Head down, eyes ringed with crust. His fingernails were filthy, uncut. 
Jude hadn't shaved, and his facial hair was an embarrassment. 
Patches missing, here and there. But why bother with self-care 
when you were going to burn for eternity? So he sat alone, drinking 
his black coffee. 


Jude was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice someone sitting 
at his table until they spoke. 


“Hey. Buddy. You dropped this.” And the person placed a green 
lighter on the table. The safety yanked off, to make it light faster and 
smoother. 


“Thanks.” He took it from the guy, took a sip of his coffee and said, 
“It's just a lighter, though.” 


“Yeah, but | saw it. And | felt like grabbing it. And | felt like giving it to 
you. And I've learned that when | get a notion, it's best to do it right 
then. Like talking to you. It feels good. It feels like I'm supposed to. 
What's your name?” 


“Jude.” This dude was weird as hell. “I'm not into anonymous sex.” 


“I'm JJ. And don't worry. I'm not trying to fuck you.” A pause and he 
pointed at the lighter, “Nothing's coincidence. Look at the tar at the 
bottom of the lighter. You use it to pack down your bowl, don't you? 
Not a joint man, are we?” A pause. “I bet you want to smoke weed, 
don't you? | just got a call from the girl I'm gonna be staying with. 
She told me her ex left a shitload of weed in her apartment. 
Couldn't've been an amicable parting, huh? Where's your luggage? 
We can get a cab.” 


Jude stared at this weirdo. JJ. He smelled nice. Showered. Unlike 
Jude, who had forgotten what a shower was in his haze. Dark hair. 
Bright eyes. He was cute. Small. Cupid's bow lips. Like a cherub. 
Cherubim, seraphim, thrones, yadda yadda. Maybe it was fate? 


“Yeah, uh, | guess.” Jude's head felt okay. It felt like swimming. 
Thickness. It was the air. Was it destiny, or was he just hungry for 
more pot? “I don't have a suitcase.” 


“Great. Come on. You'll love it.” 


JJ extended his hand to Jude. 


The girl was short and plump, with dark frizzy hair and eyes ringed 
with sleep. Her mouth was a little crooked. Her teeth had a gap, but 
they were clean, white. Which was wild to Jude, all things 
considered. He could barely remember that toothpaste existed on 
most days. But hers? Pristine. Jude tried to remember the last time 
he took a shower when she said, “Dude, are you staring at my 
teeth?” 


“No.” 
“What the fuck is your problem?” 


“Be cool,” said JJ, his voice cutting in like a lute or something. “He's 
just weird. So are you. Jude, this is Esther. Esther, this is Jude.” 


“So, uh, are you two, you know.” 


“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Esther poked Jude in the 
chest. She was shorter than he. By a foot and a half or something, 
he guessed without really being too certain of the measurement. 


“In the airport, he said like. You know. He was staying with you,” 
said Jude. 


“So if aman stays with a woman, that means they're going to fuck? 
Is that the kinda shit you believe? You smell like an asshole. Anyone 
ever tell you that?” 


“Sometimes.” 


“Calm down, lady and gentleman. Why don't we chill? It's a beautiful 
day outside.” JJ was grinning. None of it concerned him. He had 
already slid to the kitchen and was making himself something to eat. 
“On a day like this, it's divine providence to smoke weed. The sky is 
perfect for it. The air is good, too. But the sky is better.” 


Jude turned to the window. It was overcast. Rain fell in tiny, near- 
freezing droplets. The sky was dark black in the horizon. To the 
east. Or west. Or really any of them. Jude wasn't a fucking 
compass. But, he knew what the wind looked like, when it made the 
trees scatter, when it brought leaves sliding across pavement. The 
storm was coming closer. It would only get worse. 


“Yeah, okay. You better not be fucking him when | get back,” said 
Esther. 


“He doesn't like anonymous sex.” 


Esther's laugh was harsh and quick. A singular proclamation of 
hilarity. She was out of the room before he could say anything else. 
Jude blushed then shook his head back and forth. Up and down. It 
felt like his ears were popped, but it was deep in his brain. It was like 
an uncorked bottle of pop. It was losing all of its fizzle. 


“Did you know you can stick your finger in pop to make the foam go 
down faster?” Jude hadn't moved. His shoes were off. His own smell 
was Starting to get to him, which had to have been a bad sign. He 
took a bottle of deodorizer (the friend of all stoners) from a table and 
began spraying himself. 


If JJ thought that was weird, he didn't show any sign of it. “Yeah, if 
you wipe your nose with your finger and you stick it in, it goes down 
even faster. But you get nose oil in your drink.” 


“Yeah.” Jude sat down at the kitchen table. And then he got up and 
sat on a couch. And then he stood up, walking into the kitchen, 
lingering. JJ was making a sandwich that Jude tried not to look at. A 
combination of things he didn't want to think of. Ketchup and pickles 
and meat and cheese. He tried to avoid looking at the sandwich 


when he said, “She hates me, doesn't she?” 
“Yeah.” 

“Why'd you bring me here then?” 

“Because it's a good idea.” He took a bite. 


Jude decided to go back to the table, sitting down. The apartment 
was small. Three rooms. A living room and kitchen barely divided by 
a counter and those weird overhead cabinets. She had a bathroom, 
probably. And a bedroom. Three rooms. If you counted the 
bathroom. And he did. 


“She hates everyone,” said JJ. Jude tried not to look at a speck of 
ketchup on his tooth. He tried not to hurl. “She'll like you as soon as 
| do something to annoy her. My girl loves a teammate during that 
kind of thing. It's what always happens.” 


“How do you know? Have you done this before?” 
“Nope,” said JJ. 


Before Jude could question it, Esther was back in, with a bowl anda 
bag of weed that made Jude salivate visibly. 


“| can't find a fucking lighter. | think she took it. Bitch.” She threw the 
bag on the counter. “Who wants to go to the fucking gas station?” 


“| have a lighter.” And he took it out of his pocket and held it out to 
Esther. She snatched it out of her hand. She didn't say thank you. 


As Esther began to break up the weed, in a slow way that, to Jude, 
showed her as a complete weed novice, she said, “Fucked up that | 
have to rely on this shit-smelling guy for help when | got a fucking 
lucky little magic boy in the house.” 


“| found it,” said JJ, just as Jude said, “I'm magic, too, you know.” 


Esther finally had barely filled up the bowl when she pressed it to 
her lips and took a short drag, punctuated by a coughing fit that 
Jude could've counted as a gale if he had a barometer or whatever. 


“Don't be a show off. | figure everyone he picks up is. You're not 
special. | can do shit, too.” 


Jude took the bowl next. The smoke filled his lungs. And he let it 
stay there. He could feel it inside of him. His capillaries took it. His 
lung opened up like a fucking clamshell. His blood was a dancing 
little Macarena man, bringing it into his brain and diffusing the 
numbness like the most beautiful chill. Like sleeping. Like buzzing. 


And then, for the first time, Esther smiled. She smiled with all of her 
teeth. But she caught herself. And frowned. “What can you do 
anyway, Jude?” 


Smoking weed with someone, especially when it was more than 
two-thirds of the people in the room could handle, was a weird 
experience. Esther had been on the floor, laughing and giggling. 
She was nearly passed out. It was a coughing fit that had sparked it, 
long after she admitted that it had been the first time she had 
smoked weed. 


JJ was calm, but it was clear that not a single thought was going 
through his head. Jude kept trying to explain how JJ was like the 
Golden Man from the Philip K. Dick story, but JJ just kept grinning, 
those beautiful eyes two small slits. 


Jude wasn't the best babysitter. It was hard for him. He was usually 
the one on acid that people were looking out for. Of course, the 
people who looked out for him were dead. Or wanted him dead. Or 
were forgetting he ever existed. 


As he bent down to get Esther on her feet, the doorbell rang. 
Without stopping, JJ walked to the door and opened it wide. 


“What the fuck is wro—,” said Jude. A spiky tendril emerged from 
the bag of weed and wrapped around his mouth. It was thorny, 
tough. It smelled like a weed. A single purple blossom grew from the 
top of the tendril, that waved in front of his eyes. Bull thistle. Milk 
thistle. And there were more. They sprung out from the bag. They 
had no beginning point, just suddenly jetted out from the bud. 


The tendrils wrapped across his limbs, pulling him to the counter 
and plopping him onto a seat. Esther fell forward again, and JJ 
calmly closed the door after the man at the door stepped inside. 


“| could smell you from outside, Jude,” said the man with the 
emerald hair and eyes like the sea. “Fourteen. That's how many. 
Fourteen lives. The perfect amount for my Green Fields of France, 
little man. Video Killed the Radio Star doesn't work if you can't 
move, does it? I've always told you, my stand is much better than 
yours. | don't need to be there. | don't need to touch anything. Green 
Fields of France loves plants and hates all those who murder. And 
you, Roller, have quite a bit of blood on your hands.” 


Esther stood up on shaky feet and said, “What the fuck kind of nerd 
shit are you talking about, dude?” 


“You didn't tell them, Jude? How cute. Your Catholic guilt is what will 
kill you in the end, you know, Jude. You think a little statue is gonna 
undo what you did, little guy? You're shit in God's eyes, and the 
eyes of all that's cool.” And the man smiled at Esther. “Hello, dear. 
My name is Eric Furey. My old friend Jude here used to know me as 
The Gardener. I've just come here on behalf of some old friends. For 
some retribution.” 


JJ laughed and sat down next to Jude, spinning on the chair. “You 
are totally pretending to have a stand, aren't you?” 


“What's a stand?” said Esther. 


“It's an anime power thing. Like, it's a punch ghost. Except this 
dude's is super shitty.” 


“It is not a shitty stand,” said Eric. The tendrils tightened on Jude. 
Fourteen. Blood trickled down his shirt, down his legs, and he made 
a noise that sounded like a moan and a scream. It was kind of both. 
Jude wiggled against the grip. His hands were lashed tight to his 
sides. The thorns were horrible. It smelled like cutting the grass. It 
smelled like falling down in a field while playing contact sports. The 
fingers of his right hand wiggled. “It is a very useful stand for 
wetwork, and it's absolutely fucking amazing at what it does. All it 
needs is a plant, and | can kill the guiltiest son of a bitch in a room.” 


“What if there aren't any plants?” JJ said. “What if he doesn't feel 
guilty?” 


“Wait. Did you dye your hair to fit with your, uh, stan?” A pause. 
Esther giggled. “Dude, those are contacts, aren't they? You don't 
even fucking have green eyes, do you? And look at his nails. Oh G- 
d. JJ, look at his fucking fingernails. Green. Oh G-d. | think they 
sparkle. Do you see that?” 


“Are you two even fucking listening to me?” The tendrils pulled Jude 
to the ground, along with the bag. The weed and the animated 
thistle fell onto the ground. It gave them better coverage. Better 
angles, as they spread across the floor, and in turn, spread Jude at 
a painful angle. “This smelly bastard you brought here is a murderer. 
A filthy fucking killer. They bite him because of that. They gnash 
their teeth, because he has spilled blood on Mother Earth. And 
Mother Earth does not take kindly to being tainted.” To punctuate 
the moment, the tendrils tightened and twisted Jude's body. His right 
hand flashed. 


Too quickly for Eric to see, who was staring at JJ and Esther. They 
had finally listened. And he always loved a good audience. 


“You mean, Jude? Who did he kill?” JJ's expression was blank. 
There was curiosity, but there was no longer warmth. Nor was there 
coldness. It was clinical, interested. Jude would have loved to study 
it if he wasn't being killed by plants. 


“That smelly piece of shit?” 


“Fourteen. Thirteen men. One woman. Innocent people. Artists. By 
all accounts, they didn't see it coming. They couldn't have, of 
course. But trust me, it's in your best interest for you to let us do this. 
It's our code.” 


“What the fuck?” said Esther. 


The moment was perfect. The green lighter flicked to life in his hand. 
He was the flame. The heat that was everything inside of him and 
outside of him. It radiated outward. The end of each tendril sizzled, 
and it slid inward, like a cigarette being pulled by an unseen giant. 


Eric's eyes had bugged out before he realized that his body was 
aflame. And then he was on the ground, rolling. The flame was 
quick. It scorched the carpet, but it didn't consume him. 


As Esther jerked over to the kitchen for the fire extinguisher, the 
flame went out. Eric was crispy on the ground, gasping for breath, 
but very much alive. 


“They'll send more, Jude.” He coughed. Eric strained to speak, his 
mouth lipless and charred. “You can't beat all of us.” 


Jude coughed, wiping the blood from his mouth. He reached out and 
picked up an unscorched marijuana bud from the carpet. A single 
one untouched. He was happy there hadn't been a fifteenth person 
there. Without thinking, he stuffed it into his pocket. Esther probably 
wouldn't mind. 


“I think we should leave,” said JJ. “All of us.” 


“I'm not going anywhere with a fucking murderer. What the fuck, JJ? 
What the fuck?” 


“We're going with him. You have to come.” 


Esther didn't argue. Neither did Jude. There was a burnt man 
moaning. Esther packed away her laptop, her clothes, a few pictures 
that made Jude's head hurt, and a few books Jude didn't see. Two 
suitcases. “Where are we going? For how long?” 


“It depends on where Jude is going,” said JJ as he left the room, 
walking down the hallway. The elevator doors opened and closed. 


Esther and Jude stared at each other for a long moment. He 
coughed and sat up. And then stood up. 


“Uh, | can take one of your suitcases for you. If you want.” 
“| can hold my own fucking stuff,” she said. 


Jude took a suitcase, and she didn't say anything. The two of them 
didn't move. 


“| was in Are We Cool Yet?, and | didn't stop something bad. They 
did something to a woman. My friend. They hurt her. Raped her. 
Killed her. For an art piece. They made it magic to do this. So | killed 
them.” Jude coughed, moving from his right foot to his left. “I don't 
know if I'd undo it. But | killed them. | didn't want them to do it again. 
He was there. It's okay if you're weirded out. It's pretty fucked up. | 
should've mentioned, uh, my killer thing. | guess.” 


Esther stared at him. She took her suitcase in her hand and walked 
to the kitchen table. She picked up her car keys as they jingled in 
her hands. As she passed Eric, she kicked him once in the stomach. 
She walked out of her apartment, and Jude followed. Together, they 
walked into the elevator, and the doors closed behind them. 


“Did you guys seriously name all your powers after some anime?” 
Esther finally asked, breaking that long silence. 


“Yeah.” 
“Who fucking does that?” 


“It's more common than you think. You ever hear of Serpent's 
Hand? | know a lot of their assassins pretend they're super saiyans.” 


“And what does your stan do?” 

Jude coughed, looked at the ground, and shuffled. The elevator 
opened, and JJ smiled placidly at them, waving his hand slowly from 
right to left. 

“So, where are we going?” said Jude. 


“Fuck you. What's your stan?” 


“It's called a stand. With a d. Video Killed the Radio Star. | 
manipulate electricity.”