Victor Duprix relishes the night. He wastes his entire day testing car door handles for Chrysler Automotive Corporation, and does a good job of it. His heart isn’t in it. Half the time he does the job with his eyes closed so he can enjoy a little bit more of the dark.
Victor lives about a mile northwest of me, over in the Tanglewood district. He’s rented a room mounted on sticks above a backyard sewer grate behind the Jimmsons for over a decade. He could own three houses on his salary, but doesn’t have the desire.
Instead Vic puts all his money and imagination into a sort of one-man electric light show sponsored by Oscar Meyer. Each evening he swallows a chain of rainbow christmas lights connected to car battery. His relaxed gag reflex makes this possible.
Then he walks, slowly but confidently, up and down the streets rubbing his exposed, glowing belly. Although he never runs, its almost impossible to catch old Vic.
But a few kids have cornered him while on their BMX Mountain Bikes. And they claim he grants them a wish that does come true.
I believe them.
On account of their scars.
Around 4:30am he makes his way to the Furton Street playground and pulls the light strand out. Then vanishes.
(Actually it’s a trick with a dark purple bath towel but in that light he does appear to vanish.)
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