above the bathroom sink.
“Fuck it,” Carl said to himself.
Real men didn’t need any of that shit anyway. It was fine with him if he looked
and smelled like a man. Besides, he’d like to see the man or woman with the
balls to say anything. He went to the bedroom and as he was putting on his
dirty socks and his boots, hunger suddenly struck him like a freight train
slamming into his stomach. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and doubled
over from the sudden pain. He hadn’t eaten since the day before yesterday.
“God damn!” he said, straightening
up. “I gotta eat somethin ’.”
He went to the kitchen and scowled
at how nice and pretty everything was with perfect little curtains that
decorated a window next to the dining table with a view to the backyard.
Placemats in four places at the table with some kind of wheat pattern on them.
A white tablecloth with fall leaves scattered about sparsely. Carl kicked the
edge of the table, sending it sliding into the corner.
He turned and walked the few steps
to the refrigerator. He opened the door and couldn’t believe the lack of food
that he found on the shelves. Some Coors Light and a couple
of yogurt containers on the top shelf next to some almond milk.
“How the fuck do you get milk out
of an almond for Christ’s sake?”
In the door there were two rows of
eggs. Carl took one out on the chance that they might be hard-boiled. He threw
it into the sink hoping for a dull thud but it splattered yolk all over. He
turned back and opened a drawer labeled Meat and found a package of Uncured
Bacon. He didn’t know what that meant, but bacon was bacon as far as he was
concerned. He’d even eat some of that fake-ass turkey bacon if that was all he
could find.
After a breakfast of bacon and
scrambled eggs with almond milk, (and no bread anywhere) Carl felt a lot
better, but still hungry. He decided he’d had enough from this kitchen though.
He’d get some real food like a big-ass steak somewhere else. The diner down the
mountain should be a goldmine of food, and everything would be free.
He found his jacket and his gloves
and went back to Monica’s room to get the stuff out of his pants pockets. Now
that he had bathed and eaten, he was aware of the stench coming from his grimy
Levi’s. He almost wanted to wash his hands after touching them.
He went outside and started up his
bike. He looked at Trey’s bike and thought about setting it on fire but
remembered it was actually his. He had given it to the back--stabbing bastard.
He’d figure out a way to come back for it later. He looked at the driveway
while he let his engine warm up. He saw a large rectangular area in the center
of the driveway with less snow than the surrounding area. There were no tire
tracks visible from when the van had driven away. That was okay. He knew where
to find them.
He brushed his left foot back to
raise the kickstand and he revved the engine a few times. He started off
slowly, releasing the clutch and giving the bike only a little gas but he still
laid it down as he turned out of the driveway and onto the snowy gravel.
He got up cursing and kicking at
his bike. He strained to lift it and got it upright. He put the kickstand back
down and looked around. He needed four wheels in this shit. The snow was
probably sticking to the highway now. He didn’t know how to hot-wire, so he
needed keys. That meant he needed to find a car where the owner was home. He
looked at the house across the street. He couldn’t tell if anyone was home or
not. The porch light was off of course, and there was no car in the driveway,
but that meant nothing since most folks would have their cars inside their
garages when it snowed.
The wind picked up and blew snow
around as Carl walked across the street. He went up to the door quickly. The
wind was blowing right through his clothes. He pounded on the door urgently. An
old man with wispy white hair decorating his mostly bald head came to the door
wearing a
“Fuck it,” Carl said to himself.
Real men didn’t need any of that shit anyway. It was fine with him if he looked
and smelled like a man. Besides, he’d like to see the man or woman with the
balls to say anything. He went to the bedroom and as he was putting on his
dirty socks and his boots, hunger suddenly struck him like a freight train
slamming into his stomach. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and doubled
over from the sudden pain. He hadn’t eaten since the day before yesterday.
“God damn!” he said, straightening
up. “I gotta eat somethin ’.”
He went to the kitchen and scowled
at how nice and pretty everything was with perfect little curtains that
decorated a window next to the dining table with a view to the backyard.
Placemats in four places at the table with some kind of wheat pattern on them.
A white tablecloth with fall leaves scattered about sparsely. Carl kicked the
edge of the table, sending it sliding into the corner.
He turned and walked the few steps
to the refrigerator. He opened the door and couldn’t believe the lack of food
that he found on the shelves. Some Coors Light and a couple
of yogurt containers on the top shelf next to some almond milk.
“How the fuck do you get milk out
of an almond for Christ’s sake?”
In the door there were two rows of
eggs. Carl took one out on the chance that they might be hard-boiled. He threw
it into the sink hoping for a dull thud but it splattered yolk all over. He
turned back and opened a drawer labeled Meat and found a package of Uncured
Bacon. He didn’t know what that meant, but bacon was bacon as far as he was
concerned. He’d even eat some of that fake-ass turkey bacon if that was all he
could find.
After a breakfast of bacon and
scrambled eggs with almond milk, (and no bread anywhere) Carl felt a lot
better, but still hungry. He decided he’d had enough from this kitchen though.
He’d get some real food like a big-ass steak somewhere else. The diner down the
mountain should be a goldmine of food, and everything would be free.
He found his jacket and his gloves
and went back to Monica’s room to get the stuff out of his pants pockets. Now
that he had bathed and eaten, he was aware of the stench coming from his grimy
Levi’s. He almost wanted to wash his hands after touching them.
He went outside and started up his
bike. He looked at Trey’s bike and thought about setting it on fire but
remembered it was actually his. He had given it to the back--stabbing bastard.
He’d figure out a way to come back for it later. He looked at the driveway
while he let his engine warm up. He saw a large rectangular area in the center
of the driveway with less snow than the surrounding area. There were no tire
tracks visible from when the van had driven away. That was okay. He knew where
to find them.
He brushed his left foot back to
raise the kickstand and he revved the engine a few times. He started off
slowly, releasing the clutch and giving the bike only a little gas but he still
laid it down as he turned out of the driveway and onto the snowy gravel.
He got up cursing and kicking at
his bike. He strained to lift it and got it upright. He put the kickstand back
down and looked around. He needed four wheels in this shit. The snow was
probably sticking to the highway now. He didn’t know how to hot-wire, so he
needed keys. That meant he needed to find a car where the owner was home. He
looked at the house across the street. He couldn’t tell if anyone was home or
not. The porch light was off of course, and there was no car in the driveway,
but that meant nothing since most folks would have their cars inside their
garages when it snowed.
The wind picked up and blew snow
around as Carl walked across the street. He went up to the door quickly. The
wind was blowing right through his clothes. He pounded on the door urgently. An
old man with wispy white hair decorating his mostly bald head came to the door
wearing a
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