A Better Goodbye by John Schulian

breasts.
    â€œWhatever,” Doug said, his shoulders sagging.
    Jenny couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “You’re pouting? Why, because you didn’t kill me? Jesus, you’ve got to be the biggest asshole in the world. Maybe the biggest asshole in the whole history of assholes.”
    Doug looked up as if he was going to defend himself, only to stop before he started. Even if he had said something, though, no one would have heard him, because Lindsey came with a scream that must have awakened the entire complex.
    As soon as he got out from under her, Randy made his way down to Jenny. “Hey, you’re really cute, you know that?” said the guy she thought was her hero. “We should do a threesome, me and you and your friend.”
    â€œYou don’t even remember her name, do you?” Jenny said.
    â€œThe moment’s more important than what we call ourselves,” Randy said, leaning forward to kiss her.
    Jenny turned her head, giving him nothing more than a cheek. Then she stood and said, “I am so out of here.”
    â€œCome on, don’t leave yet,” Randy said.
    Jenny had her gaze locked on Lindsey. “You got what you wanted,” she said. “Can we go now?”
    â€œI guess,” Lindsey said.
    One by one they climbed out of the spa, the girls leading the way. When Jenny glanced back, she saw a condom floating on the water.

    Two-seventeen A.M. Home again. Her hair was still wet and her Vietnam War project was still waiting to be done. Wondering if she should forget about sleep and start working on the paper, she sorted through the mail she hadn’t bothered to look at for days. There were notices for shoe sales she would never go to, two-for-one offers from pizza joints, pleas for donations from charities, credit card bills, and offers to get new credit cards. It was all stuff she had seen before until she reached the bottom of the pile and found an official-looking envelope from the DMV. What did they want? Her license renewal wasn’t due until summer. She opened the envelope and what she found inside left her feeling like she was back under water, drowning, with no one to save her this time.

8
    On the days when work didn’t find him, which was most days, Nick walked. The only thing that could keep him inside was one of those special-effects storms L.A. had when it got any rain at all. Otherwise, he would hoof it west on Olympic, then south on Bundy, and down to Pico, where he would head west again. The closer he got to the ocean, the more homeless people he saw. They seemed to him a reminder that things always balance out: You want the Pacific, you have to take the human flotsam and jetsam. Poor bastards. Sometimes Nick would give one of them his spare change when he grabbed a sub at the Italian deli he liked on Lincoln. Problem was, there were always more of them than he had change.
    He’d sit at one of the outside tables and ask himself how he was going to get out of the dead end his life had become. When it came to work, if there was any baggage to be handled, he couldn’t find it. There didn’t seem to be any nails to be pounded or ditches to be dug, either. Trucks to be driven, well, he’d find out about his one shot at that soon enough. He knew he should keep looking just the same, but he’d reached the point where most days he couldn’t stand to beat his head against that particular wall. The best he could do was try to come up with something he hadn’t thought of. When he’d gone without an answer for as long as he could stand it, he’d eat the last of his sub and head for home along Santa Monica Boulevard.
    He could kill a good three hours that way, always walking, never running. Running reminded him of roadwork, and roadwork reminded him of boxing, and boxing intruded on his thoughts often enough without his encouraging it.
    Some days he made it back to his apartment wishing he were still