Free Dyscountopia by Niccolo Grovinci Page A

arrived at a small open plaza, where a pile of white-walled tires lay burning underneath some blackened, indistinguishable animal on a spit.   It might have been a pig.   A group of pasty faced men stood nearby, gathered around a train of heavily laden animals the likes of which Albert had never seen before.   Albert stood gawking as the men unpacked cartons of milk and bags of donuts from the animals’ woolly backs, stacking them in a pile.
    “Never seen a llama, Zim?” Dr. Zayus tugged him along by his sleeve.   “Not surprising, I guess.   Did you know that, when Omega-Mart shut down all the zoos on the planet, they just let the animals up here to roam free?   Some of them make great pack animals.”   He gestured to the fire.   “And some are just good for eating; and some of them will eat you, if you give them a chance.”
    Albert watched the Roofers scatter into their huts, toting their newly unloaded groceries in baskets above their heads.   “Where does all this stuff come from?”
    Dr. Zayus shrugged.   “Milk past its sell-by date, day old bread and donuts, irregular socks, misprinted hockey jerseys; all the dregs that are no good for selling get tossed up here.   We may have been severed forever from the ecstasy of bargain shopping, but the Omega-Mart family is much too cruel to let us die.   Instead, they make us live up here forever, in a wasteland of free second-rate merchandise that no one in their right mind would ever want, robbed of our God-given right to purchase.”   Dr. Zayus sighed.   “It doesn’t make much difference.   Everything we want may be down there, but everything we need is right here.   That’s all it’s about on the roof – survival.”   He smiled wistfully.   “Heck, I hardly ever think about shopping anymore.”   But Albert didn’t believe him.
    The Doctor led Albert to a small hut with a shower curtain for a door, ignoring the growing number of Roofers that milled curiously around them.   He opened the plaid plastic curtain and waved Albert inside, then turned back to the gaping crowd.
    “Beat it!” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.   “Give the man his space.”   The rag-tag group dispersed reluctantly, amidst a flurry of murmurs and low, half-formed protests.
    Inside, Albert found the hut in complete disarray.   Books and pornographic magazines littered the single-room enclosure, mixed with dirty laundry, used paper plates and candy wrappers.   A large, torn bean-bag lay slumped in one corner of the room, hemorrhaging Styrofoam beads onto the floor.   Zayus waved Albert over to the only other piece of furniture in the room; a stained pleather loveseat that tipped slightly to one side as Albert sat down.
    The Doctor rummaged nervously around the hut, stooping over to keep from dragging his head on the roof as he tried in vain to clear up some of the mess.   Albert waited patiently, examining the only wall adornment in the Doctor’s home -- a sloppily glued picture frame displaying a cheap looking paper certificate that read:
     
    OMEGA-MART SCHOOL OF MEDICINE
    Certificate of Achievement
    Most Improved
     
    “Impressive, huh?”   The Doctor shoved a plastic cup filled with brown-tinted water into Albert’s hand.   Albert took a sip, hoping it was iced tea.   It wasn’t.
    “What kind of Doctor are you?” Albert asked, trying not to grimace.
    The Doctor raised his eyebrows.   “Oh, didn’t I give you one of my cards?”   He reached into his pocket, pulled out a little paper rectangle and thrust it toward Albert, waiting anxiously for his reaction.
    Albert examined the bit of paper.   It was a homemade business card, written in blue magic marker.   He squinted at the Doctor’s shaky scrawl.   “Dr. Robert Zayus, the rapist?”
    “ Therapist .”   The Doctor frowned.   “I’m going to make better ones after I give all these away.”
    “You’re a psychiatrist?”
    The Doctor nodded as he flopped into the bean