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[Fiction] Out on a Monday

Mr. Soul

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Out on a Monday

Denver was going to be late for work. And he was not relaxed.

Sometimes, when Denver was tired or day-dreaming or (once) high, there would be a little voice in the back of his head as though of someone speaking from across the distance of a football field in a whisper with music blaring and a speech impediment. What the little voice said was this: you’re never gonna get ahead in life, man, so stop trying so damn hard...Just relax. Just relax. Denver didn’t usually notice this little voice for the aforementioned reasons.

Today he noticed the little voice. Today Denver so was alert he thought he’d hear two flies mating in another room. And Denver was thinking things back to the little voice, too. Most of those things could be rendered as four letter words in the Latin alphabet, and none of them was “love.”

No. He was not relaxed, unless having no pants on counted.


Joyce was not relaxed. Being unsure where your next meal was coming from could do that to you. Come to think of it most things in life could do that to you. Joyce wasn’t sure about the latter assertion, because he was 15 and hadn’t experienced much in the way of “most things” or the “real world” as people who presumably lived in it liked to call it. In Joyce’s mind the “real world” translated to “Capitalist Bullshit.” Joyce was a Socialist, but just barely, because one of the “most things” he’d never experienced in his short, unreal life was picking up a book about Socialism. He liked what he heard, though.

“I seen a guy,” said Big Freddy, and pointed. Big Freddy was good at spotting potential targets, mainly because he was ill-suited for anything else. Big Freddy had religion, and religion apparently told him it was bad to hurt people or steal what belonged to them (he never seemed to mind when other people did it if they didn’t do it to him). Damn religion, thought Joyce. It was probably Mutt’s fault.

Joyce calmly strode out of the alley, making sure to look exactly as confident as someone walking around without a crown on their head would have business looking. Big Freddy stayed in the alley and petted Mutt, who purred.

The guy was hard to miss, in the manner of oak trees everywhere. He was currently exiting an apartment building situated next to a store that Big Freddy frequented. It sold what the sickening pink writing on the storefront informed passerby was “Jesus Stuff – Inflatable Crosses now 20% off!” The apartment was sort of slanted in the opposite direction from the Jesus Stuff store, as though wanting desperately to get as far away as possible while still being rooted in place. The guy seemed to be hopping away from the establishment like a huge, terrified mutant rabbit. No, wait…he was trying to pull on his shoes as he walked and kept losing balance, every time almost but not quite falling on his ass.

Joyce sighed. Mondays were always like this.

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