On James Street in Hamilton, there is a little bar where the thinkers go, where steelworkers put up their boots and poets slosh around pomegranate verses on the walls. This is The Brain.
Transcription:
WHY DOES THE BRAIN... HAVE... THE...
BELL?
OH TO STEELTOWN DREAM...
📷 vincentkocznurwriter
Beneath Hamilton exists an underground city older than most of you. You can get to it thru the secret entrance downstairs (the bartenders know where it is, but they're not allowed to tell you.) The people down there have leathery bat-like wings and are always naked. The prudish among you will find this strange, even wrong even. But they don't care much for our ever-changing morality, our bedrock foundations that fluctuate with the slightest breeze.
They watch us from their deep dug tunnels and wonder if we will ever learn to walk among long dappled grass, or to not be afraid of the fanged tygers of the moon.
I suppose they went underground because we are too difficult to live with on the surface. It's their loss, really. I think we're better than they give us credit for, I really do. Some of them go rogue, you know. They'll crawl up through the sewers, through the old floorboards of your one-bedroom apartment, stare at you with their glowing red eyes, smack their teeth-marked lips, and with a bell SWOOSH drag you down to their world.
What happens down there?
I don't know. They won't tell me.
That's why The Brain has the bell. It's connected to the tunnels. When the bell rings, it means a kidnapped victim has rung it for help.
Or maybe they're telling us it's amazing down there. Who knows?