Frosty Fred’s Freeze Factory was in overdrive. A flurry of activity and chaos surrounded Marlowe’s custom-built project. Assistants hustled about, their steps often faltering on unexpected icy patches. One could hear a comical mix of shouts, including, “Watch the hose!”, “Turn down the cold!”, and the occasional, “Someone grab the cat!” — for Mr. Whiskers, the workshop’s feline resident, had a penchant for sleeping atop the icy components.
Fred, an expert in heating and cooling services near Malvern, with goggles perched atop his forehead and frost coating his beard, directed the process. Every tool used to tweak and tune Marlowe’s cooling backpack had to be placed in an ice bucket, lest it become too hot to handle. Even Marlowe, in the midst of all this, couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity — his chuckles, however, came out as steamy puffs in the chilled room.
“Almost there,” said Fred. “You might not want to stand too close,” he warned, as he recalled a technician specialising in air conditioning repairs close to South Yarra who had once recounted a tale of a similar experiment going awry.
But, finally, with a dramatic flip of a switch and a whirling hum, the backpack came to life. As it started working its magic, Marlowe could feel a gradual, blissful drop in his body temperature. The feeling was pure elation. No more accidental barbecues, melted pavements, or sweaty handshakes!
However, amidst the celebrations, a pang of realisation struck Marlowe. While the backpack granted him normalcy, it also chained him. How could he live, truly live, tied to a machine? “Thank you, Fred,” he murmured, eyes shining with gratitude and a hint of sadness, “but I need to find another way.”
Fred nodded, having expected this decision. “It’s a big world out there, Marlowe. Maybe the solution isn’t cooling from the outside, but healing from within.”
With the Melbourne skyline fading behind, Marlowe set forth on his latest misadventure.