A good, nice guy


Born out of thin air, Ed Tangerine now thrives. He lives in a home with a dog. Though his potential is unidentified, his skills are quantifiable: a scholar, a carpenter, the artist.

He is all of these.

Obsessed with the "very real" sounds, his primary attention is to music. But "what is music?" he asks. "What is music at this age, on this day?" 

He takes a long drag of his cigar.

"It's everything," he says twice. "It's everything and a bag of chips. It's film, it's business, it's knowing when to get things done. You need album covers, ticket sales, and endless entertainment. You gotta conquer a starving audience. You need good tunes, too. That's where most mess up. You gotta find good work, good ideas."

He takes another drag. Smoke rolls out his nose like a dragon. His locks, curly and golden, whisper in the breeze like a cool, summer day. Fragrance from the smoke now reeks of marigold. His eyes are changing. They're black. They're black and he's got a knife. He's chasing me and I trip. I've fallen. I've fallen and I can't get up. I'm helpless. Help me. Save me. Save me before I'm—


by Ed Tangerine