Interview with the Zombie

Tripping up the Stairs with Machete in Hand

Cold Coffee and Gas Station Sandwiches

Chasing the Muse with Chloroform

Hair of the Dog

The Man Upstairs

Hidebound

Dancing with a Serial Killer

Captain Barbiturate and the Valium Vigilante

They were running late for their road trip. It didn’t really matter whose fault it was. It was his. It was always his.

“Just for the record, we are late and it’s totally not my fault, yet again.” She said to him.

“Are you keeping count?” He asked.

“Nope, just making an observation. Let me make sure we have everything. Hydration? Check. Road Chips? Check.”

“What are road chips?”

“Chips you eat while on the road, duh.”

“Of course, how could I not know that?”

“Probably because you’re always late. Okay, I’m in charge of the music.”

“What? No, the driver is always in charge of the music.”

“Really? Since when?”

“Since forever. You’ve never seen that bumper sticker?”

“What bumper sticker?”

“Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts their cake hole.”

“That’s a stupid bumper sticker.”

“I didn’t make the sticker nor the rules, little miss missy.”

“You’re just enforcing them?”

“Damn Skippy.”

“Hey speaking of bumper stickers, look.”

“Look at what?”

“That car in front of us.”

“What about it?”

“They’re from the same town as you are, Bogota.”

“What? How can you tell that?”

“They got a little sticker in the back of their car of the Bogota High School mascot, the Buccaneer.”

“What?”

“You told me that the mascot for Bogota was a buccaneer. That’s a buccaneer right there.”

“Ummmm, I hate to break this to you, but…”

“But, what?”

“That’s a sticker for Seton Hall.”

“It is?”

“Yes, that’s the Seton Hall Pirates.”

“Hmmmm. Looks like a bucanner to me. What’s the difference between a pirate and a buccaneer anyways?”

“I have no clue.”

“Google to the rescue!”

“How about we pick out some music and identify the best part of the song instead?”

“Best part?”

“Sure, it will be a fun little road trip game. We’ll listen to a song and then afterwards we will both guess as to what the best part was.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What, that there’s the best part of every song or it will be a fun road trip game?”

“A little of both actually.”

“I’m telling you every single good song has a best part to it.”

“Every single song?”

“No, not every single song. Every single good song.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, if it’s a bad song, it won’t be able to have a best part.”

“I see. So can you name the best part of any good song?”

“Of course.”

“Cool. Let me see your phone.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to play your game and I’m going to test you.”

“There’s no music on my phone.”

“What? That’s impossible. Everyone has music on their phone.”

“Not me.”

“Why not?”

“I use my iPod.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, what?”

“Seriously Grandpa.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m old.”

“I’m just messing with you. Give me the iPod, Grandpa.”

“I’ll tell you this, the iPod has never failed me. It has everything you can imagine – including but not limited to stuff from back in my pirate days.”

“Don’t you mean your buccaneer days? Let me see if I can even figure out how to work this thing.”

“Just hit the button and used the click wheel.”

“Got it. Okay, first up: AC/DC – Long Way to the Top.” 

“That’s an easy slam dunk.”

“Oh, is it now?”

“Sure, everyone knows that it’s the bagpipes.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone who’s heard the song.”

“Okay, okay, next up: Anthrax – Indians.”

“Are you going alphabetically?”

“It just makes a whole lot of sense to me. I mean they’re right there all in a row. So what’s the best part of this one?”

“When he goes like this, he goes, WARDANCE!” He screams.

“How doe he go?”

“WARDANCE!” He screams again.

She looks at him and can’t help herself but to laugh.

“You’re mocking me.”

“You make it so easy.”

“Okay, okay. What’s next?”

“Bob Dylan, really? You have Bob Dylan on this thing?”

“Sure, I love Bob Dylan. Who doesn’t?”

“Ummm, me.”

“Really, why? What did he ever do to you?

“To me nothing, but to my dad…”

“What? Your dad knows Bob Dylan? Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“I don’t know. I guess it just never came up.”

“What could Bob Dylan have possibly done to raise your father’s ire?”

“He borrowed $20 from him and never gave it back.”

“What? You’re making this up”

“Nopes, totally not making this up. They were living in the city. He wasn’t big and famous yet and he asked my father for $20. My father gave it to him and never got a penny in return.”

“That seems a little hard to believe.”

“What’s so hard to believe? Bob Dylan is a mooch.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t believe it. It just seems very unlikely.”

“You calling my father a liar?”

“No, I’m just saying he’s probably not remembering it right.”

She looks at him and musters up her best Al Pacino impression. “Fredo, you’re my brother and I love you, but don’t ever take sides against the family again.”

“Okay, weirdo. Next song?”

“Whoa.”

“Whoa what?”

“You have Hall and Oates on here?”

“Of course. My musical tastes are ecclectic.”

“I see. Okay, Hall & Oates – Private Eyes.”

“You’re picking all the easy ones.”

“I am? Well what’s the best part then?”

“It’s the clapping. Any song that has clapping in it automatically makes that the best part of the song.”

“Well there you go. You really do learn something new every day. Who woulda thunk you’re a big fan of clapping.”

“Go deeper into the pod for the next one?”

“Since for some reason you are set against me going alphabetically, let’s spin the wheel – no whammies, no whammies, no whammies, stop!”

“Pulling out a Press Your Luck reference and you call me old?”

“Ha ha ha.” She said sardonically.

“Okay what did you come up with?”

“The White Stripes – Black Math.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, what?”

“That’s another easy one. It’s when Jack White goes like this, he goes, Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.”

“Wait, how does he go?”

“Nope, you’re not going to get me to do it again.”

“I thought I could, sometimes you make it too easy.”

“Give me another one.”

“Okay, here’s a good one, Pearl Jam’s Jeremy.”

“That’s a toss-up.”

“Did I stump you?”

“Not yet, I’m narrowing it down but I think I got it.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“The Oooo Ooooo’s.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say the Oooo Ooooo’s?”

“Yeah, at the end of the song. The Oooo Ooooo’s”

“This game is boring me. I just want to listen to real music and eat chips.”

“In all faireness, we were supposed to listen to the song and then discuss.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can I turn on the radio?”

“Sure, I’m not an animal?”

“What?”

“Sam Malone.”

“Who?”

“Sam Malone. The TV show, Cheers? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it?”

“A little before my time, Grandpa.”

“Seriously, you’re only 5 years younger than me.”

“Okay, cradle robber.”

“What?”

“Dude, I’m totallhy messing with you again, of course I know Sam Malone. I just don’t get the reference.”

“There was an episode where he’s describing how he’s about to have sex with someone.”

“Oooooooooooo babu! Sounds steamy.”

“As steamy as NBC could be back then, I guess. He’s telling this story and says, I’m folding up my socks and Carla asks you fold up your socks before sex? and Sam replies, Sure… I’m not an animal.”

She just looks at him blankly.

“What?” 

“Crickets.”

“We’ll watch it tonight and you’ll laugh.”

“Challenge accepted, but now it’s radio time.” She tunes the satellite radio in the car to the Alt Nation channel and catches Riptide by Vance Joy playing. He’s about to say something to her when she interrupt him.

“Wait, wait, waaaaaaaaaaait.”

“What?”

“Ssssshhhhhhhhh. This is the best part of the song.”

The End

 

 

He loaded up his laundry bag with dirty clothes. He went through his quick mental checklist:

 

Laundry detergent – Running low but… Check

                  Fabric Softener – Check

                  Quarters – Check

                  Beer – Check

 

He was all set to go downstairs to the laundry room of his apartment building when a text came in from his friend.

 

– Hang 2nite? Nu bar opened Shud b gud

                  – Can’t 2nite

                  – Y not?

                  – Laundry nite

                  – U gotta B kidding???

                  – Nope

                  – This is worse than ur excuse two weeks ago

                  – Wut excuse?

                  – U said it wuz garbage nite

                  – It was                 

                  – Lame

                  – I got a nu cool way 2 do laundry

                  – ???

 

He looked down at his phone for a moment and contemplated texting the Laundry Game out. It would take to long to type it out. He called his friend to explain. Five rings then right to voice mail.

 

 

     – I just called you… Pick up

                  – Can’t right now

                  – Y?

                  – Dropping a deuce

                  – ???

                  – Call u wen done

 

He went back to gathering his laundry essentials and headed down the stairs. The laundry room had multiple duties as it was also the garbage room, the storage room, a bicycle rack, and it also held the office of the building’s superintendant.

 

He started to unload his laundry basket filled with clothes, detergent, fabric softener, and a 6 pack of beer when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw it was his friend calling back.

 

“What’s up mother-fucker?” He sang in a falsetto voice.

“Yo, yo yo. What’s this cool new way of doing laundry, brother?” His friend asked.

“First things first.”

“Yes?”

“You were taking a shit when I called?”

“Yes, why?”

“You texted back that you were dropping a deuce and that you couldn’t talk.”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t talk but you could text?”

“Sure, I’m not an animal.”

“Kinda gross dude.”

“You wouldn’t have known I was defecating unless I told you. Had I picked up the phone you would have heard the bathroom echo.”

“The bathroom echo?”

“Yes, no fabrics in there except a bathmat. Hence the echo.”

“But you can still text?”

“Yes.”

“But not talk?”

“Yes… I’m not an animal.”

“Whatever dude, it’s still gross.”

“Whatever man, tell me about this new game you got going.”

“I call it Drunken Laundry.”

“How do you play?”

“Simple really, you grab a sixer of beer, more of course if you have more players and you bet on if the machine is going to fuck up or not.”

“Fuck up or not? What does that even mean?”

“Yeah the machines are real old. They jacked up the prices from $1.50 a wash to $2.50 a wash but never upgraded the machines, they only upgraded the prices.”

“Doesn’t seem right.”

“Totally not, but my requests have fallen on deaf ears so instead of continuing a fruitless endeavor, I’ve created a game of it.”

“Okay so how do you play?”

“You take a drink every time the machine gets stuck on the cycle.”

“On the cycle?”

“Yeah if it says rinsing which should last no more than a few minutes and is stuck on the rinsing cycle. You take a drink.”

“Seems easy enough.”

“Yup, any time machine gets stuck you take a drink,”

“I’m assuming it gets stuck a lot otherwise there would be no game.”

“Exactamundo. Then there’s the one part if the machine shuts off completely mid-cycle you have to down the whole beer.”

“Sounds like good times. How many sixers you playing with tonight?”

“I just got the one, so I’m letting certain rules slide.”

“Okay I’m in.”

“You’re in?”

“Yeah, let me go to the liquor store and I’ll be right over I think I want to play Drunken Laundry tonight.”

“You sure? I usually just play it alone. I think I’m the only one that finds true enjoyment from it.”

“Nope, I’m totally in.”

“That’s cool. Can you do me a favor before you come by?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I only have the one sixer here, can you get more beer, a bottle of vodka, and a lighter?”

“No problem, I get the more beer and vodka part but what’s the lighter for?”

“I’m going to take Drunken Laundry to the next level tonight.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Flaming shots.”

“Flaming shots, really?”

“Every time the laundry machines eat your change you have to take a shot.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

“Oh, one more thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Bring some laundry detergent.”

 

 

 

The End

I drank and I slept and then I drank and slept some more.

I did it again and again.

I drank and I slept.

I mourned not the loss, but that I was broken.

Unfixable.

To sleep is to escape.

To escape is the chance to live again.

 

 

 

She ran along the boardwalk, as she did every morning. It was her time to herself, her time to clear her head. Thoughts of the day’s agenda crossed her mind. She went through the small list in her mind: oil change, laundry, grocery shopping. She stopped going through her mental list when she saw him sitting there, outside the café, reading the newspaper. She slowed down as she approached him. Oblivious to her standing in front of him slightly out of breath, he turned the page of his paper.

 

“What are you doing?” She asked slightly out of breath.

He looks up from the paper and says, “Oh sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m just reading the paper. Seeing what’s what with the world today. Out for a little run, are you?”

“You know I am.”

“Yes, I guess I do.”

“What’s your endgame here?”

“I’m sorry my what?”

“Your endgame. What do you expect?”

“I really don’t understand what you’re trying to say?”

“What do you want me to do? To love you back? For me to fall madly in love with you.”

“Madly in love?”

“Yes, because I don’t do that.”

“You don’t do that?”

“No, I don’t. That’s just not me. It’s not what I do. So I ask you again, what is your endgame here?”

“I’m going to answer that question.”

“Good, because I would like an answer.”

“I’m going to answer it but first I have a question for you, and then after you respond I promise I’ll answer you.”

“Okay, what’s your question?”

“What are you running from?”

She looked puzzled by his question and he continued, “You are both figuratively and literally running away from something.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. I see it everyday when you run out there. It’s something more than exercising. There’s getting/staying in shape but this is something else entirely. I can’t quite place it but I’m getting that there’s a sense of sadness in your eyes when you run. So I ask again, what are you running from?”

 

She paused as if she was going to say something but she didn’t have the words to speak. He held up his finger, indicating to her to hold her thought. “Before you answer me, I want you to think about it. Take the rest of the day and then sleep on it. I’ll be here again tomorrow morning when you run on by. I’m not trying to pry by asking you this, but I think it might be good for you to talk about whatever it is that happened. I might not even be the person that you’re comfortable telling but what I’m trying to say, albeit in a very long-winded way, is that you don’t need to run anymore. I’ll let you think about it, but for now I must be going. Lots to do today, lots to do.” He took the last gulp from the paper cup and grabbed his newspaper and started walking down the boardwalk.

“Wait,” She yelled after him. “You still haven’t answered me. What’s your endgame here?”

“Tomorrow.” He said. “I’ll answer everything that you want to know tomorrow. After you’ve acknowledged my question of course.” With that, he walked away from her to begin the rest of his day.

 

She stared as he continued walking down the boardwalk until he turned a corner and was out of sight. She turned in the opposite direction and continued her morning run. Lots to do today, she thought. Lots to do.

 

 

 

… To Be Continued