face factory

I had no trouble parking my boat. My friends all brought
theirs. We took over Ridge 30 and overflowed into 29. I jumped
to the pier and let the mooring boy do the rest. But none of my
friends got off their boats. I waited for hours, until morning,
when all the boats were gone, including mine.

In a state of great displeasure, I set out across town to
find the one guy I did know. After a short while, I came to his
address, but there was a huge looming factory there instead of a
home. Then I recalled that he lived and worked there, and even
the factory name seemed familiar. Crimson Faces, Inc. I sought
entry.

The foreman was seated at a strangely garbled control panel,
half machine, half gadget, breathing in places and covered with
faces. I asked for Guy, and the foreman said he'd try to page
him, but no guarantees. He cranked the phone for a moment, then
took a carton of milk out of his coat pocket and poured it into a
wet place at the top of the panel. "Hell, it gets me a dial
tone," he joked. His phone wasn't plugged into anything, so he
quickly gave up. He picked up this open-ended TV from the ground
and tried to get a bearing on my friend, but succeeded only in
giving himself a nasty shock.

"Look," he said, finally. "Here's where he sleeps. I
suggest you wait here." He took a handful of white-red sand from
one of the bins over the door, and sprinkled it over the yellow
sand that filled the coffin. He trailed a sand-pattern on the
floor and pronounced the place fit to be visited.

There was no decor, everything was pipes and bits of faces.
Guy never did show up. The foreman came back later to say that
he had been absorbed by the input manifestor, and that I had been
sent by God to replace him. He congratulated me on my fine work
building that LILCO plant on the Island (which I didn't do), then
he said that there were no longer any doors in the place, so I
might as well get comfortable.

My sandcolor was light brown, and I could start sorting the
facebin first thing in the morning.

==== dream from old journal - 3/19/86