Paris in Wonderland (ONGOING)

III - THE BAD HATTER

III — THE BAD HATTER

          Paris chose the right side of the path (because it's not wrong to be right). She noticed that the road had finger paints on them with clashing blue, pink and neon yellow colors. She tried to ask the pedestrians for further help. The only two creatures she found along were a weed addict and a large cat, which was grinning from ear to ear. The sight confused her even more. (Who was more sane? The addict or the grinning cat?)

　　 "Please would you tell me," said Paris, a little timidly, "why do you grin like that?" For she chose the cat to be the better of the two.

　　 "I am a music producer," said the grinning cat, "and that's why."

　 　 "I didn't know that music producers always grinned; in fact, I didn't know that cats could grin," said Paris.

          "You don't know much," said the cat, "and that's a fact."

　 　 Paris was a little startled by seeing the grinning cat sitting on a bough of a dollar tree a few yards off. The Cat only grinned when it saw her.

          "Mister producer—," began Paris.

          "Call me Quincy."

          "Uhm, sure, would you please tell me which way I ought to go from here?"

          "In that direction, lassie" the Cat said, waving the right paw 'round, "lives a Hatter; and in that direction," waving the other paw, "lives his father. Visit either you like; they're both mad."

　　 "But I don't want to go among mad people," Paris remarked.

　　 "Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat; "we're all mad here! Why, it's good for the business!" Paris made a face but figured she did not have much choice. "If you're having any doubts, I'll say the Hatter was the one who popularised that fashion statement."

          "What are you talking about?"

          "The hat and the glove, of course!" Quickly, Paris took off the items she picked up and stuffed it under the folds of her skirt. "Tell me, did the Purple One invite you in one of his Glam Slam?"

　       "Who is this Purple One? Though Glam Slam sounds fun," said Paris, "but I haven't been invited yet."

　       "Who's the Purple One? Oh, you'll find out soon. And you'll see me there," said the Cat, and vanished.

          "A grinning cat doesn't seem like someone one person can trust." Paris muttered to herself, "what more if it's a doggone producer. Oh fucked is the man who puts his life in its hands!"

•••

          She was used to animals. In Neverland, where she grew up there was a zoo filled with all sorts of animals. From chickens to giraffes. Hippos and llamas. But never had Paris seen a giraffe with a head of a chicken. A hippo with legs like a llama's. Animals here made her question her inebriation. "Am I really seeing a monkey with gills?" Exhaled Paris when one monkey dove into the water and swam like a mermaid ballerina.

           Paris' eyes filled with stars as she gazed in awe at the astounding sight. She forgot her wariness (as well as seventy percent of whatever's left in her hippocampus). On the right side set a beautiful party: there was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and a chimp and a thin man were having tea at it; a beautiful woman was sitting between them, checking her reflection.