“No. No. This––I have my money. Take my money. Take my goddamn money.”
They wouldn’t. A man came from the back room and stood beside the cashier; they both looked anxious as they tried to explain to the man with the money why. He crumpled a ten-dollar bill in his hand and then watched as it slowly opened in his palm.
“This ain’t fair. This ain’t no fuckin’ fair.” He whispered.
“We told you, we just can’t.”
A line of tears zigzagged down the man’s face before he staggered out of the store. The cashier and I shared no words as I paid for my beer.
Scum. The puss secreted from the anal warts of any Conservative MP. A living, breathing example of the faults in our educational system. Not even vultures would stoop to eating his tainted mass of flesh. If his idiocy were contagious I’d immediately open every available vein. The recent rash of pipeline oil spills are a distant second in environmental damage behind every subsequent breath he takes. He would make Sophie’s choice a no-brainer. I’m surprised he was even able unlock his truck, let alone drive it. Who the fuck doesn’t yield to cyclists at a roundabout on a bike route? Morons. Those whose brains have been pulled through their noses piece-by-piece and replaced with caulk. I thought about how good it would have felt to say all of that to him, except maybe the Sophie’s choice stuff––that was a little much, as I cut an illegal left going clockwise without signalling at the next roundabout.
Like Atlas, unable to move without his world crashing, I lay face down on the couch enduring a sunburn that brought with it a level of discomfort unknown to man or titan. The afflicted areas vibrated until they reached the same tingling pitch as the crotch of a Harley rider, albeit less arousing. There was no way for me to move without triggering a sensory assault. The bottle of aloe I’d bought did seem to be working––for the places I could reach. My back, the crux of any positional comfort, was left to suffer. I needed help.
Any friends were either working or unavailable. Posting a Craigslist add (Need lotion rubbed on back ASAP! NSA – M4MF) or smearing the wall in the gelly and rubbing against it were options but I decided against both. Maybe someone on the street would be willing to help a fellow human in need? It didn’t seem that unreasonable, especially if I brought a hand towel for them to wipe up with after. The only issue is I’d have to go outside in my underpants since any article of clothing that touched the red mass of my body felt like 40 Roman lashes. Well, maybe 20. Delivered by a child with a pipe cleaner. Either way, I figured my near-nakedness probably wouldn’t fly.
After some extended sulking I was hungry and like the snap of two sun-broiled fingers it came to me. I called the nearest sushi place that would deliver. They said they’d be here in twenty. I emptied my change jar and put together a hefty tip.