The man with the electric head (1-3)

The man with the electric head likes to have staring contests with parking meters.
He is developing his skills, gradually tuning in to the frequency of the meter, changing the number of minutes remaining. Most of the meters are set for a two hour time limit, but he bumps them up to the 9:59 mark. Then he sits on a bench across the street, watching as people park, walking up to the meter with a hand already in their pocket ready to fish out some change. Some smile broadly at their luck and skip away, others, presumably aware of the two hour limit, appear confused, sometimes tapping on the glass, occasionally shifting their gaze as if viewing the numbers from another angle will alter them.


The man with the electric head has an ipod that he never carries.
For as long as he remembers, there has been static in his headphones. It is only recently that he began to understand why. When he was younger, they took him to have his ears tested, and he could hear all the tones but still there was static. They ran further tests and still could find nothing wrong. Since he only had the problem when he wore headphones, the doctors convinced his parents that he just had a particular sensitivity and there was nothing to be done. Eventually the matter was dropped. It's really just an inconvenience, he thinks, and a shame really, since he can change the songs by just thinking about it. He could do it to the people nearby if he wanted, but he respects the music; he knows that he's not just changing a song, he's altering someone's mood as a result.


The man with the electric head has a new girlfriend.
It's been almost a month now. She seems generally happy, though she has started to chastise him for his relatively passionless kisses. He hasn't explained the problem to her yet, but will have to soon. He's never sure when to bring up the subject. The scent of burnt lip flesh from years ago keeps his desires in check; knowing that if he breaks his concentration he will come away physically unscathed but she will not. If he mentions the problem too soon, they think he is crazy, and he loathes the recriminating look if he waits too long, the sudden jolt away in the awareness of the heat and the light crackle. There is such a thing as too much passion. This he knows all too well.