For Greg

Light slowly seeps into the early spring sky, but the town of Jeremiah is still asleep and dreaming. Its curtains and blinds are closed, its doors all locked. The streets and the sidewalks are empty and silent. Which is not to say that no one stirs. A solitary dog trots purposefully through the centre of town. A cat sleeping in the window of the barber’s shop opens its eyes, stretches and yawns. A light goes on in the apartment over the hardware store. And, just outside the town limits, two figures suddenly appear, as if they’ve materialized out of the thinnest air. And perhaps they have, for they certainly look like no one else in Jeremiah.

The young man is dressed in sharply creased beige slacks and a dark green blazer with a cornflower in the buttonhole. He wears a tie. The young woman is dressed in worn, vintage jeans and a T-shirt with the portrait of Frida Kahlo with a monkey peering over her shoulder on it. Her hair is peacock blue. His is dark, but a little too long and parted in the middle. They are Otto Wasserbach and Remedios Cienfuegos y Mendoza. The rising sun bounces off the mirror polish of Otto’s shoes and makes the tiny silver stars in Remedios’ nose and ears shine. Except that they both look to be the same, indeterminate age, they are so dissimilar that it’s difficult to believe they’re actually together.

“Well, here we are!” says Otto with the brightness of a cheerleader urging on a losing team. And, in case his companion hasn’t seen the large metal sign at the side of the road, reads, “Welcome to Jeremiah – Population 7068.” A small frown creases his perfect features. “It really should be seven thousand and seventy, now.” Otto is something of a pedant.

His companion, however, is not. “Show a little mercy, will you? We’re not moving in. We’re just visiting. Temporarily.”