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.