[LOBO]
The kid –who looks a little like a pint-sized Butterbean- just kind of slips into the kitchen as I’m pouring milk into my bowl. The food, inspected under a black light only moments before, is presumed safe for my consumption.But I’m still pretty groggy and not 100% I’m not dreaming the kid up: I decide to say nothing and try and ignore him in case.
-The possible illusion is shattered moments later as he loudly slides into a chair at the table.
“Hi,” he says shyly, averting my gaze.
“Hi,” I reply, chewing.
A few uncomfortable moments of silence follow.
“Is that cereal?”
“No,” says me, eyeing him warily. “It’s Peanut M&Ms.”
“Huh,” he says. "Do you always wear welding goggles at breakfast?"
"Son, you ever get hard candy shell in your eye?""No."
"Well then don't knock good protective gear. This isn’t some bullshit caramel nugat: this stuff is engineered to melt in your mouth. Not in your eye."
More silence. He starts uncomfortably looking around the kitchen. “Miss Terri said I could come in and talk to you.”
“Are you done?”
“No. See I have this school project where I have to interview people of different occupations.” He flips open a notepad. “I have you here as an ‘Author.’ Is that correct?”
I examine his beady little eyes for signs of sarcasm.
“You want to interview me?” I ask.
“Well my dad thought it was a good idea. Since you don’t actually have a job, he figured he wouldn’t have to drive me anyplace.”
I drop my spoon into the bowl -now empty except for discolored milk- and lean back in my chair. “Who is your dad again?”“We live next door.”
I scowl without recognition.
“You killed my gramma with a Lawn Jart last summer,” he adds helpfully.
My eyebrows furrow. I gesture for him to stand and turn around. And sure enough, there’s that distinctive blocky skull shape.
“Oh yeah,” I says. “Man, your mom was pissed."
