Thursday, September 23, 2010

That night

Brian wakes up every day, and its the same routine. Why does he live in Watershed Heights anyway? This place sucks. He has a crappy job cleaning up crap. The pores on his feet get no time to breath. He's had these stinkin octopus feet his whole life, and no one cares. Brian thought people might think his feet were cool. Maybe scientists would even study him. His gills haven't brought him much attention either. Chicks don't dig guys who can breath under water as much as they used to.
It starts to rain. Brian says, "screw this"; he's not going to work anymore. He's going to goof around at the cemetery.
The cemetery bears many stones and one sleeping guy. The guy looks like he peed his pants. That's funny. Brian leaves the guy a note in his left breast pocket that reads:

Dear guy,
You seem cool. I think I'm pretty cool. I have gills and weird octopus feet, and that's why I sleep in a bathtub at night. Maybe we should get together some time and each enjoy a smoke and a pancake.
Your dear friend - Brian

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

same day

On Brian's way through the lobby he spots a gorgeous woman playing sousaphone. She sounds fabulous. Brian wishes he could toss her some change but not really because he wants all his change for himself. He rushes out the door to avoid any awkward encounters. He is nearly out the door when he slips and falls flat on his face. Brian hates wearing shoes. He hates walking in general. His childhood in lake Winnipeg did not prepare him for this. The embarrassment from falling is overwhelming. As quickly as possible he scrambles to his feet and sprints away from Watershed Heights.
He always tries to keep his arrival at work under the radar. Why should he? It's probably because he smells of dead fish. I guess he's shy too.