Al Dente Inferno
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I woke up annoyed that, for the third day in a row, something went wrong on the coffee pot timer.
The coffee didn't start, and I would have to undergo the arduous task of pressing a button and wait fifteen minutes. So I jump in the shower sans caffeine, consciously suppressing screaming obscenities into unsympathetic porcelain tiles.
My brain, well-advised against starting a day like this, tried to head me off.
"Relax, man," it said. "It's not like anyone died."
-And this kinda worked, until it added the afterthought:
"Eventually, everybody dies at the end of this story."
That thought threw me into an utter crippling existential funk. I started thinking about everyone I knew, friends, loved ones, children, pets ... all finally dying, and worse, kinda taking guesses at what Fate had in store for them.
I am supposed to take Lars Arson to the airport for his flight back to Illinois, but I don't know what time he is supposed to be taken to the airport. The couch has a wide defensive perimeter of In-N-Out Burger wrappers, video games and controllers, and Corona bottles.
Rachel yawned as she entered the kitchen. As far as I can tell, she is only wearing an oversized t-shirt.
"Are you working already?"
"I'm trying to," I says, honestly seeking distraction. "But I can't figure out if I'm supposed to log in under A01, A07, or A10."
"Go warthog," she says. "Hey, this coffee is terrible."
She didn't know I was at the show last night, because, well, she bombed pretty badly. I raced home unsure if my presence would only have somehow made things worse. The decision of who got the guest bedroom was left for my guests to decide (Lars was predictably gracious), and I retired for much-needed sleep probably long before she arrived. Call it cowardice.
"Look," I says. "If you are going to stay here for open mike nights, why not just move in? I have plenty of space, and I could use the help."
"Because the coffee is terrible," she smiles. "But thank you for letting us stay."
Us? She picked someone up -and slept with him in my home?
"Cindy came to the show," she says.
-Okay, now I am depressed and have an erection.
[LOBO]
I woke up annoyed that, for the third day in a row, something went wrong on the coffee pot timer.
The coffee didn't start, and I would have to undergo the arduous task of pressing a button and wait fifteen minutes. So I jump in the shower sans caffeine, consciously suppressing screaming obscenities into unsympathetic porcelain tiles.
My brain, well-advised against starting a day like this, tried to head me off.
"Relax, man," it said. "It's not like anyone died."
-And this kinda worked, until it added the afterthought:
"Eventually, everybody dies at the end of this story."
That thought threw me into an utter crippling existential funk. I started thinking about everyone I knew, friends, loved ones, children, pets ... all finally dying, and worse, kinda taking guesses at what Fate had in store for them.
I am supposed to take Lars Arson to the airport for his flight back to Illinois, but I don't know what time he is supposed to be taken to the airport. The couch has a wide defensive perimeter of In-N-Out Burger wrappers, video games and controllers, and Corona bottles.
Rachel yawned as she entered the kitchen. As far as I can tell, she is only wearing an oversized t-shirt.
"Are you working already?"
"I'm trying to," I says, honestly seeking distraction. "But I can't figure out if I'm supposed to log in under A01, A07, or A10."
"Go warthog," she says. "Hey, this coffee is terrible."
She didn't know I was at the show last night, because, well, she bombed pretty badly. I raced home unsure if my presence would only have somehow made things worse. The decision of who got the guest bedroom was left for my guests to decide (Lars was predictably gracious), and I retired for much-needed sleep probably long before she arrived. Call it cowardice.
"Look," I says. "If you are going to stay here for open mike nights, why not just move in? I have plenty of space, and I could use the help."
"Because the coffee is terrible," she smiles. "But thank you for letting us stay."
Us? She picked someone up -and slept with him in my home?
"Cindy came to the show," she says.
-Okay, now I am depressed and have an erection.
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