Idea in Stone Read Online Free PDF

wanting to be presumed to be cruising, even though he found the thought intriguing). The right-hand stall was free, and he darted in. He sat and sighed, looking at the graffiti on the stall’s floor-length chalkboard walls, telephone numbers he would never call, propositions that sounded interesting or frightening. Most of them were old and smeared, and though he was tempted to write something, he couldn’t see any chalk. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
    When he opened them, he gasped: the four walls around him were covered, from the acoustic tiles of ceiling to the wet tiles of the floor, with an intricate chalk sketch of a city. Spires rose, columns stood tall, and the black of the walls was incorporated into the ancient brickwork. Between the buildings wound little alleys and walkways. Even the streets were made of brick. In the distance were hills rendered with green chalk, shaded in with patches of purple.
    Stefan poked a finger to the wall and drew it back. His fingertip held a circle of white powder, and one of the buildings now had an extra window.
    Wherever this place was, for whatever reason he’d been shown it, Stefan was in love.

    ~

    He staggered home several hours later, his head and his belly sloshing with beer. He’d hoped the walk would settle him, but he made it from the downtown neon and billboards and pixelboards blazing their promises, through the Annex with its subtler, earthier urban alternative offerings, to the tree-lined street where he lived, and he was still drunk.
    He tiptoed through the house to his room and changed into soft old gym clothes to sleep in. He put down his head, but his bed felt unsteady. He sat up, breathing deeply to steady himself. He put a hand under his shirt to touch his stomach. It was cold. It gurgled. This will not be good, he thought. Looking down, he saw something in his belly-button. He pulled it out, a piece of feathery old paper. On it were the letters DIN. He placed it in the dish on his bedside table with the other. Dine? he wondered.
    He tried to lie down, but his stomach moved like a washing machine. He put on his coat and padded upstairs, past the main floor, to the second floor. He thanked a higher power that his mother’s bedroom door was closed, and continued through to the office. The room was already cluttered, but now it overflowed with Cerise’s boxes and music things. The more careful he tried to be, the more things he tripped over, but eventually he reached the window at the front of the house, opened it, and eased himself out.
    Stefan sat for a while on the prickly tar-shingled roof, looking over the tree-tops at the illuminated building blocks of the city and the humbler stars beyond. He thought of Allen’s life—the job, the partner, the well-decorated condominium. I don’t want that, he thought, but I do want something. He thought of the chalk city he saw. It had to be out in the world somewhere. Maybe . He thought of the voice he heard so often. It was just one voice. So it had to belong to somebody . Maybe.
    His silent laugh made a cloud in front of him. The answer to the maybes was so simple:
    I have to run away from home.
    Three
    Guardians

    “Jean?” asked Wendy, poking her head around the open Green Room door. She saw Stefan and looked for someone else in the room. “I thought I heard Jean in here.”
    Stefan smiled and put down the script he was studying. “Pretty good, eh?”
    “That was you? Yeah, that was very good.”
    “Thanks. It was hard to find the right blend of shrew, harpy, and eel, but I think I’ve finally got her down.”
    Wendy smiled weakly, skipping over the comment to preserve her neutrality. “Chuck’s ready for you to put down your dialogue in Number Five.”
    “Okay, thanks.” Stefan picked up his things and headed down the hall. In the sound booth, he set his gear up on the music stand, picked up his sides, and positioned himself carefully next to the microphone. He stretched his mouth wide open,