4 Mr. Zebra

2 WEEKS LATER

It was a gentle afternoon. School children were littered about the streets, buying food and walking home. The season couldn't decide whether it wanted to be summer or winter, so the air was fresh, but not crisp. The sun, shuffling lazily towards the horizon, shone golden rays of light on the Eastern sidewalks and shop windows. A trash pile of brown leaves and white cigarettes lay in a drain.

Sitting on a bench, sheltered from the afternoon sunshine was a decrepit lady, with a blissful expression. The old woman's skin was thin and loose, like a poorly made pizza dough.

A man (or what most would assume was a man. It was hard to tell, honestly.), with the fashion sense of an emotional hardcore teen (alternatively), who only ever shopped at Hot Topic, who you could imagine claimed, in his youth, to be raised by wolves, despite the fact there are no wolves in New Zealand, and so on - he leaned on a lamp post, vaguely adjacent to the elderly woman.

At some point, their eyes met. The woman smiled, the man averted his gaze - which was rude, but she decided not to be offended, she was too old for all that.

A lady wearing an excessive number of necklaces strutted past with her toddler daughter running in front of her. They passed the old woman. The mother waved politely, but the child opted to ignore her. Too preoccupied with swinging around a munted-looking doll. In her enthusiasm, the child threw the plaything, and it landed beside the edgy man's black and red converse. To avoid being rude, he picked it up and held it out to her. A little too eagerly, she took it from him.

Her fingers; sticky, smelling of citrus and pennies, graced his hand slightly as she grabbed it from him. He recoiled, trying (and failing) to mask his repulsion. The bead-laden mother gave him a look that said:

What? My child's not gross – you're gross. Before donning a shameless superficial smile; setting a good example for her kid:

"Chloe dear, say thank you to the kind... person." She paused, tauntingly.

The man squinted at her.

"Thanks," the kid murmured, engrossed in her strange doll. The mother and daughter walked away, and that was the end of the interaction. The man returned to his brooding session, mulling in disgust. Finally, the person who he'd crawled begrudgingly from his dwelling to meet rounded the corner, walking in his direction.

"Ah, Mr. Zebra," the emo greeted.

The man turned to him, confused "who?"

This didn't make sense. This man matched the description he'd been given perfectly; Polynesian, mid-20s, wearing a well-tailored charcoal gray suit, with — and this was the supposed giveaway — a red and orange tie. Surely no-one else would have the audacity to wear such a lurid accessory. Coincidences happen, I suppose.

"Sorry, thought you were someone else." the emo murmured.

"Haha I'm just messing with you, 'Wayne Griffin.'"

Griffin scowled at him, unamused. Mr. Zebra moved in closer, to get out of earshot from passer-by-ers. Griffin could still smell the burger on him. It would not be a healthy choice to eat his liver. Not that he was considering it.

Mr. Zebra lowered his voice "so... how do you like it here?"

"I don't."

"Oh," Mr. Zebra frowned, "well, you'll get used to it eventually."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Hm," rusty gears in Mr. Zebras head churned, desperately goading his mouth to produce some words of encouragement. Before he had the chance to, Griffin continued.

"Nothing happens around here. It's so goddamn... domestic."

"Yeah mate," Mr. Zebra piped "that's the idea; no galactic mobsters coming for your kneecaps here."

"They weren't mobsters. It was a shadow government preying on an underdeveloped civilisation. But honestly, I'd give up both my patella for a ticket out of here."

Mr. Zebra coughed lightly, and stared at his feet, sort of in guilt. Griffin sighed, annoyed.

After an awkward pause: "okay," Mr. Zebra tried again, "besides that, how's it going – do you have a job yet?"

"No."

"What have you been doing?"

"Lying on the floor in my apartment. Fantasising returning to my life, you know." Mr. Zebra winced, "What's wrong?" he probed.

"I told you already-"

"-Are you homesick? Lonely? Is that it?"

"If I say yes, will you move me off this miserable planet?"

"No, but I'll try to find someone else to put here with you."

"Ugh, no, I'm fine."

"Great. Welp, try not to get into any trouble – find something to do with your new life, and I'll be checking up on you again in a few months." Mr. Zebra concluded.

"A few months?!"

"Is that a problem?"

"Exactly how long am I going to be stuck here?"

"Either until the galactic police force cracks this shadow government, or until they eventually forget about you," Mr. Zebra answered, "which probably won't happen, and I don't know why I mentioned it -"

"- I can't be stuck here for the next decade," Griffin interrupted, "I want to return to my job as soon as possible."

Mr. Zebra chuckled uncomfortably "Nah mate. Sorry to say this, but it's highly unlikely you'll be able to return to your original identity..."

Wayne looked incredibly disturbed, like a cat who'd heard the vacuum start up.

Mr. Zebra quickly elaborated "I mean, technically you can leave the program whenever you want, but as you know, your government will disown you 'purposefully endangering yourself and others' or whatever."

"Well fine." Griffin scoffed, trying to regain some composure "I'll just have to overturn this powerful organisation from here. By myself. Without access to any databases, evidence, or witnesses..." he just stopped talking, and stared off into space, realising the hopelessness of his situation.

"Yeah man, you've reached a hurdle here,"

"That's a euphemism if I've ever heard one."

"Mhm."

Griffin facepalmed.

"Look, the best advice I can give to you is: start a new life, seriously; get a job; make friends; get into a rhythm – you won't be thinking clearly when your life's uncoordinated like this."

Instead of replying, Griffin glared at his converse.

"Good man." Mr. Zebra sighed, patting the alien's shoulder roughly, before lumbering off, disappearing around the corner.

Griffin got up and kicked the lamppost that had graciously allowed him to rest on it. This outburst shocked the old woman (who was still sitting on the bench), but she still smiled at him comfortingly as he turned in her direction again. Griffin rolled his eyes and stomped off.