There is a parlor that is said to be established somewhere off Tumblr Avenue. However, it is not accessible to many. I will relay the story of the parlor that an old Tumblr colleague of mine once told me.
Smooth and trim, shelved between a Likes page and an archive, the parlor does not make an effort to exhibit its business inside. One might be surprised at the gaudy interior past the prairie-grille doors. A fitting entrance, seeing that âdoorsâ are the top trade inside the building.
You might be surprised by this--I was, over blintzes and sugar cubes with my colleague--but there is quite a large market for âsplit-woodâ, a term coined in the business for doors with graffiti on one side. A home or store owner might wake up one morning, greeted by tenuous white lines of illustration on their doorway. No one knows whether it is one artist, a collective, or divine chance; either way, if your building is met with this fortune, you can take the door to this parlor to be auctioned or sold, as regulars believe the illustration contains certain prophetic qualities for their life.
The interior may feel very congested at first, according to my colleague. It's not tall, but stretches a bit towards the back, and the low, blooming lights are disorienting. Leather cushion seats are clustered and scattered at the whims of the current attendees. A terrible layer of smoke clouds the bar, which is adorned with metal chains and wires. The six owners of the building all share a similar taste, and thus the decoration stays. My colleague once sat in on an auction with his friend from a Server school.
His friend, who I will name as NV, was a man with a bad habit of taking pictures of strangers in public. It was his attempt at âcandid photographyâ, but often it would result in him peeking through windows, waiting behind corners, and following poor saps down dark alleys. He would at times tell his dreams of amorphous shapes that encouraged him to âcapture people in their true stateâ. He was gregarious and at the same time aggressive--once we met at a Bloggerâs beach event and, noticing my timidity toward the water, bulldozed me in by the shoulders. At this auction, my friend had been invited by NV, who had already become a regular for the past several months.
Waiting at the bar for the event to begin, NV mouthed through his cigar something unexpected. The split-wood being auctioned that day were fraudulent. This particular NV had commissioned for a low price to mimic the shared style on four doors, store-bought. It was his idea that that must be the origin of most split-wood auctioned there, unknown to the oblivious auction-goers. It was easy profit, and the parlor was covert enough to dip in and out of. Heâd come with the intention of hiking the price, the money going to a stand-in party who agreed to give it all to him. When the auction began, all four illustrations faced the wall.
The painted sides would only be revealed to the audience once all were bought, so as to preserve the lure of their supposed prophetic meanings. NV and my colleague were stuffed somewhere in the rows of leather chairs as the auctioneer began to sound off prices. The first door slowly made its way up to 2900, and then pushed from a 4100 bid by NV to 7500. The second and third were sold for similar prices, 12700 and 16500 respectively, much higher than the average auction. When the fourth came around, NV seemed to be completely feverish, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief and adjusting his cuffs. As for my colleague, he was quite relaxed by the smoke and din among the small audience.
The sound of the auctioneerâs gavel seemed to pass over his ears and make NV flinch to attention as the fourth doorâs sale began. It went from 1000, to 4000, to 6000, 6500 (by NV) and then in the end, 12000. All in the audience looked around wordlessly, waiting for anything more, but that was final. NV had begun nervously thumbing his chin and chuckling, attempting to withhold any excitement. The man excused himself silently to smoke a cigar outside, telling my colleague to meet him in front at any time he was ready. With a wink, he left the parlor. However my colleague lingered inside, out of the simple curiosity to watch for a minute the swindled folk.
Donned with black leather gloves, the parlorâs handler swiftly exited from the back hall to rotate the doors for the buyers. Those who had stood to see suddenly slowed--then an outburst of murmurs between gloved hands and folding jackets took over the room. On each split-wood, the previously white lines had come to violently render black boxes of varying sizes, with materials unintelligible.
The depictions were unlike any previous piece, and any details that could have been interpreted for fortune had been rendered null. Only the shape of the rectangle remained. Anyone who looked out the window at that point would have seen the incapacitated NV locked inside the tight lattice of a metal enclosure, to which he could not escape. It was said he lay on the concrete completely stifled. After the panicked attention of my colleague, then those inside the building, followed by the street crowd and the fire department and the local metal workers and finally the moderators, NV silently succumbed and deactivated.
That is simply the story as I heard it, and I did not feel up to finishing my sugar cubes after.
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