do it, you can do it", they chanted & clapped their hands louder and faster.
Cereal is dead easy to eat. Spoon, slurp, swallow. As the contents of the bowl rapidly disappeared, the noise that surrounded me got rapidly louder & more insistent. All we needed was a troupe of cheerleaders. The excitement of it dragged me in & carried me along. Arch grinned broadly. The doctor laughed and Gus tilted his head painfully to the heavens. Was the cereal bowl half empty or half full ?

My head began to spin. The noise echoed in my skull. I wanted to have a damn good belch. I looked round at the exultant sea of faces. The doctor stuffed his medical book into his bag & took in the final act in close up. For the first time I noticed his face was wreathed in a fluffy whiskered stubble. A mere baby, fresh from the cradle.
"Come on" I heard Gus yell. "If you can"
"One more spoonful" said Arch.
I swallowed hard & raised my arms in salute. I'd done it. The noise of the crowd's roar & whistles reverberated thru my brain. My stomach was gorged & heavy. The doc grinned broadly & pumped my hand vigorously. I heard Arch demand his 100 quid. Then the whole of the diner seemed to suddenly go into a speeding spiral. The lights went out of focus. The walls became a blur & I became a weightless empty vessel. Voila. C'est la freaking vieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

(Epilogue)
It was the young doctor's face I saw first when I woke up nearly 30 hours later. He smiled & said "Hi Glutton, how's tricks ?" I tried too weakly smile back, in recognition of his face. Then slowly I looked round, taking in my surroundings. The geography had changed. The location was right off my map. The tables & chairs had morphed themselves into beds. Women is starched uniforms strode hither & thither. Moaning & groaning rose up from various beds & traveled the air.
"What the heck ?" I muttered & tried to sit up. A restraining hand urged me to lay still. A tube was running out of my nose. A trolley with a set of gizmos was parked alongside my bed.
"OK" I mumbled, "I submit. What happened doc ?"
"In a nutshell you fell off the stool". His smile had become a more serious face.
"What stool ?" I asked & then my brain's mainframe engaged more of my memory & the past began to trickle back into the present. I grinned sheepishly.
"Too much excitement huh ?"
"Well, it was a case of over indulgence & body overload all in too short a space of time, plus your tobacco habit"
"I must of passed out"
"You're allergic to mushrooms." My face curled up in disbelief. I sighed. Not only my taste buds object to mushrooms but so did my entire metabolism.
"It's true. Take it as a friendly warning. Stay off 'em and the smoking. They'll keep you here for a few days, make sure you're up to scratch, that you wont kick the bucket"
"You work here ?" I asked.
"Yeah. Have diploma, will heal"
"Well I guess you saved my life. I owe you a breakfast"
"Sure. Do-nuts & de-caff will do nicely brother"

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copywright feb 2003 john nunn