Welcome back, humble reader and patron, to George's fantasy come true. We left with George smiling fiercely at what he believed was the end of the world finally coming. Yes, he is a bit odd, isn't he?

​«¤»

​George was standing there, smiling like a maniacal idiot and daydreaming of what he would do first for so long that Jessica had to snap her fingers in his face to get his attention.

​"Hello! Earth to George!"

​He looked over at her, and his smile slowly disappeared. She was ruining a perfect moment of happiness. "What?" George all but snapped at her.

​"Kevin wants everyone to meet him at the car parts department for an announcement."

​The store was very dark. There were some emergency lights that barely allowed anyone to see where they were going. He sighed at the interruption to his thoughts and started walking. He resolved that nothing would ruin his sudden, ecstatically happy mood.

​They walked together to the auto parts department as his mind began to feed him all kinds of scenarios of how he would survive this. We'll just say that they could be grouped into a few simple categories: hide, travel as a merchant, or stand on a soapbox and save everyone from themselves.

​Yes, you and I both know that George is the last person to lead anyone into salvation. But George will be George. We'll let him keep his fantasies for now. He seems so happy.

​Several groups of people could be seen huddling near emergency lights or under the few skylights available on the ceiling. They were usually whispering in hushed, curious tones rather than nervous ones.

​George started rating them as he passed them. Didn't they know that everything had collapsed? That was his main thought. Collapsed, he thinks. His research had been grossly negligent for a self-described post-collapse survival expert.

​You don't have to take my word for it. You'll see soon enough. It's going to be so much fun watching him stumble about, trying to be the expert among the "lost causes," as he calls them.

​Here, we finally find George in the auto parts department. How interesting... or something like that. Everyone seems so bothered to be there. Let's listen in, for lack of anything better to do for the moment.

​George and Jessica stood in the back row of the loose group of fifteen employees. Kevin cleared his throat as he prepared to make his statement.

​"Alright, listen up, everyone. Shift leads, make sure your teams are accounted for," Kevin said, his voice flat and echoing in the high ceiling. "Here's where we're at. Corporate alerted us that this is a regional blackout. They don't have an ETA on power restoration, but protocol says we hold a position for two hours before we discuss closing the doors."

​At the mention of potentially going home, everyone perked up a little, including our little lab rat, George. Kevin continued.

​"Registers are on battery backup, but those are only meant to save transaction data, not ring up items. Do not attempt to process sales. Hand-written..."

​Every phone in the room—and across the entire store—simultaneously erupted into that grating, nerve-shredding screech of the national emergency alert system.

​SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH!

​Fifteen screens lit up in the dim garage light. Browsers, lock screens, and emergency pop-ups flashed in harsh white and red text:

​EMERGENCY ALERT

CIVIL DANGER WARNING

MUNICIPAL WATER SUPPLY COMPROMISED. DO NOT DRINK, COOK WITH, OR USE TAP WATER UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE DUE TO SUSPECTED CHEMICAL CONTAMINATION AT REGIONAL TREATMENT FACILITIES. AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

​George realized he was grinning that unhinged grin again. He tried, unsuccessfully, to tone it down. People began to notice. Thankfully, Kevin spoke up again.

​Kevin waved his arms over his head, authoritatively.

​"Alright, stay calm! Nobody panic!" Kevin yelled over the rising chorus of chiming notifications and startled muttering. "Listen to me! Shift leads, drop the inventory clipboards. We have an immediate security and asset-protection priority. Everyone knows what happens, the second people read a message like that—they're heading straight for Aisle 4."

​Kevin lost everyone's attention as every customer rushed Aisle 4. George had to get a grip on himself. He thought back to his water supply at home.

​I should tell you, before you get all proud of your man, George: he has no water at home. There. Now, we concentrate on more important things than pride and hope for George's chance of survival.

​George completely lost his smile. He had planned on filling his empty jugs when SHTF before the water plant stopped serving the town. But that plan went right out the window after the emergency broadcast.

​He looked around desperately as he formulated a plan. Stockroom. Oh, aren't we proud of George? He managed to make the better decision. Instead of joining the gradually more panicked crowd in Aisle 4, he chose the less crowded back room.

​Bravo, George, you're not a complete lost cause. I'll give George a 10% rating over 5%. Good job... Oh, okay. Let's be nice to George, you say? This is me sighing at your overcooked-noodle soft heart.

​There he is, running to the stockroom in the back. Ouch! I certainly hope he didn't need that knee he just crashed into the corner of that shelf. What? Can't I have a little fun, too?

​The flimsy doors peeled open as George crashed through them, limping hard. The back room was nearly pitch black. Most of the emergency lights were either hidden between tall stacks of product or covered completely by them.

​George cursed corporate disregard for safety as he limped toward the water stock. There was a flashlight dipping and swinging along the face of jugs, bottles, and purification equipment.

​He finally made it to the water. He had to laugh as he saw two of the stockers peeling plastic off the pallets and filling carts for themselves.

​Does this surprise you, Patron? Shall we make this a friendly situation rather than a fight for survival? Hmm? Wet Noodle. That's my name for you now. Oh, don't get mad at me. You did it to yourself.

​The two stockers paid George no attention as they filled their carts. So he grabbed one from a few feet away and started filling his own. There were literally thousands of bottles of water and over two or three hundred jugs.

​No one was competing... yet. The two other looters made their escape—one toward the store floor and the other out the back dock door. After a few minutes, George had his cart full of water jugs and a couple of 24-packs of water. He froze for a second, realizing he had only grabbed generic water brands during his heist.

​Don't look at me, Wet Noodle. That one is totally on George.

​George slapped his forehead with a groan. He was about to reload his cart when he heard Kevin's voice as the boss entered the stockroom. He abandoned his attempt to replace the generic with name brand, grabbed the cart, and began pushing.

Kevin was talking to one of the stockers who had finished their looting before George did. Kevin didn't look pleased, and neither did the fellow looter. The guy's head was down as he listened to Kevin tell him about company policy and legal actions for trying to steal from the store.

​George tried his best to push the cart silently away in the shadows of the obstructed emergency lighting. Kevin, unfortunately, heard him.

​"Who is that? Hey! That's store property! Come back here!"

​George began running, a 24-pack of water bottles flying off his stolen cart and breaking apart all over the floor.

​Oh no. He may trip, and his plans would be foiled! Shall we assist in foiling his plans? Oh, for the love of everything holy. Wet Noodle strikes again.

​George managed to... ugh... avoid tripping over his lost water bottles as they rolled all over the floor behind him. Are you happy now? He's going to escape with his ill-gotten gains. Maybe we can catch him before he leaves the store.

A sudden groan and the very hard sound of a body hitting a concrete floor ushered in George's escape as Kevin tripped over his precious product. Are you just going to sit there grinning like another George, realizing his dreams are coming true, or are we going to stop that thief?

​Of course we're not. Tell me, Wet Noodle, do you have a criminal record? Because it seems you have a predilection for thievery. Calm down, I'm only joking.

​Back to George, before you have a fit over the accusation. Oh, look, George made it outside. Good for our little unprepared looter. You should be proud, Wet Noodle. Your plan worked.

The back of the store was empty, save for one of the looters packing his water into his beat-up Subaru. George, of course, had other places to be. He pushed the cart over the cracked and bumpy back lot, looking over his shoulder.

​No one was following him. He was in the clear. He sighed a breath of freedom and continued pushing his ill-gotten gains toward his house three blocks away. My, wouldn't it be sad if his cart were to hit a bump and turn over, throwing all that clean water right down the storm drain...

​Relax, even I'm not that mean.

The grasshopper wriggled its antennae and listened to the silence of the local patch of grass. The rocks it had been staring at for the last thirty minutes had been getting warmer since the sun came out. Its left hind leg twitched, producing a sharp musical note. It twitched again, producing the same note.

The grasshopper—let's call him Sam—was satisfied with his instrument. He flicked his wings to loosen them up and then hopped. He landed on the warm rocks and adjusted the direction he was facing. The sun was out, his instrument was working, and there were few other males in his vicinity.

It was time for the song of his people. He popped his butt a little higher in the air and struck a long note. Then he began playing his love song for the ladies. He put all his energy and talent into the seductive song. It was glorious. It was loud. It carried to the next field of grass. No lady grasshopper could deny his worth as a mate.

He was sure to attract all the best females. He always did. Two months of practice and his long, strong legs made sure of that. He could see it now: charming females lining up at the rocks to continue the next generation.

He would father strong little grasshoppers. There was no question. He hopped to a higher rock to sing his song so it could be heard farther away. He was in his element. No one could deny him the best mates. He was master of his domain and the love song.

He chirped away with flourishes and delays. Every note was precisely designed to throw the females into a right state of excitement for his strong genes. He stopped for a second to adjust his stance. Again, his powerful legs sang his love song.

He could see them coming now. Many females were beginning to approach his high, open position. Even the bunny stopped nibbling grass to listen. He was at the height of his skill today. Nothing could stop him now. The females were going to be his for the choosing.

With great pride and elegance, he was sawing his legs like the virtuoso he was. A small female hopped a little closer. She had beautiful striations of green and brown, but she was too young for his taste. Smaller females began gathering in the deep grass before him, vying for his attention.

But he was waiting for the adult, refined females. The ones with the red and emerald green. He wanted only the best for his future children, and he had no doubt he would get that. His song sounded across three fields now.

Even the males were watching now. Perhaps they thought to learn his song and use it for themselves. He chirped his amusement. He was king of the field. The most talented and strong of all the males. Fat and juicy.

He stopped for a second so he could tease them all a little with his precise silence. Then, when everyone began to shuffle around a bit in disappointment, he started playing his long, strong instruments again. He had never played so beautifully before.

Then he saw it. He began to play even stronger notes as he locked eyes with the largest female in the field. Finally, his time had come. She slowly crept closer as she listened to his chirps. She was interested. Now for the flourish of chirps he was well known for.

He repositioned his butt and frantically played the notes. She hopped to the edge of his stage of rocks. The time was almost here. He was sure to be her mate now. Weeks of trying, once he finally grew large enough. She was his dream. He almost had her.

He worked his instrument even harder as he looked deep into her eyes. And then the world turned upside down and then dark as the robin gobbled him up off his high, open, visible perch.

Such is life when a fat, juicy grasshopper chooses the most visible perch to sing his love song when robins are around.

And it seems so pleasant despite the humidity, and it is. I'll love it right up until the temperature rises above 95 degrees or so. Then, like many people, I'll whine and bitch about it. I'll complain about the humidity and heat. I'll look at all those pretty flat lawns and see the reason. The rain falls and then immediately starts evaporating because there is precious little flora to absorb the water.

You didn't know that, did you? You thought water on the ground was just what happens to streets and mud holes because it has always done that. Yeah, I never thought about it either. You see, all that grass, all those weeds, and those trees that we cut short or chop down for lawn prettiness were doing something for all of you humidity haters.

They absorb water, carbon, and the boring factor of flat lawns. When the trees are cut down and every patch of green is cut short, there is very little to absorb that water and clean the air. The cities and states don't tell you that. They talk about eyesores and other problems with flora growth. It's the devil, they seem to think.

Rain, shine, and flora. That should have been the title.

I've seen the rare few lawns that weren't cut all year. It grows wild. Any old plant that took root begins to look like a living lawn. It's beautiful. It attracts all kinds of life.

What kind of life, you might ask? Well, I'll tell you from my own observations: all kinds of insects and small animals. Butterflies, dragonflies, little colorful moths, caterpillars. Some of you might be pleased to know there are bunnies, too. Yeah, that excites me. It's cute when they try to hide behind an inch-wide tuft of grass or something else too narrow to hide them.

What do I not see much of? I'll tell you that, too.

What I don't see much of are mosquitoes and ticks. Odd, right? But it makes sense. The insects have shade and things to eat. Soft dirt is created by the plants pushing up through the soil, expanding wider and not just higher. Also, that dreaded nuisance no one likes to see is not present nearly as much:

Trash. That's right. Trash doesn't float into the middle of a field of tall flora. It hits the edge and stops. Two minutes and a trash bag are all it takes to clean up. A flat lawn has trash scattered everywhere.

Do you need to hear more about the wonders of wild growth?

Well, I think this is enough for now. I'm going to change the title so it matches my testimony of the benefits of wild growth. I love it. You'll love it. Go find one and watch the wildlife. Breathe that fresh air it produces in greater quantities than your flat, boring, ugly lawn.

So let me correct something. It's not that it's less evaporation. It just releases water slower. And the plants shade the ground. It's a whole science. You should look it up. Evapotranspiration is the word you are looking for. Have fun learning something new! You're awesome!

​Ahhh. You're finally here. Welcome. I am your friendly neighborhood narrator, Frank. I'm glad you finally made it. You may be asking yourself why I asked you to come to this most prestigious event. That is a fine question. You see, I needed a witness to the end of civilization.

​Oh, don't you worry. Before you panic-close this momentous story, I need to tell you that it's not happening in your reality. Hmm? Feel better? I thought you would. So you want to know what is to keep you reading? Well, simply put, I don't know. But we will find out together.

​As I was saying, George is about to find himself in a dire situation. And I need you to see what happens. That way, you can tell others. A warning to any who would do as George does. What does George do, you ask? What is so wrong with a simple man with huge dreams? Well, it's not the dream that is the problem. But what the dream is.

​You see, George spends most of his time at Douche-Mart imagining... the end of the world. I know. It should be a case of a little therapy and a few friends. That's really all George needs. He isn't crazy, per se. He's just a little depressed. Disenfranchised may also be a good word for George's state of mind.

​Oh, don't say that. George would never bring a rifle to work for, shall we say, a little target practice and self-therapy. No. That's not George at all. He's quite kind, actually. He's well aware that his fondest wish is a little unhinged. The end of the world is quite a thing to wish for, after all.

​Let's find George so I can show you what I mean. He should be at work right about now. Ah. There he is. Hold on a moment. George seems to be in the second toilet stall on the left. We'll just wait out here while he finishes up. It's only proper not to invade someone's privacy. Even though they wouldn't know it.

​So, how is your day going? See anything intere—ah. Here's George now. You see? He looks like any other Douche-Mart employee. The dead eyes, the look of a person who made too many bad decisions and not enough wise ones. Shoulders drooped majestically. The one shoe is almost ready to come untied. Sleep-deprived.

​Sad, isn't it. Your typical entry-level job employee. Walking through life like a zombie. Don't be sad for him, though. He is, after all, about to get his fondest wish. Let's watch.

​<<¤>>

​George took a deep breath and began the long walk to the men's clothing department. Under the defeated look in his eyes and the crushed-dreams slope of his shoulders, he was quite satisfied. It could have been the women's clothing department. Near miss, he would say.

​He passed Jimbo, his best work friend, and gave a less-than-sad wave and most of a smile. Then the moment was over. Kevin would never allow small talk when work could be done. The general manager didn't believe in work socializing.

​"You are all here to serve the company's goal of making money," Kevin would say in the weekly morning meeting, to a room full of people silently wondering where their lives had gone wrong.

​As he approached the dressing rooms, he waved at Jessica. She was a very arrogant twenty-something. George tried to avoid her where possible. He squared his shoulders, grabbed the first box by the counter, and started off for the ties section.

​As he was walking, he began to look at different customers and assign each a post-collapse survival score depending on their appearance and body language. Occasionally, when they spoke to him, he would adjust that survival score.

​The rack of ties was a disaster. As always. George didn't care. He wasn't here to make the company money. He was here to make his own money. At minimum wage plus a couple of dollars, he saw no reason to care about Douche-Mart. Who would?

​No one. That's who. He set about reorganizing the ties and then adding the new ones. Very important work for those who like their tie racks to be immaculate. George did not. When he was finished, two ties ended up in the back and in entirely the wrong places.

​This pleased George to no end. Corporate espionage came to his mind. Sticking it to the man. The famed resistance. I know. Pedestrian, isn't he. Yes. No one really cares about ties and their positioning. I mean, look at who shops here.

​George looked over the tie rack at a man in his 30s. Pajama bottoms, with a strip of toilet paper hanging out of them and a t-shirt with a blown-out hem. He immediately gave the man a 30% survival rating, but only if he joined a group of actual survivors. George walked away from the tie rack and called it job done.

​A rustle of the nearest clothing rack got George's attention. A tall... man... woman? George couldn't tell. Honestly, if you could see them, you'd understand. Hmm. Let me see if we can figure it out. Any clues? Ah. There, on the left hand. A ring. A woman's wedding ring and band.

​And another clue: lipstick. Some eyeshadow. It's all coming together now. You were right. She was a woman all along. A very unhappy woman, by George's estimation. He sighed with relief, knowing her anger wouldn't be his problem.

​He looked over at Jessica and smiled as she continued folding the clothes that customers left in the changing room. It was her problem to deal with. So George happily kneeled under the counter to find the next box he had to stock.

​"Excuse me! Are you just going to ignore me?"

​George nearly chuckled at Jessica's misfortune.

​"Hello! Little man!? Are you special or just stupid? I need your help."

​George went cold. Oh no. Poor George. I guess it didn't matter what gender she turned out to be. Oh, well. George stood up with an attempt at a pleasant smile. He really did try to maintain a pleasant demeanor for the customer.

​20% rating. George decided it immediately. She was more likely to eat her competition than partner with them. George sighed. Maybe she was just... going through something.

​The woman thrust a shirt under George's nose. The label clearly said 3-X men's size. Large by any standard.

​"Don't you have something in a normal person's size? I thought this store served everyone's needs. I need a size six-X for my husband. Where are the men's sizes?"

​"Yessss. I see the problem. I don't think we have any currently," George said carefully.

​"Why don't you have them? When will they be in?"

​George maintained his smile. "I believe we stock those in fall and spring. However, the store on 124th may have them in stock." Of course, George was talking about tarps and not shirts, but he daren't say that to a customer.

​The lady seemed to consider this in a rather confused way. Should she accept the explanation or keep trying to force Douche-Mart to make a product magically appear that will never actually be carried? Good question. What would you do?

​Hmm. Perhaps you don't think the shirt will ever just appear as if by magic. Shall we help George avoid further misery? He does seem to need a bit of a guardian angel at the moment. I would have to agree. So, it seems George is stuck in an impossible situation. This could be fun to watch play out.

​The lady customer, let's call her Karen, scrunched up her considerable face. "I shouldn't have to go to another store when I'm already here. Isn't there a way to special order something? It shouldn't even be a special order. What kind of back-alley booth is this place anyway?"

​10% rating. George decided this one wouldn't have much of a chance of surviving a collapse with that kind of temperament and attitude. Poor lady. Eh. George took a breath to explain, yet again, how the size isn't sold here.

​The lady pulled her phone out of her bra, with a wafting odor following the move. She answered a call. After a moment, she just turned around and walked away, complaining that Douche-Mart didn't know how to stock sizes for real men.

​There. Feel better for George? George isn't the most unlucky man in existence. Sometimes, the fates work for him... after a fashion. George is finally free of this disaster of a customer. Yes. Very nice, if you like that sort of thing.

​Jessica was staring at him with that arrogant look again as she said, "Well, that was rude. Why didn't you just tell her that the brand doesn't make those sizes and direct her to the Big-N-Tall Nation across the street?"

​With a herculean effort, George remained calm. "I forgot that was there."

​Jessica laughed at him as she picked up a box and carried it away to the brassiere section. Her parting words cut to the quick as she walked away, not even bothering to look George in the eye with the insult. "Do you even think, or is that not an option for you?" She laughed as she disappeared around the corner of the clothes changing booth.

​5% for sure, George thought as Jessica took the bras away. He crouched down and chose the underwear box over the t-shirt one. There was no sense in taking chances with Karen being there. Underwear was a pain in the butt to restock. There was always someone staring at the dozens of choices while George was trying to shove the required six bags on a hook meant for four.

​George carried the box towards the undergarment aisle as he kept an eye out for Karen.

​I think it's time to get this ball rolling, don't you? I mean, the entire premise of this story is that George gets his wish. I think George has suffered enough today. How shall we do this? Ah. I know.

​As he walked towards the dreaded underwear panel, he stopped dead in his tracks. With a rolling series of clicks above him and a gradual reduction in the normal Douche-Mart mechanical sounds... the power failed.

​Everyone around him stopped what they were doing. There was some annoyance. A few customers seemed a little concerned about the now gloomy store. Most just turned on their phone lights and kept shopping. Maybe today would be short. When the power goes out, it often stays out for hours.

​The lights flickered back on, and George grumbled. "Stay off already. Please, for the love of spaghetti, let me go home."

​George likes spaghetti well enough, but it is a running joke in the atheist community that religious people require the existence of some kind of deity. So there is now a giant spaghetti monster in the sky, according to atheists.

​George watched the lights flicker back out. Then on again. Then, you guessed it, out. This was different, George decided. The lights usually just snap off and stay off.

​Jessica startled him as she announced, "George! They are saying that our power grid is under attack, and we should stay indoors until it can be resolved! It's the end of the world, oh god." She began crying and ran away.

​It seems your decision to give George what he always wanted has paid off.

​George stood frozen for a moment, as Jessica's announcement slowly settled into his consciousness. His smile was growing as he considered the possibility that the collapse was finally happening.

​He dropped the box, feeling better than he had for years. This was his moment. His time. His dream. George certainly was a very happy man at this moment.

The carrot patch was still all dirt with little carrot surprises under the surface. The soil was a rich brown with just the right amount of water in it.

​"This was where your mother and I met. In my humble opinion, there was no better place for us to begin our romance. At first, we were too far away to know each other. But then something miraculous happened.

​Our roots touched. Just barely. Enough to feel a difference in the soil. At first, I didn't know what to think. An interloper was trying to use my dirt. My nutrients were at risk. I was going to grow stunted.

​As these thoughts continued in my mind, I began to feel a warmth in my stem. I wasn't alone anymore. Tentatively, at first, I reached with my root. I began to feel more contact with my new neighbor.

​For that's what she was. Maybe I should call her my roommate. For she was now in my patch and I in hers. We shared our nutrients and water, as we got to know each other.

​We spent long days growing closer. It was like we were becoming one. I didn't know where I began and she ended. We were one.

​It was a simple life, but it was our simple life. We spent months growing and coming together as one carrot. Strong as can be, if a bit smaller than all the other carrots.

​But that didn't matter. Together we were the largest carrot around. Bunnies tried to pull us up but couldn't overcome the pressure of both of us intertwined under more than two carrots were usually buried beneath.

​We had stretched toward each other since before our roots began developing that sweet mature crunchiness of real carrots. Nothing, not even a bunny, could take us apart.

​You began as a clump of roots from both of us. When the bunny tried to pull us up, it separated you from us so you could become your own carrot.

​We spent long months together like this. We can't see the end of this. It's heaven."

​Riiiiiip

​--《¤》--

​"Hey, Johnny! Look at these two carrots I just pulled up! My wife is going to love these. It's just like a love story! I bet they'll taste amazing!"

The throaty roar of the commuter train slid smoothly along the open-air platform. Sarah Lind looked at her watch to make sure it was the correct train and then stepped closer, waiting for it to stop. The chill of the wind cut through her self-heating coat as she looked around quickly. The hum of the lev-drone coasting above the platform made her heart leap. Her head snapped up and she sighed with relief. It was only an advertising bot. Something about an eyeliner that will change your life in this fast-paced 23rd century.

​Sirens faded into hearing range on the street below. She tensed up as she waited for the train to take its sweet time stopping. Sarah stepped a little closer as she tried not to look directly at the three San Bernardino Federal police lev-vehicles. A soft chime sounded from the platform speakers as the train came to a stop. The announcer's voice came over the intercom: "Now boarding for San Bernardino to New Washington. It will be a thirty-six minute ride."

​The door hissed open and several business-attired people piled out. Sarah stepped back to give them room, while her eyes glanced around furtively. The moment a small opening presented itself, Sarah squeezed in sideways as she looked over at the stairs. The Metro goons still hadn't made it to the top yet. In the aisle, she had more space. The narrow windows provided a small view of the platform and stairs. She leaned down and looked through the transparent aluminum and saw the head of the first metro goon was beginning to clear the last switchback on the stairs.

​Sarah looked around for a quick escape. This was getting dicey real fast. Just as she was about to bolt, the doors slid shut with another soft hiss. There was a bathroom at the back of the car. Thankfully no one was using it when she opened the door. She slipped inside, closed the sheet-metal-thin door, and locked it.

​Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for the worst to happen, but the train smoothly accelerated away from the platform. Her head rocked back with relief as her breathing calmed. The metropolitan federal police force were the last thing she needed to deal with, now of all times.

​The lock clicked to unoccupied as she stepped back into the aisle. There were only a few people sitting in this car. Her eyes quickly scanned each one. Just normal riders. Her heart was finally beginning to settle down. Thirty-six minutes until she had to focus on her escape again. Thirty-six minutes she could use to check back with her handler.

​Sarah slipped into a back seat and checked the car again before plugging an encrypted dongle into the provided entertainment screen. The screen glitched to blue-on-black diagnostic text as the dongle brute-forced the system to handshake with the resistance tech.

​In a few short seconds, the screen whited out. Her eyes snapped back to the aisle and seats as her face was lit up like a "here I am" sign. The screen switched to an emblazoned emblem of the resistance and then text appeared on the bottom: "Report."

​The holo keyboard appeared at her lap. She quickly typed on the glitching hologram: "Subject confirmed. He is in San Bernardino at the Lux Vanderbilt hotel. Central Street and 235th Avenue." The train picked up speed, approaching 300 km/h as she waited for a response. The aisle took her attention again during the agonizing wait.

​Text began to appear at the bottom, returning her attention to the matter at hand: "Return to node 7 for reassignment." The screen glitched to blue-on-black diagnostic text again as the connection was cut from the other end. Sarah pulled the dongle and pocketed it in the secret arm compartment in her coat. Her breath came out in a rush as the seat back accepted her head. Mission accomplished. Now to make it back to headquarters. Just twenty more minutes.

​The landscape was now flying past at over 1,200 km/h, she could see, as she looked out the narrow window. So long as the federal goon squad wasn't waiting at her destination, she would be fine. Trees, rivers, and mountains all blurred past, as her ears kept track of every movement in the car. Even the single bunny munching on a tuft of grass became nothing but a blur at their passing.

​Everyone began to lean forward with the deceleration as the train began slowing down, twenty minutes later. Moments later, the train stopped at the New Washington Central Transportation Terminal. All the passengers stood up and began shuffling out.

​Sarah waited until she was almost the last one before standing and approaching the doors. As her right foot touched the platform, her chest exploded in sparks and fire. The silenced 12mm armor-penetrating round emptied her android torso into the car behind her.

​People screamed as they saw the illegal biomechanical bot drop to the floor as her arms and legs flailed for a couple of seconds. Her main processor fried with the surge of her holed battery. Smoke curled up as all movement finally stopped.

​People were aghast, especially the recent passengers who shared her car, at the realization that there had been one of the outlawed military killers that close to them.

​I kept getting more soaked in my own sweat, literally, every minute. The pool depth was getting deeper as my breathing got harder. My heart rate kept reminding me that I eat too much salt, but man, those pork rinds are amazing.

​$2.99 for a bag that can fill my empty stomach and reduce the chances of acid reflux. They are definitely a miracle of culinary science and terrible for an old man's health. Especially with heart problems.

​Yeah. I know I need to make better health decisions with my food, but I am hard-headed. Life offers only the pleasure you pursue seriously. Those sweet, salty, fluffy monster curls of dead animal bits scalded by hot oil are my weakness. I'm not even gonna lie.

​So last night was sleepless, as I said. This is important, trust me. I got up and went to the gas station. It's usually closed until 3Am. It was open! That miraculous cold air was mine for the taking now rather than an hour from now. Holy crap.

​I went straight in, and that cool air hit me like a lick from the puppy god. As it washed over me, I could hear angels sing, and God tell me I was the center of his universe. Mmmm. I'm surprised I didn't fall over with temperature shock.

​After a moment, enjoying that initial bliss, I walked in and grabbed an ice water. I drained it in no time and then refilled it. Mmmm. That cold water with that cold air had me wondering what I did right in a past life.

​Yeah, AI editor in chief, I am repeating concepts and words. Get over it.

​Back to the story or recollection. So there I was, sitting there and enjoying the wind on my face and some cold ass water. When what do you know, an oddball sat down and started dictating terms.

​Calm down, I'll explain what I mean. He started complaining about his boyfriend of thirty years. It's not a problem, right? We hear that, and we listen so we can count ourselves among the decent people. Sometimes, even strangers need someone to vent their frustrations to, no matter how awkward it is.

​So things were going well and awkward. I tried my best not to look like I wanted to be anywhere else. Then I break my cigarettes. Now remember I was at that table first. So, social protocol says I could do whatever I reasonably wanted to at that table. At about 3:30 in the morning.

​He complained about not liking cigarettes and that I couldn't smoke at the table. Outside! Seriously. I stood up and walked away to smoke my cigarette while he was still dictating those terms. Okay. I'm a patient man. Just because a random guy starts talking sideways doesn't mean I need to get upset about it or punch him in his throat.

​So I'm patient, his throat is fine, and I now have to stand to smoke, tired as fuck. Hot as the devils testicles. But I'm going to stay me and out of jail. Don't get me wrong, I realize my response was supposed to be what we all do. Take a breath, walk away, and not let fuckery rule my mood or mind.

​So I'm away from the table, but within speaking range of this fine specimen of insane asylum. When what does he do? You guessed it. More trash talk. Again, I maintain my calm because this guy isn't the one to take that from me.

​I'm not thinking about him at this time. I've also been careful to not make eye contact.

​"I'm just ignoring you. I'm ignoring you. I don't want any contact. Blah blah blah."

​I freeze and go back over what I think I just heard. The assailed voice in my head immediately says, "Thank fucking you!" Also a few unkind words about the situation. I, of course, shut out that voice and walk further away. What else was I gonna do?

Dictator McTableStealer just dictated more terms.

​I walked around the corner and laughed my ass off. I wondered why he didn't already have two black eyes and a fat lip from who knows how many other people he had done this to. It also made me question if I was being a jerk. I was beginning to think that if somebody else hadn't already busted him up, then maybe my thinking is insane.

​Maybe this guy is doing nothing wrong. Ha! If that's true, then I am a jerk. I'll accept that. I mean, I am working on never so much as batting an internal eye at even the most insane interactions with people and the world at large. I'm not here, obviously. One day, though.

​But then a guy rolls up in a nice car with fancy decorative under the car lights. He bought whatever he came for and walked me offering to help with whatever. I'm not totally broke. If someone hands me cash, cha-ching. No problem. But I won't ask.

​Then he gets in his car and is about to pull away. Instead, he rolls down his window. We start talking. His story? Your average gang banger to family man turn around. That's awesome. So I give him a few tips on how I've managed to go from hating everything and everyone to offering love to complete strangers.

​Not like that, you sicko. Lol. Just human to human positivity. We had a great conversation. Dictator McStealyTable walked into the gas station and apologized for being rude. Sigh Nights in this town are certainly interesting.

​So I went to McDonald's to check my substack. Then I waited until 7 for the temperature to be as low as it was going to be that night. Then I tried laying down again.

An hour later, I gave up. I looked at my phone and it was 8Am.

​Then I checked my phone again. About 10Am. No memory of struggling to sleep or sweating. Not any of that. 8 then 10. Was abducted or something. Those are two hours in going to wonder about for the rest of my life. I have no clue what happened. Did I misread the time in my overheated, exhausted state of mind?

​Anyway, I got up, wobbled quite a bit, and headed back to the gas station. Had a religious moment when I stepped into the cool air and bought an energy drink. Not coffee. The pro move.

​Then I went under the tree for the shade, and it was pretty cool there. Eventually, half way into the can, I laid down and conked out. Oh yeahhhhhhh.

​"Hey Chris! Are you okay, Chris?"

​I snap awake, and my eyes immediately lock onto one of the nicer other homeless guys around here. I'm pretty sure he saw something pretty violent and hateful in my eyes at that moment. Because he was much quicker with the good byes than normal.

​Let me inform you that when you sleep outside, you learn quickly how hard it is to get good sleep at times. The general rule of thumb is that you never wake up a homeless person when you yourself are homeless. And he was in the same heat I was. Simple insanity, I tell you.

​I'm not angry at him. I had just had a power nap, and my brain is mostly functional. However, today would be the day to invest in Monster brand energy drinks because I am going to be floating to my gills in the stuff.

​So now I'm writing this. And I have no idea how it came across. Not so much a rant as pure exhaustion and the need to accost you with my night. Let me tell you, though, power naps are the stuff of legend.

The rain was coming down like cats and dogs, but there wasn't a pet bed in sight. It was late on a Saturday night, and I just wanted to get home to my cozy shithole of a studio apartment. At least it was mine for another two days before the rent was due.

I turned on 34th Street and noticed a 1998 Dodge Durango with dark windows and enough religious stickers to start a church. It was just sitting there quiet. The kind of heavy quiet you only get in a morgue viewing room right before they pull back the sheet.

I didn't think much of it at the time. My mistake, as usual. I turned up the collar of my 1960s-style trench coat and huddled into the little warmth that it gave. I kept walking down 34th.

I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Jack Clering. I'm a drywall finisher when I'm not at the tracks. There is nothing better than waving that ticket like it will fan the horse into first place, shouting angrily while it's trailing the pack.

I heard the Dodge pull out from its parking space. Its beefy tires rolled through a deep, rain-filled pothole with a bump and a squeal of old, rusted metal. I looked back. Don't ask me why. They drive around town all the time.

The thing was, this one was sort of crawling along like an uncertain caterpillar looking for a nice dry spot. The motor was thrumming like its gears were tuned too low, fighting to stay idle. The brake lights didn't go out.

Whoever was driving had his foot on the stopper. Not good. I was the only one walking down this block, and all the curtains were closed to the soaked night. What was the driver doing?

I slowed a bit to let them pass. They slowed too. I turned back forward and started walking a little faster than my normal pace. The screech of the brake pads loosened up under the Dodge's tires. They were matching my pace.

I wasn't going to panic. Maybe they just had their phone in their face and I wasn't even on their radar. Or maybe they mistook me for a kid and had a glove compartment full of suckers.

The rain was getting heavier. I knew this because it was starting to drip down my collar, same as anyone would notice. Anyway, I picked up my pace. Sort of a little test. The brake pad screech let up completely behind me immediately.

I looked back to see the Dodge rumbling along the middle of the street. Crap. They were definitely about to offer a sucker, or worse. I felt my heartbeat go up a notch. I took a deep breath and walked faster, almost at a trot now.

The rumbling motor behind me got throatier. I began to jog. Behind me, I heard the window whine down.

"Hey!"

It was a man. A gruff voice with an edge like a rusty straight razor. I whipped my head around but couldn't see a face in the dark Dodge. I looked ahead and started to run.

I jumped a little as a bolt of lightning cracked through the rainy sky above me. I almost swallowed my tongue. The sidewalk was getting slick. The heavy motor rumble was louder now.

"Come here!" The man shouted, like I was about to get a parking ticket.

I looked around for anything or anyone to help me, but I was on my own. Just me, the street, and a wet Dodge with a psychopath driving it. Couldn't he tell I wasn't buying what he was selling?

My heart was thumping like a high school drum solo by now. The pace had to be picked up, so I pumped my legs faster. I wasn't cut out for this. Surely, I was going to black out at any moment.

Up ahead, I could see the dark opening of an alley. It was wide, but maybe not wide enough for a massive Dodge to enter. I made a hard turn and nearly skidded into a dumpster.

The rain let up a little with two tall buildings to either side. At least there was that going for me. I looked back to see if the Dodge was still behind me and took a tumble.

My feet lost traction, and I must have slid for three feet before falling on my ass. Great. Some lollipop-wielding madman is chasing me, and I try to break my tailbone. Does it get any better?

I stood up and started limping toward the other side of the alley. The Dodge wasn't behind me. Maybe I lost him. About twenty feet from exiting the other side, I heard the screeching of wet brake pads.

The Dodge was back. Right in front of me. The window was rolled down, and the guy stuck his head out. He looked like the sort of guy you see right before the pearly gates welcome your wretched soul into heaven.

"Stop, for the love of Christ!"

I turned around and nearly biffed it again. My feet managed to stay under me this time. I ran, limping back up the alleyway. I heard the throaty roar of the engine as the Dodge with the psychopath tore away from the mouth of the alley.

My heart was hammering. My breath was ragged like a dog begging for another toss of the ball after fifty other throws. The rain was still falling.

It hit me like a torrent when I left the alleyway and turned left. Maybe I could lose him in the next alley. Maybe I'd just fall into a storm drain the way things were going tonight.

Then I heard it. The Dodge was catching up. Crap on a shingle. My gait was getting wobbly as my vision started to go dark with the run I wasn't capable of sustaining any longer.

I stepped onto the street ahead to cross and nearly got run over by a hearse. I skidded to the right to avoid the bumper. Then I kept running.

I looked over my shoulder and careened off a utility pole. Now my ribs and face were sore. Stumbling forward, my head turned again. Behind me, the Dodge was catching up, its engine roaring.

The next alley was mere feet away. With heaving breaths and a heart rate like a panicked bunny, I turned the corner, bouncing off the opposite wall before continuing deeper into the darkness.

The Dodge's tires screeched as it turned the corner. Bright light hit my eyes from the headlights like standing at the tip of a lighthouse looking the wrong way as the two-thousand-volt light swung around.

"Hey, stop!" the psychopathic abductor called out angrily.

That's when I slammed into the dead end of the brick wall. I bounced back and could taste blood. What a way to end a chase. Fat lip and a headache, heart rate dangerously high, and sore ribs.

I stood up and started backing away. The Dodge stopped and parked just a few yards in front of me as my back made contact with the wall. This was it.

No way to escape. It was the lollipop for me. I watched as the man's door creaked open like a coffin lid. I squared my shoulders to accept my fate.

The man, dressed in farmer coveralls, stepped out of his Dodge. His foot landed heavily in a puddle as he exited. I wondered, briefly, if ropes would be involved or if I was about to get clubbed by this beefy giant of a psychopath.

My eyes locked with his. That grim look in his eyes. The flat line of his too-thin lips. The limp as his heavy-booted feet stomped toward my doom. Thump, swish, thump, swish...

He was only a few feet away. Those terrible eyes were crystal clear now despite the beams of his headlights turning him into the Reaper himself. Clear and angry.

I took a deep breath and started to raise my fists, determined to take a few drops of blood from his mouth in return for mine before I gave up my ghost to the lollipopper. He stopped and extended his hand.

I couldn't see, but whatever was in it looked big and blocky. He leaned forward a little. I tried to lean back but met solid brick instead.

"Jesus loves you, brother!"

My eyebrows crinkled up as I looked down at the Bible in his hand that he was offering me.

Hands shaking, I reached out. This giant of a man smiled the smile of a broken gate as he placed the Bible in my hand. It was heavy. The kind of weight that comes with realizing your life had just been saved by blind luck and circumstance.

I began to laugh—a manic bark of released tension and disbelief—as the Bible sat in my hand. The stranger was walking away, his job apparently done. I laughed again as I stared at the little bunny rabbit bookmark inserted into the thin pages of salvation.

The End

A little bunny was hopping along, doing what bunnies do. When suddenly, an eagle came screeching down. The bunny looked up and its beady little eyes went wide. The eagle was so majestic. Its feathers were so shiny and lustrous.

​The bunny smiled pleasantly as the eagle fell closer every second. Its long, beautiful talons were spread wide. Its beak, so perfectly angled and sharp, was wide open. Its wings were pulled in just so for the kill.

​The little bunny stood up on its hind legs, waiting for the moment of contact with this most beautiful and plump eagle. Its eyes shone. Its fur was gently ruffling in the wind. Its little pink nose was twitching in excitement.

​The eagle opened its wings and swooped with grace and skill toward the bunny. It screeched its victory as it came within inches of the bunny.

​Then the bunny opened its mouth wide and gobbled up that big eagle. It rolled back with the impact of the plump eagle at the bottom of its fluffy tummy.

​It sprawled out, legs wide, as it smiled pleasantly. The bunny sighed and gave a little burp of satisfaction.

It was finally cooling down. All the tall, loud monkeys were out in force. Getting in massive loud... things? They would get swallowed by the things made a horrific loud noise. The monkeys would even open the oddly placed mouth and jump right in! It always sent one's heart racing at over a hundred beats a minute.

Every time it happened, everyone flew around on their perches and commented on the monstrosity of those beastly noisy things that swallowed the loud monkeys. Sometimes, the loud monkeys must taste bad because the big gobblers would spit them back out. Their mouths would open wide, bounce a little like they were unsure what it wanted to do, and then spit them right out.

As odd as that was, it was downright scary when one was enjoying the nice thick updraft coming off the long, wide empty strips all over the place. They were ugly, but they made for easier coasting in the warmer season. But go too low, and the gobblers smashed into you, and that was that. No more seeds, bugs, or conversation about the loud monkeys who jumped into the mouths of the gobblers willingly. It was an instant done deal.

Life was good despite all of that. The mornings were spent searching for bugs. Sometimes, they could even find a big juicy worm when the sky had just given them water. Those were great. Juicy, squishy, wiggly worms. They slid right down the gullet.

The afternoons were great times for looking for ground water. You could find it everywhere. Some of it was muddy, which was okay. It helps the bugs and worms digest better if you don't drink too much of it. There was some ground water that makes your head spin. Kinda fun if you're in the mood. Just don't go trying to fly too soon after you drank them.

You can tell the difference because the head-spinning ground water was usually shiny. Some of the brothers and sisters drank exclusively from the shiny ground water. They are always a little air-headed, but whatever floats their boat. Water is water, after all.

The best part of the day, they all agreed, was the low sun time. Like right now. It is always the perfect time to catch that last light before the dark times. Mention that and all the brothers and sisters would give you the snake eye. Just don't mention it.

Here is the secret as to why. Most of them can't see very well in the dark. Very scary for them. Every wind, noise, and fanciful thought sends all of them hopping around, wherever they are perched, trading spots. They are very flighty at the best of times. You should see them hop around at night at the simplest disturbance.

Oh, right! The evenings. The best part of the day. The big, warm light in the sky is low. The temperature isn't burning the feathers. And the best place to perch, during this time, is a high wire. Oh, those warm, high safe spots. At least they are safe so long as a hunter isn't flying high in the sky. It's best not to mention those, either. Let's go see what the flock is doing, shall we?

--《¤》--

The flock had just flown halfway across those big ugly nests on the ground. Some were as tall as a short tree, and others were too tall to fly to the top. They must hold a lot of noisy monkeys because some of the taller ones would have so many monkeys coming in and out all day.

The flock found their favorite wire, and all of them landed on it and locked their claws on the thin wires. The sun was fantastic this time of day. It was safe and high enough to watch all the loud monkeys. It was all the brothers and sisters did all day long.

Yes. That is pretty much all they do. Monkey watching. This particular flock loved to watch the ones that played around the nest that smelled like shiny water. It was simultaneously entertaining and mind-boggling watching the things swallow and spit out the loud monkeys all day.

"Coming in hot for a laannndiiiiinng!" Jeff yelled as he dived up under the wire and back down between Susan and Bob. "Hey guys!"

Bob scooted over a bit and looked at Jeff. "The loud monkeys are still at it."

Susan was watching one particularly wide, loud monkey. "That one was stuck in the jaws of the thing for a while. I think the thing wasn't quite ready to let go of it. Or it was choking on it."

Bob and Jeff looked at the wide monkey that Susan was watching. Jeff shook his feathers in wonder and asked, "How do they find so many worms?"

Bob said, "Maybe it is a special loud monkey. See how it wobbles around extra slow, like it is proud of its feathers?"

Sam landed next to them. "Yeah! They must be important. Nothing seems to attack them except for the things." Another few flocks began landing all around them. "Hey George! What do you think?"

"Me?"

"Me?"

"Me?"

Sam looked over at the three Georges spread along the wire. "The second to my left. Wise George."

George looked down and took on an air of great wisdom, with his gray and black feathers fluffing out. "They are the official food gatherers. They often can be seen carrying wing-fulls of what is very likely to be their idea of food. Perhaps they are feeding the things in the hope of not getting gobbled. It never works, though."

All the birds squawked in agreement, like second George on the left had spoken wise words. You may think their conversation was a little rude. Well, you're correct. But what do they know? They have bird brains. Tiny little, mostly smooth things, the size of peanuts. Please don't tell them I said that. Oh, what am I worried about. Tell them if you want, but their mostly smooth peanut brains won't understand what you are saying.

"Look at that short loud monkey. It's half their normal height," Bob said.

Everyone looked at the short monkey. It was attached to the taller monkey by the wing tips as they both walked into the short nest that smelled like shiny water. They disappeared into the nest, and everyone began squawking. A few shuffled their spots around. A couple left entirely. I did say they are all pretty air-headed, didn't I?

Ellen looked around and commented, "I wonder why they never seem to drink water."

The flocks all ruffled their feathers and chirped at her question. Then Leon did a little hop. "I bet they don't drink water. Or maybe...!" He looked around craftily. "...Maybe the things aren't actually gobbling them at all."

Jessica looked at Leon, expectantly, along with half the other flocks on the high warm wire.

Leon looked around. "Maybe they get their water inside the things that gobble them up and spit them out."

This caused a great stir among all the flocks. Everyone spoke at once with varying degrees of agreement and disagreement at Leon's theory. The wire bounced as they all got excited about the idea, regardless of their opinions on the matter.

Second George from the left said, "Yes. That precisely makes sense." He fluffed out his feathers again with great wisdom and pride as the flocks settled again on the wire, bending it even further than last time.

They all started chatting about the silly monkeys and where the best ground water could be found today. Their was all kinds of talk about all kinds... well, maybe not that much. Birds only talk about ground water, bugs, worms, loud monkeys, and the weather. I won't bore you with the details. It's quite mind-numbing.

The sun got too low, and the flocks began leaving the wire. Everyone began flying to their favorite night spots all over the area. Night was coming and no one wanted to be left flying around looking for a spot when the darkness came.

--《¤》--

The bunny munching on the grass watched the flocks all fly away with a chuckle at their air-headed conversations. With his job as narrator done for the day, he turned his attention to two of the loud monkeys and listened in on their conversation.

The loud monkey looked up at all the birds suddenly leaving at once and said to the monkey next to him, "Whooo hahaha oo oo oo!"

The other monkey nodded, sagely, and said, "Ah ah ah wahhhh!"

《The End》

Nice title, huh? I'm coming into this with no idea what I'm going to write about. Well, except for how hot the sun is today. Screw the sun and the clouds for not showing up, too. That's how I feel about it. Care to join me in mutual hatred of the El Niño causing all of this?

​Well, too bad. You're already reading this. So you're stuck with me for the duration. Lol. How does it feel to be melting under the steady terrible gaze of the great life giver. Yeah, me too. Screw the sun. Passing this through AI for spelling edits is going to be fun. It will complain about me saying Screw the sun repeatedly.

​Guess how little I'll care. It is the same as I always do, as I always care. Zero, zilch, less than a Minnie Mouse in a mini bikini. I don't care. I ask it to check my deplorable spelling not for its opinion on how often I repeat Screw the sun.

​Do I seem moody today? I am. Damn scorching radiation from that bright light in the sky. It'll complain about that too, you know. Something crazy, like too many times mentioning the same thing. Story dragging along. Bad grammar...well, maybe not that. It gave up complaining about that when I told it I didn't care about grammar. Win one for the human species.

​You can't tell me what to do. Mostly because I can't feel my eyeballs. They're officially dark pits of has-been eyes. I have no idea if people are smiling or frowning at me. Probably smiling, for most of them. Even when hell gives everybody a preview, most people are happy to be told they are awesome.

​Oh yeah! I don't want to forget. You are awesome! Yeah, I mean you. The person reading this still. Why? Why are you still reading this? I mean, thank you. But seriously. Who in their right mind... Oh yeah. I almost forgot. You knew what you were getting yourself into. It's okay to be a fan of an insane man. Our writing is usually interesting, at least.

​Well, anyway... I'm about to fall over and be counted as among dead. As much as I like the fire department, I don't like being told, "The police are on their way. You better move." As if. They know me well enough. I don't know what to add to that last bit.

​The sun is doing its best to make me cry uncle. And it's working. So I'm going to find a cold spot and write this. Hah! Did you think I was writing this under the sun? I wouldn't even be able to see the screen. Have a great day/night/short stay in hell.

No está tan silencioso como esperaba. El viento sigue soplando. Los pájaros siguen cantando. Pero no hay voces.

A la mañana siguiente, camino por la carretera como siempre. Hasta la gasolinera Maverik. No hay nadie. Está cerrada. Solo la cierran entre la 1:30 y las 3 de la madrugada. Así que lo que haya pasado probablemente ocurrió temprano en la mañana. Miro alrededor. Todavía no hay nadie.

Camino hasta la puerta que está junto a los contenedores de basura. Fuerzo la puerta hasta abrirla. Supongo que no pasaré hambre pronto. Todas las máquinas siguen funcionando. Agarro un Icee. De cereza. Camino hasta el mostrador antes de recordar que no hay nadie que pueda vendérmelo. Considero dejar el Icee sobre el mostrador. Meto la mano en el bolsillo y dejo un billete de cinco dólares sobre el mostrador. Camino alrededor y me cobro yo mismo. Cambio el billete de cinco y dejo el cambio sobre la mesa. Vuelvo a rodear el mostrador, recojo el Icee y el cambio, y salgo de la tienda.

Hace calor afuera. La gasolinera estaba helada, como siempre. Todavía no hay nadie.

Camino hasta McDonald's. Sigue cerrado a cal y canto. Suspiro mientras me doy la vuelta y me dirijo a mi plan de respaldo para cuando McDonald's está cerrado. El supermercado Family Fare, al otro lado de la carretera. Hace calor. Muchísimo calor. Minutos después estoy mirando la puerta cerrada. Así que me siento a la mesa, preguntándome si quizá debería haber comprado un café en la gasolinera cuando estaba allí. Me va a doler la cabeza. Miro el Taco John's en la esquina suroeste del estacionamiento del centro comercial. Tienen café. La electricidad sigue funcionando.

Miro por la ventana rota del Taco John's. Doy un sorbo al peor café de la ciudad. Pero es café. Respiro profundamente para intentar detener el temblor que trata de abrirse camino por mi cuerpo. Funciona. Siempre funcionaba.

Miro alrededor. No hay coches en el estacionamiento. Los empleados se fueron cuando ocurrió. Los encargados de reponer mercancía todavía no habían llegado. Pero eso no ayuda. No recuerdo ese horario en particular. Antes lo sabía.

Regreso caminando por la calle y cruzo la carretera. Me detengo a mitad de la cuadra. Acabo de darme cuenta de que no esperé a que cambiara el semáforo. Taco John's tiene una ventana rota y no pagué el café. Otra respiración profunda. Y otra. Sigo caminando.

Minutos después, estoy frente al nuevo Thrift World. Negocio antiguo. Tienda antigua. Nueva ubicación. Antes compraba aquí cuando estaba... Tomo otra respiración profunda. La aguanto. No puedo mantener los ojos abiertos. La suelto. Tomo otra respiración profunda.

Estoy enfadado ahora. Yo no me derrumbo así. Tomo otra respiración profunda. Vacío mi mente. Otra respiración profunda.

—¡Joder! —lo grito fuerte—. ¡Joder, joder, joder, joder!

No puedo respirar sin que el aire me tiemble dentro. Ahora estoy aún más enfadado.

Vuelvo a concentrarme en el frente de la tienda. Agarro uno de sus bloques de cemento. Casi lo lanzo contra la puerta de cristal por la rabia. Sostengo el bloque contra mi pecho. Respiro profundamente. Vuelvo a concentrar la mente. Más respiración.

Lanzo el bloque cuando por fin me he calmado. Tengo que lanzarlo otra vez para atravesar el segundo juego de puertas de entrada. Qué raro que algunos negocios hagan que tengas que atravesar dos juegos de puertas para entrar. Probablemente tenga algo que ver con el aire acondicionado o la seguridad. Ya no importa.

La tienda se ve igual que siempre, incluso desde antes de que Thrift World comprara el local. Exactamente igual. Entorno los ojos. Es la primera vez que vuelvo aquí desde antes de que cambiaran. Miro hacia abajo. No puedo entrar. Todavía no.

Mientras regreso caminando hacia la gasolinera, me pregunto por qué tuve ese pensamiento. Todavía no. ¿Por qué pensaría eso? Quizá no estoy preparado para... Me detengo. No estoy preparado para mezclar lo normal con mi nueva situación, sea cual sea esa situación.

Me quedo un rato a la sombra del gran árbol verde que siempre uso para protegerme del sol, entre Maverik y McDonald's. Es mi árbol favorito de la ciudad. La sombra perfecta. Duermo una siesta corta y me despierto empapado de sudor. Joder, qué calor hace hoy. Sigo caminando.

El sol está bajo. Todavía estoy cansado. Y hay algo más junto a ese cansancio. No sé qué nombre tiene esa sensación. Decido regresar a donde duermo. Quizá no haga demasiado calor para poder dormirme. Eso significa que probablemente me despertaré antes de que salga el sol. Al menos hará más fresco.

Me abro paso entre los pequeños árboles junto a la carretera. Llego a mi lugar para dormir.

Alguien más ya está allí.

Estoy confundido por un momento. Esa rama no debería estar ahí. ¿Por qué no la aparta?

Mi respiración es superficial. Un peso pesado sobre mi pecho que hace difícil respirar. No hay tráfico. Igual que a esa hora de la mañana. Nadie en el trabajo. También igual.

Esta pesada rama de árbol. Eso es diferente.

Necesita ayuda. Realmente necesita ayuda. Alguien tiene que ayudarlo.

Corro hacia él e intento mover la rama.

¿Ese es mi teléfono?

¿Por qué tiene mi teléfono junto a la cabeza?

Y la rama ahora...

Es de noche.

Es demasiado pronto para que sea de noche.

El tráfico.

Mi teléfono.

Por favor, que alguien lo ayude.

Hay tanta sangre sobre mi almohada.

Levanto la vista hacia la gran rama que está sobre mí.

¿Por qué no la siento?

Tom and Dick were walking next to the cart of carrots as their donkey, Sneezy, pulled it along. The day was warm with just the right amount of wind. It was the kind of day where office workers were jealous of anyone working outside.

​The cart bounced off a rock and startled Sneezy. With a loud panicked call, that donkey tipped itself and the cart over. Everything came tumbling out and pinned Tom's foot under the side.

​"Yeow! That darn thing is heavy! Dick, get this thing off me." Tom sat up with a grimace as Dick grabbed the edge and started hauling up on it just enough for Tom to slide his foot out.

​"Tom, it ain't that bad. I swear you'd complain if a leaf fell in your path."

​"You try having a cart fall on you and see how it feels." Tom grabbed the edge of the overturned cart and pulled himself to his feet. He, gingerly, put weight on it. Then let go of the cart.

​Dick shook his head, chuckling. "Are we going to have to amputate it?" He started laughing.

​"Laugh all you want, knucklehead. It could have been worse." But Tom couldn't stay mad at his friend. He hid his grin as he looked at the mess that old Sneezy made.

​Dick walked around to the donkey, who was trying to stand up, but the yoke was pinning him down. "Calm down, you old rascal. I'll get you up."

​"Uh, Dick." Tom's voice was slightly concerned, which got Dick's attention.

​"What is it?"

​"What is that dust cloud coming down that hill out yonder?"

​Dick looked out at the distant cloud of dust, squinting his eyes. He leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the dust in the distance. "I don't know. I can't see anything in that soup of dust."

​Tom and Dick watched as the dust got closer with every moment. They both started to become a little concerned.

​Tom straightened up and looked at the donkey and the cart. "I think we better pick this up quick. That may be a herd of bison."

​Tom and Dick started trying to haul the cart upright, but the stubborn donkey was panicking, making the effort more difficult than it had to be.

​Tom sighed and said, "Stupid donkey! Calm down, and we'll get you up. We don't have time for this."

​Dick was looking at the horizon with more concern. "We need to hurry. I don't want to get trampled. Oh, lord."

​Tom looked up, and his heart jumped into his throat. The cloud was far too close for his liking. "Come on, Dick, it's getting closer. Come on!"

​Dick ran up to the donkey and grabbed its ears to orient it for standing. "Get up, you useless animal. We're about to get stampeded. Up up up!" He tugged on the ropes and yoke in a rising panic.

​Tom ran around to help him. "I can feel the hooves on my face already. What's taking so long? We need to get out of here before that herd gets here."

​Dick hauled as hard as he could on the yoke.

​Suddenly, they heard the rumble. The dust was starting to reach them. They both coughed as they started breathing it in. The rumble of the herd became louder.

​"Tom, we are gonna get trampled." Dick looked at the cart. Then he looked at Sneezy, who then sneezed at the building dust. Then he stepped back. "Come on, brother, we gotta go!"

​Tom looked up at his friend and then over at the approaching dust. He shook his head, thoroughly disheartened. Everything was going to be lost. The herd was going to trample it all, and that was going to be it.

​The two friends had worked hard for their little business, and now it was about to be lost because a stupid donkey couldn't stand up.

​Tom and Dick gave up on recovering anything and started running. Dick yelled behind him, "You're on your own, Sneezy! Sorry, little buddy."

​They ran as fast as they could. The herd was coming. After they got to the top of a hill, they stopped and turned around to watch all their work get churned into a pile of garbage by the herd's hooves.

​Suddenly, Dick leaned forward, squinting his eyes. "Are those..."

​Tom tried to wave some of the dust away so he could see better. He squinted and willed the dust to go away as he looked. "No way."

​They both watched, in astonishment, as the furry stampede reached the cart. Thousands of bunny rabbits piled on a very surprised Sneezy and the cart of ripe, crunchy carrots.

​Tom took off his hat and placed it over his heart as he watched the season's carrots slowly disappear under the gnashing teeth of all those bunnies. "There goes everything we worked hard for all year, Dick. Eaten by the biggest herd of bunnies I've ever seen."

​You know how you go places and see a cat or a dog running around, clearly without a home? Yeah, I feel the same way. Stray pets tug at the heartstrings, don't they? Well, I saw one a few days ago at a local gas station.

​He is a juvenile tomcat—cute, skinny, and hungry. The employees have been feeding him hot dogs and whatever else they were going to throw away. One of them even bought a bag of cat food for him yesterday and put out some water, too.

​Now, here's the funny thing: he must have gotten so used to mud holes being his only place to quench his thirst. He has clean water available, but he refuses to drink it. Strange cat.

​It's possible there is another reason for him refusing the water, though I'll probably never figure it out. Maybe he doesn't like styrofoam, or maybe he was hurt by someone or something while drinking water that was given to him.

​Anyway, he's being watered and fed, and he's basically the mascot of the gas station now. We call him Maverick. He's friendly and likes people, which reminds me of something about him.

​At first, he would sit within several feet of people, but God help you if you tried to pet him—he'd run away. By yesterday, though, he was meowing at people, finally getting comfortable. Before that, nothing anyone did would change his mind.

​Then a young woman walked up and kept approaching him. Suddenly, he allowed her to pet him. It was a big surprise, and I'll tell you why. It wasn't because he was shy or feral—I don't think he's feral, just definitely a stray.

​Anytime someone who smelled like a dog came near him, he would hiss, and boy, was he hissing at her! But that didn't stop her from trying. In no time flat, he was allowing her to pet him—while he was still hissing! Paint me surprised, as I said.

​After that moment, he decided everyone gets to pet him. Funny, right? He's as adorable and friendly as any stray I've ever seen, and he's a local celebrity now. I think this winter I'm going to buy him a kitty vest—maybe some booties. I doubt he'll be happy about it.

​So that's the story of Maverick: a stray tomcat that hates the smell of dogs. Stay awesome, people. Keep hissing while letting people close enough for comfort, and just maybe you'll get dinner out of it, too.

Ich habe hart gearbeitet und etliche Risiken auf mich genommen, um die Süchtigen und Bettler von dort zu vertreiben. Zum Teil habe ich das getan, um selbst aus dieser Szene herauszukommen. Es bringt nichts, Drogen und Alkohol aus dem eigenen Leben zu streichen, wenn man am Ende doch wieder mittendrin steckt. Die Leute, mit denen ich zu tun hatte, als ich noch unvernünftig war, waren es einfach nicht wert, in ihren eigenen schweren Zeiten um einen zu sein.

Sie waren nicht in allem schlecht. Die meisten von ihnen waren anständige Menschen – aber es gab klar die Motivation, andere auszunutzen, um an den nächsten Kick zu kommen. Das Hustlen, das Stehlen und das ständige Klettern in der Hierarchie war einfach zu viel. Das waren die Hauptgründe, warum ich aufgehört habe. Ich vermisse es nicht im Geringsten.

Klingt das, als würde ich mich beschweren? Das will ich nicht. Ich denke, das hier ist teils Tagebuch, teils der Versuch zu verstehen, wie ich mich an die jüngsten Veränderungen anpasse, und teils ein kleiner Einblick in mein Leben für dich. Alles in allem ist es nicht schlecht. Ich mache daraus, was ich will. Ich entscheide mich, es so positiv wie möglich zu sehen. Gut investierte Energie.

Und die Krähen haben mitbekommen, dass ich jetzt hier draußen bin. Irgendjemand sollte endlich mal die Krähensprache entschlüsseln. Ich würde so gerne mit ihnen sprechen und wissen, was sie sagen. Mögen sie, was ich ihnen füttere, oder ist es eine Beleidigung für ihre Ahnen? Es ist spannend, Vögel und Eichhörnchen zu beobachten – und außerdem sehr beruhigend.

Zum ersten Mal seit Beginn des Herbstwetters bin ich froh über den bedeckten Himmel. Die Sonne drohte kurz wieder hervorzukommen, und mir ging der Arsch auf Grundeis. Gerade ist es angenehm draußen. Gut, dass sie wieder hinter den Wolken verschwunden ist.

Wie jede andere plötzliche Veränderung in meinem Leben wird auch diese mich etwas lehren und mir mehr Möglichkeiten geben, was ich tun kann, während ich nicht gerade versuche, das Geld für Essen und Kleidung zusammenzukratzen. Ich hoffe, du hast einen wunderbaren Tag. Und vergiss nie, dass du großartig bist.

​The clouds were thick and low. The hawks and eagles were somewhere else. But she kept her eye out anyway. They could arrive at any time. Their predator eyes tuned to just such as herself. A meaty morsel of soft bunny. She shivered at the scary thought.

​Just last season, after the snow melted, her cousin Greg Fluffyear got carried away by a giant eagle. She could still hear his screams fading away to wherever that eagle took its prey. Her fur twitched again as she remembered that fateful day. She kept hopping forward with her eye to the sky.

​Mere moments later, she saw it. A shadow under the clouds. Too far away to really make out what it was. She crouched as low as she could go, well aware that this short grass wouldn't hide her. She began to tremble as she watched the shadow. Then she heard it. That odd sound of human contraptions. It wasn't a hawk or an eagle.

​She sighed with great relief as she realized she was safe for now. Suddenly, she felt the strong grip of talons as she was lifted off the ground. She screamed and screamed as the ground became smaller and smaller. She looked up and saw the sleek beak and predatory eyes of the eagle that had swooped her up from behind.

​She was terrified. How could she let this happen? She trembled and squealed, "Please, Mr. Eagle. I don't want to become your lunch today. Can't you munch on some nice juicy grass instead?"

​But the eagle just looked at her for a second and then returned its attention to flying. This was it. She was a goner for sure. Ohhhh, three short years was not enough to get the full enjoyment of life in the fields.

​"What am I going to do?" Tears leaked out of her eyes as her heart fell. What, indeed, was she to do? The flight lasted mere minutes. Her chest was tight with grief and terror as the eagle carried her to her end. It began to fly lower, in wide, careful circles as it looked down.

​Then she saw it. A great big grass and twig nest. There were feathers, too. And was that bunny fur? "No! Please, Mr. Eagle!" She squealed, sullen as the nest came closer. She could almost smell the old bunny fur scattered around the inside of the nest. She was doomed!

​With a careless flick, the eagle dropped her into the nest.

​"Oof! Hey, watch it."

​She was startled by the exclamation. "What? Who?" It had to be a baby eagle. Any moment now, she was going to get chomped. She frantically looked around, trying to find an escape. Maybe she could jump out of the nest. With any luck, she would land on something soft. Anything was better than getting chomped by a baby eagle.

​"Julie? Is that you?"

​It knew her name. How? She squealed and then stopped. "Wait a moment. I recognize that voice. Greg?" She looked towards the voice. It was! Cousin Greg was here. But how? "Cousin Greg! How are you still... ?"

​"Ha ha ha! I wasn't eaten by Linda Narrowfeather. She's allergic to bunny." He grinned at her.

​She was confused. Why was he grinning in a time like this? They had to escape. "We need to get out of here!"

​"Why? This is the best setup ever. All we have to do is be fluffy, keep her warm during winter, and she feeds us the best grass and even vegetables!"

​"You've lost your mind. She's going to eat us!"

​"She can't eat bunny."

​She looked at him like he grew a third ear. "Why did she capture us then?"

​"She is lonely. She can't have babies, so she adopts bunnies."

​Julie's nose twitched as her whole world tilted. Then, a tuft of blue grass dropped on her head as old Miss Narrowfeather flew past. This was going to be a very peculiar life, as an eagle warmer and substitute eagle baby.

​I worked hard and took many risks, pushing out the addicts and beggars. I did it partly to avoid that scene myself. There is no use in cutting drugs and alcohol out of my life if I'm just going to be immersed in it anyway. The people I had to be around when I was being stupid just weren't worth being around during their own hard times.

​They weren't all bad in everything they did. Despite most of them being decent people, there was a constant drive to use others to get that next fix. Hustling, theft, and popularity climbing were a bit much to handle. Those were most of the reasons I quit. I don't miss it at all.

​Does it sound like I'm complaining? I'm not trying to. I guess this is just part journal, part figuring out how to adapt to recent change, and part giving you a peek into my life. It's not bad, all in all. I make of it what I choose to. I choose to make it as positive as I can. Energy well spent.

​And the crows are aware of me being out here now. Someone really needs to figure out crow language. I'd love to speak to them and know what they are saying. Do they like what I feed them, or is it an insult to their family line? It's interesting watching birds and squirrels, and it's very relaxing too.

​For the first time since fall weather hit, I'm glad for the overcast sky. The sun threatened to pop back out, and I puckered up. It's nice out right now. Good thing it went back behind the clouds.

​Like every other sudden change in my life, this one will teach me something and give me more options of things to do while I'm not trying to make food and clothing money. I hope you have a great day. And never forget that you are awesome.

Chapter One

​Thomas opened his door to the dank hallway of his apartment building and sneezed when the dust hit him. Every time. He wiped his nose with the handkerchief he started carrying for this every morning. As the sun hit his eyes through the exit door window, he pocketed it, noticing it was a little damp now.

​As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, the slight breeze hit him with cheerful bird songs and that clean scent of a dozen different types of flowers. It was sunny, but there was a slight cloud haze blocking some of the heat. The wind brought it from that slightly too hot to a perfect warmth with a cooling effect, which made it perfect for a nice walk. All in all, it was a perfect autumn day for enjoying the outdoors.

​He looked at the tall fifty-two-story office building he was headed toward. Work. Well, at least he had the twenty-minute walk to enjoy the day before he had to sit in his windowless cubicle. Jodie, his supervisor, was constantly telling him how replaceable he was. Then, she would add to his pile of reports to be crunched and filed.

​Thomas took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Then, he slowed down to steal a few extra minutes of fresh air before entering the dungeon of Pratiny Howard and Lewis Global Financial Inc. It was going to be another fun day ahead. That usual pressure behind his temples was already starting to squeeze the humanity out of him. They were almost a daily affair now. He couldn't be sure if the headaches were caused by the buzzing fluorescent lights that turned the office into a too-bright interrogation room or if it was the constant nagging voice of his supervisor.

​He found himself facing the bank of rotating doors of his workplace. His shoulders sagged as he pushed through. The long lines across the left side of the lobby greeted him. Dozens of people sliding their security badges along that deceptively friendly light at the turnstiles. Then walking through under the focused gaze of the uniformed rent-a-cops.

​He slid his card and waited for the friendly chime. He cringed when it sounded its lying little welcome sound. Then, he walked through. He glanced at the elevator bank and shook his head at the pile of bodies waiting to be ushered to their personal hells. He turned towards the stairwell door. He wasn't supposed to use the stairs, technically, but no one ever said anything.

​Thomas looked up as Jodie walked down the aisle. The pressure in his chest increased, and he could feel the discomfort continue to build behind his temples as she approached his cubicle. Oh god, she was looking at him. He quickly returned his attention to his screen. He was 80% finished with the pile he started the day with. Why couldn't she just let him finish the pile once before filling it back up? It always felt like a never-ending quest that would have been better imagined in bed at home.

​Jodie cleared her throat as if she had caught him doing something wrong. He looked up and tried to put on a corporate smile as his energy was sapped from him. The thin walls of his tiny cubicle began to close in.

​"Jodie! Hello."

​Jodie looked at the remaining folders in his inbox. "I see it's another vacation day. You never seem to take this work seriously. Your coworkers and the clients rely on you doing your work like you mean it. Not sitting here moping all day pretending to work. You do know a program could do your job? Pratiny Howard and Lewis Global Financial Inc. did you a favor by not buying that new system last quarter. You should be thankful you still have a job and act like it."

​"Of course, Jodie. I'll do better." He looked back at his screen and tried to get back to work. The wind from the pile of folders she slammed down onto his keyboard and hands blew his hair back.

​"Have those done by end of day." She walked on to her next victim without waiting for his response. He reached into his top drawer for his Tylenol and popped four. His head was now pounding and his death grip on the pill bottle, as he focused too much on her words, couldn't be helping things. He tilted his head back and swallowed them dry. He put the bottle back in the drawer and stood up, trying not to gag up the dry pills as he rushed to the water cooler. He apologized as he pushed between James and Paul. As he stood in the nook, he enjoyed the dimmer lighting after the harsh fluorescent lights were partially blocked by the corner. The water slid down his throat in waves as he filled the child-sized paper cones, one after the other.

​He looked up as the two men in second-hand suits tried not to laugh at his daily hijinks. Thomas finished washing down the pills and took a deep breath of stale office air.

​"Does she do that to you guys too?" he asked the two.

​Paul grinned and said, "Dude, I think she has a thing for you."

​James laughed as he added to the ribbing, "I think you're just her favorite little fly in the web."

​They both laughed as Thomas made a face and pushed back through as their ridicule followed him like a splinter that was too deep to pull out. He listened to their laughter as he passed, knowing looks on the way back to the center of the web. As he sat down, he looked at the pile of folders on his keyboard and the eight pages of the continual letter j, which the folders entered as they lay on it.

​He sighed as he picked up the stack and put them under the last ones in his inbox. He looked up at the clock thirty feet away. 10 o'clock. He groaned as he deleted the wall of j's and used his anger to focus while he returned to the unending reports.

​5 o'clock rolled around as Thomas put the finishing touches on the last report. He stood up and stretched.

​He cringed as Jodie's voice rang in his ears. "It's a miracle! You actually finished the minimum of work. Maybe tomorrow you could bring your B-game instead of this joke of F-grade garbage."

​"Yes, Jodie."

​"You're a shame to this company. Everybody else seems to be able to take their jobs seriously. Why can't you?"

​"I'll do better tomorrow, Jodie."

​"See that you do. You know, a program could do your job."

​Thomas looked at the clock as she walked away with her head held high. He took a deep breath and eyeballed his top drawer. The last rays of daylight were beckoning to him. He left his cubicle and headed towards the stairwell. Maybe he would stop by that cafe with the outside tables before he went home.

​The fresh air hit him like a wave of solace as he exited the skyscraper. The sun was too low to crush his delusions of being more than an office supply with some program-replaceable mind. Thomas looked around at the oppressive flood of bodies and walked further towards the edge of the giant plaza.

​As he turned the corner, he saw the Caffeine & Croquant, and his stomach loosened a little. The line of middle management professionals was long but the smell of coffee and sweet rolls took his mind away from the last eight and a half hours regardless. The tension in his head began to give a little as he looked at the menu. Of course, Thomas always ordered the same thing here.

​His turn finally came, not a moment too soon.

​"I'd like a large coffee with a shot of mocha and espresso. Also some caramel, please." He smiled pleasantly, almost tasting the sweet aromatic giver of sanity that was soon to come.

​The girl, Susan, by her name tag, smiled her usual false 'I love my job but hate it' smile graced her too narrow face. "Okay, Thomas, it'll be out in five minutes or less or you get a full 0% discount!" Her mindless giggle made his headache return. "That'll be $10.46 after taxes!"

​He tried his best to maintain his quickly falling smile as he gave her exact change. "Thank you, Susan." As he stepped outside to find a seat at one of the glass tables, he took a big breath of the coffee-infused air. Then he sat down, finally.

​Ten minutes later, another barista placed his coffee on the table and walked away with an empty smile of her own. Not even a thank you. Oh well. He picked up the coffee and promptly burnt his mouth with the first gulp. After the required sputtering and coughing caused by the blessed temperature of the coffee, he smiled and sighed happily.

​Thomas' eyes slowly closed as the pleasure worked its way through his body. For long seconds he let the sounds and smells drift through his consciousness. This almost removed the horror of the day at the office. Almost.

​He opened his eyes and it took a moment for the change to hit him. He was on a metal folding chair, the kind schools loved to use when there were too many students and not enough seating. The room was white. The walls were blank. And he wasn't alone, nor was he still sitting at the glass table, holding his too-hot coffee outside the cafe.

​"You have failed me, phone, for the last time."

​I sigh and drag down from the top of the screen twice and raise the screen brightness from 2% to 50% to save battery and irritate myself whenever I have to do anything under the bright sun.

​Today is going to be dark and rainy. At least that grey wall of doom coming closer is saying that. I have a love-hate relationship with clouds and the sun. I keep telling myself, "Self... without those two things, we would be blind, cave-dwelling moss and fungus eaters."

​Hurrah for dark clouds and skin-burning sun! I know it's a little weird. That's my brain for you. It never wants to do anything normal. Whenever I find myself clashing with something, I try to look at it in a different light.

​Fall dropping all the beautiful, shade-producing leaves? Next year there will be more shade. Rain getting me thoroughly wet for days after its passing? Plants and animals love that stuff. And I love the plants and animals. Lightning striking the ground, knocking out power? I get a laugh at everyone losing their modern conveniences and the world ending for them while they wait for it to come back.

​What? Did you think I was always nice? Only outwardly. The world in my head is a terrible and evil place sometimes. Other times, you could drop a pack of toddlers off in there and trust they would be safe for a few hours while you shop. It's a strange place.

​Someone recently asked me what I do for fun. I honestly had no answer. How do you tell someone that my idea of fun is watching clouds, birds, and squirrels going about their day? It is fun. Interesting, too. Plus, sometimes I like to learn physics. Not the math.

​Oh god no. The math can buy a train ticket to the land of the insane asylum and stay there, well away from me. No. I like the mechanics of it. Air warms up and rises. Water cools down and becomes a solid. Electricity—and everything else—takes the path of least resistance. Mechanical physics, not university physics.

​I'm also a people watcher. I've seen some behaviors. And I have seen some good things, and some naughty things too. It's interesting watching people go about their day. I've been people watching since I was a kid. I've learned a lot about us.

​People are more the same than different. I don't mean a little same. Ha! This might piss some of you off. We are about 98% the same. That 2% does a lot of work. Phew boy! You have no idea. It's beautiful, really, and highly stabilizing for society. You have no idea how crucial that 98% is.

​I'm no psychiatrist but I'll give you an example confirming a little of what I'm saying. Whether you are a cold-hearted murderer or a gang banger, whether you are a police officer or a business person, a man or a woman, gay or straight—if I give you a big smile and compliment the most flashy bit of your clothing, you are 99% guaranteed to light up and smile for me.

​Seems shallow, and it is. But it is a piece of evidence supporting my observations. Let that sit in your mind as you walk around outside your home, office, or cubicle. That person who seems nothing like you is more your brother or sister in spirit than not.

You are working in the server room at your job. A high-tech room filled with racks of blades. Each blade holding CPUs, RAM, and hard drives.

You're walking down the aisles checking each server, when suddenly... a kitten begins rubbing itself all over your shoe. You look down and see the caramel and beige ball of fluff, sniffing and rubbing furiously.

Suddenly, a click sounds behind you. Then a brush of air passes you as you hear the rustling of clothes drifting away in the next aisle.

You run to the aisle and see a hard drive is missing. Your head snaps toward the sound of the clothes. You start to turn to run when sharp, needle-like pain starts moving up your leg.

You look down and see the kitten crawling up your leg with its little claws leading the way up your thin khaki work pants. You wince with every repositioning of its paws as it gets closer and closer to your midsection.

You reach down and carefully pluck each paw of needle-sharp claws off your leg. Every time one paw is released, another reattaches itself. Finally, after much pain and suffering, you place the kitty on your chest and begin running toward the perpetrator.

The kitten meows cutely as you run toward the other side of the server room. Then the loud clack of the steel door closing hits your ears. You pick up speed before it's too late.

The sound of a vehicle engine starting echoes into the server room. Then the skidding of tires and thrown pebbles recedes into the distance. You reach the door and push the bar. It doesn't budge.

You sigh and turn around. Your back touches the door, and you allow yourself to slide down it. Then the cat meows again. The lights in the room cut off with an electric click. Utter darkness falls around you.

All except for two glowing red eyes at chest level. The kitten growls a deep growl. Then meows cutely again. You slowly extend your arms, hoping not to upset the needle-clawed ball of fur.

It meows and tap-tap-taps your nose with its beans. Another cute meow sound at arm's length. You gently place it on the cold concrete floor.

Then you pull out your phone. You turn on the light and it immediately shuts down as the battery dies. You put it back in your pocket, frustrated.

Then a chorus of cute meows sounds from all over the room. You look up and see hundreds of pairs of glowing red eyes all over the floor and racks.

The emergency lights turn on weakly. They cast a dim light on the room. Eerie shadows hide red eyes. The lighting shows hundreds of adolescent felines sitting everywhere. All staring at you.

A wisp of paper scratching concrete sounds behind you. You feel around—a piece of paper has been pushed under the steel door. You lift it to your eyes and then angle it to use the dim emergency lighting to read it.

It's a receipt for five hundred pounds of catnip. Your eyes scan down the extremely long paper. Must be from CVS. Then you see it. Your own credit card number is printed on the payment section.

You look up, starting to get real nervous. The cost, oh god, the cost. You look at the large number. Then back up at the catnip line. Premium?! The number stares at you from the receipt. Your stomach drops as you think about what bills you'll have to give up until you pay off this tab.

Then a single red laser dot appears on your chest. Where is it coming from? Who is in the—...

You look up and all the kittens are staring at the red dot. As one, they drop their heads to the floor and server tops. Their little butts rise high in the air and begin wriggling. You try to scoot to the side to break their aim, but it doesn't work. Their eyes follow the dot.

Butts wriggling, eyes focused, needle-sharp claws extended...