Thursday, June 14, 2012

Cereal, Cans of shit, the King of Poland

[A sound, like static from the Very Large Array, narrows in pitch, colliding with the monotony of the pulsars, injecting its Chaos into the system, a discordant ripple, generating from nowhere, everywhere...]

"Why don't we have any cereal? Christ, I just bought roughly eighty pounds of the stuff!", Geoff complained, rifling the cabinets, in his boxers and Clash t-shirt.

"We have oatmeal. You probably should eat that anyway. Keep you regular, you old fucker.", Jinx said, softly, glancing at the mixing bowl and spoon in front of him.

"Fuck me!!! Jesus Christ, you scared the piss out of me! Why the hell are you up!? It is four ay-em!", Geoff yelped, dropping the paper towel dispenser with which he had been prepared to knock the ever-loving snot out of the intruder which had decided that four in the morning was a good time to extoll the virtues of colon health and oatmeal.

"Haven't slept yet."

"You stayed up all night?!", asked Geoff, sniffing the milk jug.

"Wow, you have a keen sense for the obvious, my main apple-scrapple. Incidentally, we are also out of toilet paper."

"We aren't out of shit. I am out of toilet paper."

Jinx smiled in a crooked way which made Geoff slightly nervous. Though he had only known the reclining and somewhat smelly man-boy only a very brief time, that smile was worrisome. It was a smile that seemed to say "I am not really convinced that those drapes compliment the sofa. Let's burn the fucking place down."

"It is precisely because we aren't out of shit that I mention it.", Jinx stood and stretched. "Well, better hit the sack. That Golden Girls marathon isn't going to watch itself."

As Jinx padded down the hallway, Geoff heaped spoonfuls of cheap, American coffee into the coffee machine. Did I make a mistake? I don't know if I can live with this guy. Sneaking up on a body, up until ungodly hours, who knows what he does for money. Probably sells black-market human organs. Or worse, security guard at Walmart. Geoff sighed, plunking down in a chair to wait out the coffee machine.

Not that such musings amounted to a mouse fart worth of usefulness. Fact was, he needed a room-mate to help with the bills, plain and simple. Besides, there was something...compelling about Jinx, something that Geoff appreciated, as a detective might appreciate a well-planned but poorly executed murder. The kid certainly had a certain charm, but it was the sardonic yet sad glint in his brown, somewhat crazed eyes that triggered a kind of recognition and simpatico, like he just needed something stable in his otherwise chaotic life. Maybe it was just the parent in him, but Geoff felt vaguely protective of him.

Laughing to himself, Geoff poured a cup of terrible coffee and trudged toward the bathroom. Yeah, "protective" until he drugs me and sells my kidney.

"Well, I can't really use you in the front of the store because of But I do need someone to look after the lumber-yard, you know clean up, pull orders, the regular. I'll pay you six-hundred a month, part-time."

Gene,  the store owner, looked like the kind of guy who beat his kids but he was giving Jinx a job. You can't bite hands that poison you. Besides, if he hated it, he could shit in a can and throw it in the air ducts. Plenty of misogynistic, gap-toothed hillbillies need a punk-rocker to kick around.

"Hey, thanks, man. I won't let you down for at least a week.", Jinx said with "the smile".

Gene looked vaguely disgusted with himself but laughed nonetheless. He pointed to the office and walked away, shaking his head.

Jinx started toward the office, scratching the possibly infected nose-ring hole in his right nostril. Gotta pay the bills. The roomie is pretty cool, if a tad high-strung. Might put some roots down around here, never know. Heck, I was born not far from here. 

For the next hour or so, Jinx filled out forms and provided identification, as well as harassing the  poor receptionist by replying to every inquiry in a different, increasingly bizarre series of accents and claiming to be the King of Poland.

"I assure chou, madam, zet I am the usurped ruler of Poland, Ms. Wiscznicki, unt I must demand you adress me has 'His Royal Pants' at all zee times!"

It may, in fact, turn out to be the longest, most unnerving year for Geoff and New Bern, North Carolina. Stranger things have likely never happened.

[nobody at the controls, some unknown catalyst has set the thing going, the noise continues, Chaos might smile if it had teeth to do so]


  1. This is getting interesting. I wish you wrote every freaking day.

  2. I wish I could, too. Sadly, this body requires food and rest. Stupid biology.