Drunk Critic Reviews: The Invasion

Original upload date: 8/24/07

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY

A man dressed in a tweed blazer sits slouched down in a cheap computer chair, holding a can of beer. The wall behind him is undecorated, save for a pair of windows on either side of the man. After a moments pause, the man looks up into the camera and begins to talk, speaking through a clearly exaggerated slur.

DRUNK CRITIC

Hey… How’s everyone doin’? I saw “The Invasion”

 last night… It ate my fuckin’ balls. I can only

assume the thought process behind this film was

somethin’ like, “Hey, the last three times we

turned this book into a movie all turned out

good, that must mean we don’t even have to try

for the fourth, right?” You can always tell

that a movies gonna be good when it opens up

with a few minutes from near the end of the

movie… Y’know, cause they thought that

otherwise everyone would just walk out halfway

through… It’s not like I can blame ‘em. The

first half hour of the movie is basically just

Nicole Kidman drivin’ er little wiener kid

‘round and ramblin’ about pickles. And even

once that’s over we’ve still gotta get through

another hour of the movie trying to make us

give a shit about the kid. Like, no matter how

scared this kid is, he always manages to find

the time to record a video to send to his mom…

Y’know, since he’s such a boring fuckin’

character they assumed the only way they could

get the audience to care about him is to keep

reminding them he’s a cute little kid.

The critic pauses for a moment to take a gulp of his beer before continuing.

DRUNK CRITIC

Fuck… everything about this movie is boring…

It feels like it was made by pod people.

Christ, the pod people don’t even come from

PODS anymore, they come from a SHITTY CGI

FUNGUS! How do you manage to fuck that up!?!?

The critic is unfathomably angry at this point, wildly gesticulating in an overdramatic manner. His fake slur starts to slip a bit.

DRUNK CRITIC

Wait a minute, I know why they changed it.

It’s cause they couldn’t have Nicole Kidman

Hook up with Daniel Craig at the end if he

Was a desiccated corpse! What a joke! This

is a pointless movie! It has no reason to

exist! In a few months, no one will

remember it exists! You’d be better off

Just watching any of the other

“Bodysnatchers” movies. Hell, you’d be

better off watching any other movie period.

The critic seems to calm down slightly, taking a moment to catch his breath, as well as have another sip of his beer.

DRUNK CRITIC

They got the guy who directed that fucking

Hitler movie in to direct this and they gave

him fucking nothing. They might as well have

given the script to a third grader for how

shit it was. At least then it may have turned

out somewhat interesting.

Sitting up in his chair slightly, the critic stares directly into the camera, pointing at it with his free hand. His voice takes on a slightly more serious tone.

DRUNK CRITIC

Don’t bother at all with this movie. If you’re

someone who as any type of standards for (Cont.)

DRUNK CRITIC (CONT’D)

What they watch, you’re only going to end up

feelin’ cheated outta your time and money. You

heard it from me, so now you have no excuse.

END OF VIDEO

About a week had passed since Mike had agreed to help Cody film another video, the majority of which Cody had spent alternating between job hunting and watching TV. It was only two days before he and Mike were set to meet that Cody realized that the endeavor would only go nowhere if he didn’t figure out what film he was going to review.

           The only thing that Cody knew for sure was that most people found bad reviews to be far more entertaining than good ones. While he didn’t have any hard evidence to back this claim up, it seemed to be the general trends based on what he’d seen get popular recently. The way he saw it, there were two ways he could go about finding a movie, either he could look up “worst movies ever” online and pick something off whatever list Google spat out at him, or he could check the showtimes at his nearest theater and see what was getting the worst reception.

           As tempting as it was to become the millionth person on the internet to complain about the ice jokes in Batman & Robin, Cody knew he’d have to do something different if he wanted to get any attention. Everyone was doing old shit, if he wanted to stand out from the crowd, he’d have to cover something new.

           Cody did a search for the theater listing in his area and within the half-hour had settled on The Invasion, an alien movie with Nicole Kidman that had been described by critics as “Soulless” and “A muddled mess”. Satisfied as he could be with his choice, Cody ran outside and just barely managed to catch the bus headed toward the theater.

           Considering his financial situation, Cody didn’t feel the best about laying down the cash for a film ticket, but he justified it to himself as an investment. “If this goes well, it’ll be the best $7 I’ve ever spent.” Cody thought to himself as the lights went down and the Warner Bros. logo filled the screen.

           100 minutes later, Cody exited the theater, feeling as disappointed at having paid money for the film as he was grateful he had plenty of material to work with. By the time his bus had arrived back in his neighborhood, Cody had already had a rough sketch of what the finished video would look like. Walking back into his apartment, Cody contemplated taking some time to flesh his ideas out more, but ultimately decided against it. After all, the first video had just been him drunkenly rambling into a cell phone, and that had done well enough.

           What he did want to work out, however, was a costume. Whenever he saw someone doing reviews of stuff on YouTube, they always had some sort of special hat or shirt or something that they wore in every video. Cody figured that finding the right costume would do wonders for his memorability, but struggled to find anything suitable in his wardrobe, which largely consisted of jeans and graphic tees that Cody was finally starting to agree with Mike on.

           Nevertheless, Cody was far from discouraged. The next day, he got up a little earlier than usual and made his way to a thrift store that he occasionally visited when he needed to kill some time. The store was run by some sort of Christian charity group, Cody had no idea how evangelical they were, but he’d seen a copy of Bound in the VHS section once, so he figured they couldn’t be too hardcore.

           Cody walked into the store and made a beeline for the men’s clothes section, making his best effort to ignore the sound of soft Christian rock being pumped into the store from an old boombox. As he made his way down the aisles of clothing racks, Cody thumbed through the hangers in search of something that cast off the right kind of image. He briefly entertained the idea of purchasing a pastel red suit jacket he’d found he thought sort of looked like something De Niro would’ve worn in Casino. Trying it on, however, Cody found it to be a good few sizes smaller than it was labeled, rendering it impossible for him to wear without bursting a few seams.

Disappointed, Cody hung the jacket back up and returned it to its spot on the rack, only to quickly find another article of clothing catching his eye from a few feet down the aisle. Walking over, Cody pulled it from the rack and found himself immediately impressed.

Held in Cody’s hands was an old tweed blazer, its fabric thick enough that one could easily mistake it for worn-out carpeting. It looked like the sort of thing that you’d see a professor teaching at a fancy college wearing (no elbow patches though). Taking it off the hanger, Cody found the blazer to have a faint musty smell to it, but figured it to be nothing he wouldn’t be able to get out once he could afford to visit a dry cleaner, so he tried it on regardless.

The blazer had a noticeable heft to it unlike that of any other jacket Cody had worn. Wearing it felt more akin to body armor than any type of formal wear. This was exacerbated by the fact the blazer fit slightly too large on his frame, though by a small enough margin that it didn’t look too awkward. At the very least, the tweed was nowhere near as itchy on his skin as he’d anticipated, the fabric rubbing against his arms with noticeable but minimal discomfort.

Despite its many flaws, there was something drawing Cody towards the jacket. Just wearing it seemed like enough to give Cody the impression he was someone who knew what he was doing, and not just an unemployed film school dropout making a desperate clutch for relevancy. Any remaining doubts he had about purchasing the blazer were washed away with a look in the mirror.

Cody ended up purchasing the blazer for $20, which he once again justified to himself as an investment. As he walked home with it on, Cody paid close attention to the expressions of passers-by to see if he could catch any admiring the jacket. No one seemed to care much though, and the foolishness of wearing such a thick jacket in the middle of August soon began to make itself apparent, leading Cody to make the last half of his journey home with it draped over his shoulder.

Once he’d arrived back at his apartment, Cody immediately hung the blazer up in his closet, hoping to keep it looking as tidy as possible for the shoot the next day. Sitting back down at his computer, Cody opened up Outlook to check for any responses from potential employers, only to find his inbox empty save for a few bits of spam from his ISP. Lightly sighing, Cody opened up YouTube and searched for recent film reviews, hoping to learn something through observation.

After about an hour of viewing his soon-to-be contemporaries, it became clear that a good portion of them were operating under the same production model Cody was prepared to undertake prior to doing any research. That being to sit in front of a camera and record themselves rambling about whatever film they were covering for 10 minutes, occasionally cutting away to film footage if they felt like putting a little more effort in. That other people were working in the same style he was going to use was of little concern to Cody. What was worrying him, however, was their view counts. It seemed that for most reviewers using the sort of basic format he’d anticipated working in, views quickly began to taper off around the 3rd or 4th video, only managing to recover once they started to show an increase in production value.

Cody hummed lightly under his breath. While he did feel that the novelty of him being on camera would manage to draw in a good number of viewers from the original, he had no clue how he was going to sustain that momentum for any significant amount of time. Shutting the browser window, Cody reasoned to himself that it would make most sense to wait and see how his next video would do before he started making any big plans for the future. Cody walked over to the TV and threw on his copy of The Twilight Samurai, silently hoping a sudden flash of inspiration would hit him and give him the sort of idea he’d need to leave a significant mark on the culture.

As it was, though, nothing came to him. The movie ended, and as Cody leaned forward to grab the TV remote off the coffee table, he caught a glance of his microwave and noticed to his surprise that it was only about 8:30 in the evening. He’d gotten so caught up worrying about whatever difficulties he might’ve run into in the future that he’d assumed it to have been far later, midnight at least. Not that he was so much tired as he was eager for the next day to begin so that he and Mike could begin filming. He would’ve done it himself if he could, but he’d never had any reason to own a webcam until he was too broke to afford one, and the digital camcorder he did have was missing its tripod on account of an accident on the set of his ill-fated student film. Unless he wanted to be holding the camera away from himself like some sort of hiker, Cody was pretty much forced to make do with Mike as a cameraman.

Pulling himself up off the couch, Cody began pacing around the apartment, trying to think of a way to pass the time. “I could always beat off.” he thought to himself briefly, but truth be told, he always had a hard time getting it up while the sun was still up. He supposed he could just throw another DVD on, but at two hours long, the film he’d just finished was just about long enough to dampen his enthusiasm to watch another movie. A part of him felt that he should probably be taking this time to look some more for employment, but with the amount of fucking applications he’d sent over the past week to no response, it was hard to work up any motivation.

He decided if he didn’t have anything else to do, he might as well kill a few hours on the PlayStation. As he opened the drawer containing his game collection though, what little enthusiasm Cody had worked up quickly faded away. He hadn’t even put a disc in the console yet and already he could tell it wouldn’t do anything to take his mind off the impending video shoot. Cody shut the drawer and looked back at the microwave. 8:43. Cody let out a soft groan and fell back down onto the couch.

He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, trying as hard as he could to think of either something that would ensure his channel’s long-term success or something that would make it not seem to matter so much. Eventually, he reopened his eyes, only to realize from the sunbeams shining through his windows that he’d fallen asleep without noticing. With some effort, Cody pushed himself upwards into a sitting position, wiping a line of drool from his lower lips. A glance at the microwave showed it to be half past ten in the morning, meaning Cody had more than enough time before Mike arrived to prepare for the shoot.

Forcing himself off the couch, Cody made his way over to his bathroom and got himself cleaned up. Once he’d managed to make himself look somewhat presentable, he opened up his closet and began digging around, eventually managing to pull out the old Sony digital camcorder he’d purchased for film school. Flipping the screen open, Cody pressed the power button to make sure its battery was still charged, turning it back off and setting it on the coffee table once confirming that was the case.

Returning back over to his closet, Cody stripped off the blue jeans and Jurassic Park t-shirt he’d been wearing since the last day and got to work finding something a little more dignified. 10 minutes later, Cody was now dressed in an old plaid dress shirt that was missing its lowest button, and a pair of black khakis that Cody assumed would look close enough to dress pants when seen on video.

Looking at the blazer hanging up in the closet, Cody mentally debated if he should put the jacket on right away, or wait until they were about to film, to avoid messing it up. Eventually, he decided that with how thick the blazer was, he would be best off breaking it in as soon as he could, and slipped it on over his shoulders, taking care to haphazardly smooth out any wrinkles he hadn’t noticed.

With his fair share of the preparation work done, all that was left for Cody to do was wait for Mike to show up. He said he’d try and get there at sometime around 4 pm, meaning Cody had once again been put in the position of needing to kill time. Gingerly sitting down on his sofa, Cody turned on the TV, having already resigned himself to spending the next few hours anxiously flipping through channels.

4pm eventually came, and Cody was still sitting on the couch, his attention divided between the front door and an episode of Deal or No Deal. About 15 minutes later, a knock was heard from the door, leading Cody to bolt up from his seat to unlock it.

Opening the door, Cody was greeted by a fairly unenthusiastic looking Mike, who, after giving his outfit a quick look over, asked him “Why’re you dressed like Kramer?”

“It’s my costume.” Cody explained proudly, only to be met with a confounded stare from Mike that indicated further explanation would be needed. “Y’know, like the Angry Video Game Nerd.”

“Who?”

Cody’s eyes raised briefly, surprised at Mike’s lack of knowledge. He managed to brush his emotions off quickly though, eager to get to work. “Nevermind, just come over here.” Cody led Mike over to the outermost wall of the apartment, grabbing his computer chair and moving in between the two windows. Moving back into the living room, he grabbed the camcorder from the table and switched it on before bringing it over to Mike.

Cody held the rear of the camcorder up to Mike and pointed to the record button. “Alright, basically all you need to do is press that record button when I tell you to. That and make sure you hold it steady.” Cody handed the camcorder over to Mike, who held it awkwardly, but gently, like it was a newborn baby.

“Why exactly did you need me to do this again?”

“I told you, my tripod’s busted.” Cody said indifferently as he took his place in the computer chair. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Mike responded. He was about to press record when Cody spoke up again.

“Wait a second.” he said abruptly, practically jumping out of the computer chair and running into the kitchenette. Opening the fridge, Cody retrieved a can of Natural Light and cracked it open, provoking a confused look from Mike. Taking a small sip as he looked back at him, Cody explained “It’s a prop. I’m supposed to be “The Drunk Critic”, aren’t I?”

Seeing no fault in his logic, Mike remained silent as Cody made his way back over to the computer chair. Still holding the beer can, Cody sat down and made himself comfortable. After another moment’s thought, Cody purposely let himself slouch down a few inches in his seat, hoping to project a somewhat slovenly aura from his character. His final adjustments completed; Cody gave the signal.

“Alright… Go.”

Cody woke up late the next day, having decided to take advantage of one of the few benefits of being unemployed. By the time that he’d gotten off the couch, turned off the TV, and used the bathroom, its was already about a quarter past three. Sighing, Cody made his way over to the computer, figuring that he’d better not waste any more time when he could be looking for a job.

           Opening up Internet Explorer, he decided to start his search on Monster.com. Upon entering the address into his search bar and inputting his location into the website, Cody was faced with a long list of (mostly shit) positions within a 50-mile radius that we’re hiring. Cody made his way down the list, hoping to find a position that would offer at least a few dollars above minimum wage. Mentally, he made a note to himself to avoid positions in food service for the time being.

           A position in a slaughterhouse momentarily caught his eye due to offering $11.50 an hour, but he quickly decided he didn’t have the mental fortitude to take on that kind of job. Instead, Cody turned his attention to a warehouse position at Hubbard’s, a furniture store located downtown. They were only offering $9.50 an hour, but it seemed to be far better suited toward his abilities as a worker.

           Cody opened Outlook and had just finished typing in the employer’s email address when it occurred to him that he should probably update his resume before sending it out. Sure, he’d only been at Burger King four months before getting sacked, but he figured the more stuff he had on it, the more impressive it would look. Cody minimized the Outlook window and opened up the File Explorer, navigating through his haphazardly organized documents folder before coming to a file labeled “CodyHResumeFeb07.rtf” Cody double-clicked on the document, opening it up in a new instance of Word.

           Cody’s resume was unassuming enough, mainly since Mike had directed him to a business major friend of his who’d agreed to help spruce it up in exchange for a small fee. Cody had to admit that the guy had done a heck of a job at it too, especially when considering the number of prospective employers who hadn’t realized that “Outdoor Structure Technician” essentially just meant “Guy that puts up tents”.  Unfortunately, Cody was pretty sure that guy had left town to attend university somewhere else, leaving it up to him to find a way to make “Burger King Fry Cook” sound good.

           Cody clicked on the space below his tent job and hit enter to make space for the new entry. For a small eternity, he stared at the blank space as he struggled to find the right words to use. Eventually, he settled on putting down “Grill & Fryer Operator”, figuring that it sounded at least a little more sophisticated than “Fry Cook”. After adding on the obligatory bullet-pointed list of vaguely-defined skills he learned from the position, Cody saved the file, renaming it “CodyHResumeAug07.rtf”

           With the necessary changes now made, Cody attached the resume to the email and, after typing out a brief introduction, sent it off to the employer. Cody briefly exhaled with a vague satisfaction before returning to his web browser to look for more positions. Within an hour, Cody had managed to apply for another two positions, one as a fuel pump attendant at a gas station on the outskirts of town, and a janitorial position at a Wal-Mart.

           Figuring that three applications sent was enough to warrant a break, Cody got up from the computer chair and turned on the TV, hoping to relax a little. After a few minutes of idle channel surfing however, Cody still couldn’t get his mind off finding work. As second after second went by of him sitting in front of the TV he just felt guiltier and guiltier about the lack of work he was accomplishing. Seeing no reason to continue wasting his time doing something he wasn’t even enjoying, Cody switched the TV off and began trying to think of something that at least felt productive.

           Cody glanced at the old dresser that his TV was resting on and was suddenly struck with an idea, while he still had enough cash in the bank to cover rent and food for another month, Cody figured it would probably be a good idea to set some things aside to pawn off in case things started to get really dire. Fortunately, Cody had accumulated a fair number of DVDs over the past few that could serve that purpose well enough. As he crouched down in front of the dresser, he bitterly thought to himself that if he’d added up the total amount he’d spent on them, he’d probably have enough to pay off his debt.

           Cody opened one of the drawers and pulled out a DVD at random. The Twilight Samurai. He actually still hadn’t found the time to watch it, so he put it back in the drawer and took out another DVD, mentally making a note to himself to watch it sometime.

           The Fountain, on the other hand, was one he had seen before, and found so underwhelming he knew right from the credits that there was little chance of him watching it again. Cody set the case down on the floor beside him, hoping to make a stack of everything he’d be fine with selling off.

           Within the next half an hour, the “Sell” pile grew substantially as Cody was faced with a large collection of impulse purchases that had long since lost their luster (Titles included: Putney Swope, American Graffiti, Forbidden Zone, Tombstone, Once Upon a Time in America, Before Sunrise) He was in the middle of trying to decide if he’d ever want to watch Brain Damage again when his phone went off, the tiny device emitting a tinny MIDI version of “Float On” as he checked to see who was calling.          

           Cody looked at the phone’s outer screen and found, to his displeasure, that it was his mother calling. Panic fluttered within him briefly before he calmed himself, reasoning that there was no way she could’ve found out about his firing without him knowing. Still, it was important she didn’t sense something wrong and start digging deeper, so Cody took a few deep breaths to calm himself before answering the phone as enthusiastically as he could.

           “Mom! How are ya?”

           There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Cody’s mother replied. “Are you at work?”

           ‘Yeah,” Cody lied. “You just uh, caught me in the bathroom. What’s going on?”

           Another pause, then a reply. “Oh, I just saw something had happened at your work on the news and wanted to make sure you were OK.”

           Cody’s face faltered, but he managed not to let any concern bleed through into his voice. ”Oh yeah? What happened?”

           “Oh, it was awful. Some poor kid had to get rushed to the hospital cause his hand fell into the deep fryer.” Though the phone’s signal was fuzzy, the concern was still apparent in her voice.

           “Oh yeah, I’d heard about that.” Cody said, playing dumb, before adding “I wasn’t on shift when it happened, but still, when something like that happens in the place you work, it…” Cody thought his next words over for a moment. “It really messes with you, y’know?”

           Cody’s mother agreed. “I‘d imagine, and that’s not even the worst of it.”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Well, the news report had said that the only reason his arm ended up going in was because one of his co-workers pushed him over during a fight or something.”

           Cody mentally cursed. The thought that Jeff may have gone to the news to smear his name crossed his mind, but going off the way his mother was speaking, it sounded like no names were named in the story, so he quickly discarded that idea. “Wow, that’s crazy.”

           “I know, to think that some people are capable of doing that to another person, even accidentally.”

           “I’m sure it was an accident.” Cody reassured his mother, hoping his light defense of the assailant wouldn’t arouse any suspicions.

           Cody’s mother sighed on the other end of the line. “You can only hope so. Anyways, I just wanted to call to make sure you were safe. I should probably get going. I’m sure your boss wouldn’t approve of you chatting too long while you’re still on the clock.

           Cody weakly smiled. “You’re right, he wouldn’t.”

           “I’ll talk to you again later. I love you.”

           “I love you too.” Cody replied, before hanging the phone up and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. As relieved as he was that his mother still didn’t know he’d been fired, he really didn’t like having to lie to her like that.  The idea of continuing to fuck about with his DVD collection while she thought he was at work left a sour taste in his mouth, so Cody decided to let it be for the moment and return to job hunting.

           Sitting back down at his computer, Cody continued his search for employment. He was just about to look into a position installing fences for a landscaping company when his phone went off once again. “Fucks sake, what now?” Cody muttered to himself as he took his phone out of his pocket, his tension only slightly alleviated upon seeing it was Mike calling. Cody answered the phone. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

           If Mike could sense the annoyance in Cody’s voice, it certainly didn’t show. “Dude, you’re fucking blowing up!” he exclaimed, his excitement apparent.

           Cody furrowed his brow in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he asked, quietly hoping that whatever it was didn’t have anything to do with the news report.

           “That voicemail you sent last night.” Mike explained. “I put it up on YouTube.”

           “Are you fucking kidding me?”

           “No dude, I had to put it up. That shit was hilarious!”

           Allowing himself to get sidetracked momentarily, Cody opened up a new tab in his browser and entered YouTube into the address bar. “Christ, you at least mind telling me what you called it so I can see for myself how big an ass you made of me?”

           “Just search for “Drunk Critic”, it should show right up.”

           Cody followed Mike’s lead, bitterly complaining all the while. “I swear to god, as if I’m not already dealing with enough shit this week, now you’ve gotta go and…”

           Cody’s voice tapered off as his brain took a moment to process what he was seeing on screen. The top result for Cody’s search was a video uploaded earlier that morning titled “DRUNK CRITIC REVIEWS: JASON IN SPACE”.  The thumbnail beside the title displayed a default Windows Movie Maker slide with some unintelligible text placed atop it in ariel. Despite the videos slapdash production quality, it was doing quite well, having already accumulated over 6,000 views with a ranting of just under 4 stars. After a moment of stunned silence, Cody said the only thing he could think of.

           “Holy shit.”

           “I know, right?” Mike laughed. “At this rate, we might end up making the front page!”

           Investigating further, Cody clicked on the video. Once it had loaded, Cody was treated to a recording of his voicemail from the previous night, sloppily transcribed via slideshow by Mike. A message written in the description read “bud got plastered last nite and sent this @ like 2am. text is my best guess @ what hes saying.".

“You just uploaded this today?” Cody asked.

“Yep.” Mike said, proudly. “I sent it to a few buds of mine and I guess it just sort of spread from there.”

Unable to contain his curiosity any further, Cody scrolled down to the comments section expecting the worst but found the general public’s consensus to be surprisingly positive, all things considered.

SkindredFan37 (10 Minutes Ago)

I have to hand it to him, it takes effort to review a movie while drifting in and out of consciousness.

SparklyDewz (22 Minutes Ago)

wtf is this guy going on about lmao

xcloudx (30 Minutes Ago)

in all fairness, getting that drunk is about the only way you can tolerate that movie.

FREELENS (45 Minutes Ago)

whys this dude find the black guy dying so funny??

           As he read through the comments, Cody could feel the seed of an idea begin to take hold in his brain. It was as if suddenly a whole new path for his life was being paved right in front of him. Like it or not, 6,000 views in less than 12 hours was no small feat, and frankly, it was the closest Cody had gotten to any sort of fame at all in his life, and the thought of it being Cody’s only chance at making a name for himself scared him more than he’d like to admit.

           After a few moments more consideration, Cody had made up his mind. Now all that was left was to see if Mike would be on board. Mentally preparing himself for disappointment, Cody asked.

           “Do you want to make another one?”

It was around one in the morning the next day when Cody had finally made it back to his apartment. He was wearing an official Rip It Energy T-shirt and an expression on his face dour enough to make Droopy look like Richard Simmons.

           Ambling into the kitchenette, Cody carelessly tossed his official Rip It Energy swag bag onto the counter before opening his fridge and retrieving a can of Natural Light, paying no mind to the beers lousy taste as he drank about half of it in one gulp. He’d thought going to the concert would help get his mind off things, but all it really accomplished was making him feel even worse. It was just about impossible to enjoy himself when his mind kept turning back to the bubbling flesh on Jeff’s hand and how he was pretty sure he saw one of his fingernails about to fall off.

           Cody took another sip of beer and stared blankly at his shoddy apartment. When he’d first moved in about a year back, he’d been under the impression that it was just a stepping stone for him to make do with until he could move on to bigger and better things. Now though, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, it was starting to feel like this was it. Cody was either going to spend the rest of his life in this tiny, poorly built studio located in a complete cultural dead-end, or, God forbid, move back in with his mother and spend every day being subjected to her incessant nagging and babying.

           Cody punched the countertop. He didn’t know why, but it just seemed to be the right thing to do. Once he’d done so, he found the sound of his fist hitting the counter seemed to momentarily drown out the stream of negative thoughts that’d been running through his mind leading him to raise it back up and slam it down on the counter again.

           And again.

           And again.

           And again.

           After about a minute of this, Cody stopped, if only because his hand was starting to hurt. He gave the countertop a cursory glance and found, to his relief, that his fists had left no mark. He didn’t know why he was like this, why he couldn’t just deal with his emotions in a healthy way. Was this unhealthy? Probably, punching things tended to be looked down on unless you’re a boxer.

           Cody finished his beer and grabbed another from the fridge. He’d drank an obscene amount of Rip It at the concert, so he could only assume he’d be up until four pm the next day unless he got drunk enough to cancel the caffeine out. Cody began making his way over to the TV, before pausing and turning back to the fridge to grab four more cans of beer. He knew he wasn’t gonna want to get back up once he sat down, and if the first beer was any measure, he figured they’d probably all still be cold by the time he got to them.

           Collapsing onto his sofa, Cody set the beer cans down on his coffee table before opening one up and taking a drink. Setting the can back down, Cody pawed around the table in search of the TV remote before realizing it was a few centimeters to the left of where he thought he’d left it.  Cody switched the dull, silver box on and began searching for something entertaining enough to make him forget how shit his life was.

           “I’m not giving you my pubic hair!”

           “-as low as $14,863!”

           “Suddenly, the fire accelerates.”

           “She got the power in her hand, to sh-“

           “-and take advantage of special pricing in every department!”

           “The leading prescription can take a day or more to fully work.”

           “RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TA”

           The soldier on screen futilely unloaded on Jason Vorhees, who responded by wrapping a chain around his neck, choking him out. At the sight of another victim out of the room, the killer yanked on the chain, breaking the soldier’s neck as he’s pulled to the ground. “This’ll do, I suppose.” Cody thought to himself as he watched the fleeing man get cleanly impaled by Jason’s thrown machete. Cody briefly entertained the thought of taking a drink whenever Jason killed someone, but settled on drinking at his regular pace, doubtful the movie would be able to keep this momentum up for its entire runtime.

           The next two hours went by in a blur of beer and bad acting, by the time the end credits had begun making their way up the screen, all five beer cans that Cody had brought were empty, as well as an additional three that Cody had brought over during an ad break. It took Cody a few moments for him to register that the film had ended, and even then, it didn’t seem to fully sink in until the credits were shifted to the side to allow the channel to run a promo for the next week’s network premiere of “Cabin Fever”.

           For the most part, Cody regretted even bothering with the movie. What few good parts the movie had were far outweighed by the seemingly endless number of scenes that were dull conversation between annoying characters he didn’t care about. The only reason he hadn’t switched to something else part way through was out of a misguided belief that the last act would make up for it. In the end though, it was just more of the same, and now Cody had to deal with the fact that he just wasted two hours watching a movie he hated and didn’t even have anyone he could complain about it to.

           “Well, I guess there’s someone.” Cody thought to himself as his hand brushed up against the pocket he kept his phone in. Truth be told, he had no idea whether or not Mike was asleep, but he knew he worked some pretty irregular hours, so there was a good chance he wouldn’t be.

           Cody clumsily removed his phone from his pants pocket, opened it, and began navigating to his contacts list with some difficulty. He was compelled to bitch about the movie to someone while it was still fresh in his head, and out of all the people whose numbers he had saved, Mike seemed like the least likely to be upset at a 3 AM phone call. Having finally reached his name, he pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear, his attention partially slipping over to the “Twilight Zone” rerun that had started playing as he listened to the dull ringing of the phone.

           “Picture of a woman looking at a picture. Movie great of another time, once-brilliant star in a firmament no longer a part of the sky, eclipsed by the movement of earth and time. Barbara Jean Trenton, whose world is a projection room, whose dreams are made out of celluloid. Barbara Jean Trenton, struck down by hit-and-run years and lying on the unhappy pavement, trying desperately to get the license number of fleeting fame.”

           The phone’s ringing stopped. “Whaddup, You've reached Mike P. Leave a message and I'll see if I can get back to you... Unless you're a chick, in which case I'll definitely get back to y-“The sharp beep of the voicemail system cut Mike off mid word, unexpectedly putting Cody on the spot. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, before speaking up.

           “Hey... ‘s- ‘s me. I was gonnask if ya...like, wanted to ‘ang out or go toabar or something, but, looks like I'm guessing you'reasleepor some shit.” Cody leaned back into the sofa cushions. He hadn’t really planned on asking him to hang out, but it occurred to him as the phone was ringing that calling solely to talk about a movie he’d watched might come off as weird, so he figured he should at provide an excuse for calling, however flimsy it may be.

           “Iwasuh...Th-they were jus’ playing that fuckin'..."Jason in Space" or whatever ’s called on the Sci-Fi channel.” Cody lightly chuckled to himself, the film’s mere existence proving more entertaining than its contents. He continued. “...jus’ a fuggin dogshit film. I mean, I mean, ‘s-'sajokeofa movie, like, 's something you'd come up with as a joke, except, fuckin'...they made it real. They fuckin'...freeze Jason, In like, fuckin' 2010, but like… I don't know when this was made, but I fuckin'...”

           Cody paused, struggling to articulate the point he was trying to make. After a brief search through his mental, alcohol-induced fog, he was able to find a verbal foothold. “I know i's too new for them to be saying we'll be doin' that shit in 2010, like...is can't be more than 10 years old. But...they fuckin'...freezeim for like a thousand years and...then a buncha space people show up and bringim on their spaceship. Aney.. just leaveimout on a table unmonitored cause... I-I guess one of thems a scientist, who- who needs to do testsonim since he needs more money from his space grant or somethin’. So...Jason gets unfroze and kills a buncha people, right? They try to...ditch im at some space station but they just crasintoit and blow it up. So...”

           Cody paused and leaned forward again, rubbing his temple as he struggled to remember the character’s name. Part of him wanted to say it was Sauron, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right. Ultimately, he decided his name didn’t matter and continued his spiel. “So Th-The nerd character...like, teaches is sex robot ‘owta fight. And she fights im, in like a...a sexy leather jumpsuit, like some Matrix shit, but it's noreally that ‘ot since heraircut is fuckin’ awful. Anyway... she shoots him into like, a pool of science goo, and everyone sees this, and they just go..."Yeah, e's probably dead. Wecan jus’ leave him ere."”

 At this point, a deep incredulity had begun creeping through from behind the curtain of alcohol that was covering Cody’s words. “So...Jason gets powered up...By the science goo, and it makes ‘im look like a big action figure. And this gives ‘im the strength...to punch the robot's ‘ead off. So then they try to...to blow him out of the ship, but...e jusshows up again and punches is way back into the ship, so they get...”

Cody smiled; He couldn’t say exactly why he found this so funny, but putting it into words just seemed to heighten the absurdity of it all to an egregious level. “They gethe black guy to grab Jason and jepack the two of em into the atmosphere and they burn up.” Cody let out a dry, rattish chuckle at his own words. “And that’s it. Fuckin’… terrible fuckin’ movie.”

As his amusement subsided, Cody suddenly realized just how long he’d been talking for. For a moment, he worried the recording may have run out, but a quick glace at the phone’s screen told him otherwise. Still, it was probably best for him to try and start wrapping things up. “So...yeah. I'll see you round then.” Cody moved his finger over the button to end the recording, but hesitated a moment, before adding, “Tacare.”

With a quiet click, Cody stopped the recording and sent it to Mike. Lightly tossing the phone onto the coffee table, Cody leaned back and began letting the words of long-dead actors lull him to sleep.

“I know it was 1934. What are you now, Daniel, Father Time?”

It was eight in the morning when the alarm on Cody’s cell phone went off, signaling the start of a new work-day. Groggily, he groped across the coffee table in search of the phone, turning the alarm off once he’d found it. Forcing himself upright, Cody blinked the sleep away from his eyes before pushing himself up off the couch.

           Cody stumbled over into his bathroom, where he pulled his pants down and took a long, satisfying piss. After flushing the toilet, he removed the rest of his clothes and put them in his laundry hamper before returning to the bathroom and turning on the shower.

           Stepping into the stream of warm water, Cody allowed himself to relax momentarily as he cleansed himself of the last night’s sweat and grime. God only knew that he needed every last moment of calm get could get before settling in for another long shift as fry cook. About five minutes later he stepped out of the shower, giving himself a quick, unthorough drying with a towel.

           After brushing his teeth, Cody exited the bathroom and headed for his closet, shooting a glance at the microwave in his kitchenette to make sure he wasn’t running late. “8:12, Good.” He thought to himself as he took his glasses off the coffee table, opened the closet and started putting on his uniform. Black crew socks, black slacks, a red polo with the Burger King logo embroidered above the left breast, and a plain black visor.

           Once he was dressed, Cody checked the microwave again. 8:15. There were still 15 minutes left before his bus arrived, but the bus stop was a five-minute walk away, so Cody figured he might as well leave a little early and avoid having to rush there. Grabbing his keys, wallet, and bus pass from off the top of his dresser, Cody exited the apartment, locking the door behind him.

           The bus stop Cody used was about three blocks west of his apartment building. The route it serviced, #22, ran through the residential areas in the north of Arnav, connecting them to the outer edge of downtown. The walk to the bus stop was largely unremarkable, with Cody having made the trip so many times that the run-down apartments and scattered garbage barely registered in his mind.

           Arriving at the bus stop (marked only by a small tin sign with no bench or shelter), Cody opened his phone to check the time. 8:22. Even at times when he’d left the apartment later, Cody usually ended up waiting a while. It seemed to be a good rule of thumb that the only time the bus ever came on time was when he was running late. It didn’t bother Cody that much though, since he figured the time wasted waiting for the bus wouldn’t be enough for him to accomplish much anyway.

           As Cody internally mused on what little he could accomplish with an extra five minutes of spare time a day, a slightly overweight man exited from the apartment building that he was waiting in front of. He looked to be middle-aged, maybe in his late 40s, and was dressed in khakis with a floral-print button-up. A straw bucket hat perched atop his head completed the ensemble. Cody found the man’s choice of clothing amusing considering the overcast weather but opted to keep it to himself.

           The man walked up to the bus stop’s sign and squinted to read it. A moment later he turned to Cody and asked him “Does this bus go to Kohl’s?”

           Cody blinked, having not been paying attention. “Pardon?”

           “Does this bus go to Kohl’s? the man repeated.

           “Who’s Cole?”

           “No, Kohl’s. The store.” He said once again, his patience starting to run thin.

           ‘Ah, of course.” Cody said, before lightly slapping the side of his head. “I don’t think it does, but if you get off at the depot you can transfer over to the #9 and that’ll get you there.”

           The man’s expression fell, disappointment evident on his face. “Ah, forget it.” He said, before walking off.

           “Hey, where’re you going?”  Cody asked, only to be completely ignored. Cody was just about to go after him when his bus turned around the corner and pulled up to the stop, putting the thought out of his mind. As much as he liked to help people, he wasn’t about to show up late for work for the sake of someone he didn’t even know. Cody let the man go on his way and walked onto the bus.

           Cody inserted his pass into the reader and, once it was verified, took a seat near the middle of the bus next to a sleeping man in a Flames jersey. Seated across from him was a scraggly-looking man who looked like an emaciated J. Mascis. A few seats down from him was an Asian woman and her child, who she seemed to have no problem with letting wandering around the aisle gibbering.

           The bus started moving again, making its way out of the forest of apartment buildings and into the edge of Arnav’s commercial district. Beneath him, Cody could feel the road smooth as they moved out of the pothole-laden streets of his neighborhood. Across from him, the skinny man scratched at his shoulder, his eyes darting around the bus in paranoia.

           As the bus made its way downtown, a faint grinding noise started to be heard from the front of the cabin, growing louder and louder with each block. Cody’s worries were confirmed upon hearing the driver grab his radio mic and mumble something about a “possible mechanical issue” into it. Cody prayed that whatever it was wouldn’t be too much of an issue, at least until after he got to his stop. Unfortunately, God seemed to have other plans.

           With a sharp **CRACK**, the front-left end of the bus fell forward, bringing it to a screeching halt and jolting its passengers forward. The child, too caught up in his imagination to have seen the accident coming, tumbled over and fell directly on his face. Panicked, his mother rushed to his side and helped him pick himself up. The child remained silent for a few moments, before beginning to wail at an ear-splitting volume.

           The man in in the Flames jersey, only partially awakened from his slumber, looked around in confusion. “Wha’ happened? Is this 13th street?” Ignoring him, Cody made his way got up from his seat and made his way over to the front of the bus.

           Looking over at the bus driver, Cody saw him leaning back in a daze, blood gushing out of his nose from where it impacted the steering wheel. “Oh shit, are you okay?” Cody asked, concerned. Leaning forward, the bus driver nodded before pinching his nose shut to stop the blood flowing.  Relieved that he wouldn’t have to worry about getting him to the hospital, he asked him, “What happened?”

           “Bearing broke.” The driver’s quick response gave the impression that he’d been expecting this to happen for some time. “I’d been asking the guys at the depot to take a look at it but they kept insisting it was fine. Doesn’t look like anyone got killed at least, look.” The driver pointed out the windshield. Following his finger, Cody’s eyes widened at the sight of a bus tire lodged in the back window of a Pontiac that was parked a few hundred feet away.

           “Holy shit!” Cody shouted.

           The bus driver winced in response. He weakly raised his hand. “Not so loud...” he muttered through gritted teeth.

           “Sorry.” The shock of the accident beginning to wear off at this point, Cody caught sight of the dashboard clock and realized that he’d been thrown into a whole other predicament. He was going to be late for work. “Shit, could you get the door, I’ve really gotta get going.”

           “That’s probably not the best idea, authorities will probably want to get a statement from you.”

           “Are you serious?” Cody gestured towards the back of the bus. “There’s like six other people here they can talk to who’ve probably got nowhere to be.”

           With considerable effort, the bus driver managed to turn around in his seat to view the passengers. “You think they’re gonna believe that guy’s story?” He made no further indication of who he was talking about, but it was clear he was talking about the scraggly-looking man, who had removed one of his boots and begun to pick at his toenails.

           Cody leaned in closer to the man, speaking softly and desperately. “You think my managers gonna believe me when I tell him the reason I’m late is cause a wheel fell off the bus? By the time it hits the news I’ll be halfway down the unemployment line. Just open the fucking door.”

           The bus driver exhaled and looked down in thought for a moment before giving in. “Alright, fine.” He said, pressing the button to open the door. With a soft, mechanical whirr, it swung open. “But you’d better see a doctor sometime, make sure you didn’t hurt anything.”

           “Yeah, I will.” Cody lied, before exiting the bus. The missing wheel meant that the exit was up about two feet higher than it normally was, meaning that Cody would have to jump out. Cody paused to gauge the distance to the ground before quickly hopping down before he could second guess himself too much.

           He hit the ground with both feet, stumbling a little before managing to regain his balance. Looking at his surroundings, Cody estimated he was about a mile away from work, if he hurried, he would probably only be late by five minutes. Cody made his way onto the sidewalk and began to briskly walk to work. He could see traffic was beginning to hold up in the lane behind the bus, Cody supposed that he should be thankful he wasn’t one of those people, but he wasn’t in a particularly thankful mood.

           Cody made his way down the street, stopping only for the traffic lights. Even then, there were a good few moments where, seeing that the nearest oncoming car was a good few blocks away, he ran through the crossing with no regard for the glowing red hand commanding him to stop. Cody rationalized this by telling himself it was a rare circumstance, but the truth is he just couldn’t stand the thought of a computer telling him what to do.

           A good 20 minutes later, Cody’s work had finally come into view. It looked just about the same as every other Burger King in the country with its slanted blue roof and tacky plastic signage. Posters hung up in the window advertised Simpsons toys and a new chicken sandwich. Cody sped up at the sight of the restaurant, breaking into a full-out jog. Rushing across the parking lot, Cody made for the door and ran inside.

           There was still a while to go before the lunch rush, so the restaurant was empty for the most part, the only customers being a few retirees enjoying their morning coffee. Standing in front of an empty till with his arms crossed was a stocky, balding middle-aged man in a Burger King uniform, who was looking at Cody with a stern look on his face. Cody’s heart sank into his stomach at the sight of him, but seeing as there was nothing else he could do, he nevertheless sheepishly approached the man. “Mr. Severson, Hi! I was just about to clock in.”

           Cody’s attempt to mask his anxiety did little to please his manager. “You’re late, Hedges.”

           “Shit.” Cody thought that there was no way Mr. Severson would be enough of a hardass to flip out over a five-minute delay, but it looked like he was wrong. Desperately, he tried to feign ignorance. “I am?”

           “Yes, you are. For the fifth time this month.”

           “Well, I-I’m real sorry about that Mr. Severson. It won’t happen again” Cody didn’t notice his stutter until the words had already left his mouth. It did little to calm his nerves. He quietly gulped as his body began to tense up.

           Mr. Severson furrowed his brow. “I’m starting to think that you might not have the commitment needed for a position like this.’

           Cody’s heart rate spiked at these words, causing him to drop any mental pretense he may have had about the two of them being equals. “Oh god, p-please don’t fire me. You don’t know how badly I need this job.”

           Mr. Severson remained unmoved. “Not badly enough to come in on time, apparently.”

           In desperation, Cody frantically began trying to explain his tardiness. Words spewed from his mouth as if saying them faster would make them more believable. “You don’t understand. I can’t afford a car right now cause of how high my student loan payments are, so I’m stuck taking the bus. So, I get on the bus this morning and not even five minutes later one of the fu- one of the wheels comes flying off the bus and into the street. I mean, it’s a miracle no one got hurt too badly but still, I-I slammed my head against the window, it still kind of hurts too. The driver didn’t even want me to go, said I should see a doctor, but I insisted he let me out.”

           “Is that so?” Despite Cody’s best effort, Mr. Severson still seemed unconvinced. It seemed like he would have to change his tactics if he wanted to walk out of the building with his job.

           “Look, I’ll do anything within reason to keep this job. You don’t know how much it means to me to be able to work here.” Cody pleaded, hoping Mr. Severson would respond well to his flattery. “I-I’ll start setting my alarm for two hours earlier, ok? To account for any, uh, bus mishaps.” Cody was practically begging at this point, his hands held together in front of him like someone asking a mobster for a favor in an old movie. Mr. Severson rubbed his chin as he stared Cody down, weighing his options. “Please, just give me one more chance.” Cody flashed a shaky, unenthusiastic smile, it was plain for anyone to see that he didn’t think this was going to end well for him.

           Mr. Severson sighed, before beginning to rub his forehead in thought. Sure, Mr. Hedges had proven himself to be less than reliable over the last few months, but he was also desperate, which meant he could probably get him to do more work without raising his pay. Besides, if he fired him and that bus thing turned out to be true, he’d feel like a real ass. “Fine, but this is your last chance, you got that?”

           Cody went slightly slack-jawed, shocked that he’d actually managed to keep his job, once he’d regained his bearings, he immediately made his gratitude clear. “Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Severson! I-I won’t let you down, I promise!”

           “Yeah…” Mr. Severson said less than enthusiastically. Cody stuck his hand out, anticipating a handshake. Once it became clear he wouldn’t be receiving one, Cody lowered his hand and headed into the kitchen.

           After punching in his card, Cody made his way over to the fryer area of the kitchen and opened the freezer to retrieve a batch of hashbrown patties. Though the restaurant was still quite dead, it was considered good form to have some cooked and waiting under a heat lamp for when the store got busier. He individually slotted each patty into its slot in the basket before lowering it down into the oil. Cody watched the oil bubble up for a moment with vague satisfaction before turning around to grab some sausage to throw on the griddle, only to be met with his co-worker, Jeff.

           Though two years younger than him, Jeff’s lanky build granted him a good two inches of height over Cody. His skinny, boyish face was marred my acne scars on all sides, most of the time, it would have been framed by his dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair, but to prevent any health violations, he was forced to wear it tied up in a ponytail whenever he was on the job. He leaned in towards Cody and spoke low to prevent anyone from overhearing their conversation. “Hey, Cod’. Some energy drink company’s having a free concert down in Humboldt Park. Me and Billy are heading down, c’mon.”

           It wasn’t unusual for Jeff to ditch work like this. The only reason he’d managed to keep his job for so long was that he was only a part-time worker to begin with. If he thought he could get away with it, Cody probably would’ve had no problem joining Jeff, but after the close call he just had, he didn’t want to take the risk. “Shit, sorry man, I can’t. Mr. Severson would lose his shit if I ditched work after the chewing out he gave me.”

           Jeff scoffed. “Man, who cares what that old fag thinks. They have these girls there giving out free samples, massive tits, in tank tops.”

           As tempting as that sounded, Cody had made up his mind. “Look, I’m not interested. If I want to see some big tits I’ll go to a strip club. When I’m off work.”

           “Man, why do you always have to be like that?”

           “Like what?” Cody raised his voice slightly, curious as to how exactly Jeff planned on painting him in the wrong for not wanting to cut work to go ogle breasts.

           “Like such a fuckin’ pussy.”

           “What, so wanting to keep my job makes me a pussy now, is that it?”

           “Man, I’ve been working here for like, three years. I leave early all the time and Mr. Severson hardly ever notices.” Jeff explained with all the condescension of a kindergarten teacher teaching addition. “You’re just being a little bitch.”

           “He doesn’t notice when you leave.” Cody clarified. “I step out that door, odds are he’s on my ass within seconds.”

           “Or, he won’t notice anything and the three of us will enjoy a fun, exciting, free day out spent rocking out and looking at hot babes. You won’t know if you don’t try.” Jeff looked at Cody expectantly, having vastly overestimated his persuasive skills.

           “Dude, I can’t take that chance right now.” Cody spoke as sternly and forcefully as he could without causing any unwanted attention. Only an idiot would continue to press the matter after being spoken to in such a fashion.

           His patience having reached its limit, Jeff grabbed Cody’s forearm and attempted to lead him out of the restaurant, like a parent dragging a misbehaving child out of a building. “C’mon man, let’s go.” No sooner did Jeff say this than Cody angrily swatted his hand away.

           “Don’t fucking touch me.”

           The venom in his voice was a clear warning that things could get physical if Jeff continued down this path. Not that Jeff believed him. After all, it was Cody Hedges, the kid who was always too scared of getting caught to smoke with him and Billy in the walk-in. There was no way he would risk getting into trouble by starting a fight at work.

Jeff reached over and grabbed Cody’s arm again, holding on tighter this time. Almost immediately, Cody began using his other arm to try and pry Jeff off him. Likewise, Jeff took hold of that arm, causing the two of them to start shuffling around in an awkward tug-of-war.

“Get your fucking hands off me, dickhead.” Cody grunted out.

“Come on, just go with me.”

“Fuck off, I don’t want to.” Jeff had managed to push Cody up against the burger preparation, forcing him to exert himself even further to break free of his grasp. Looking down, Cody was suddenly struck with an idea. Using every last ounce of strength he could muster, Cody stomped down on one of Jeff’s feet as hard as he could, while at the same time pushing against him. The sudden lapse in concentration caused Jeff to lose his grip on Cody and stumble backwards a few feet. What Cody had failed to anticipate was Jeff tripping over his own feet in the process. As he began toppling over, Jeff instinctively stuck his hand out behind him in search of something to break his fall. Unfortunately, the closest thing in reaching distance was the deep fryer Cody had been using before being interrupted.

There were no words Cody could use to describe the sound of Jeff’s hand plunging into the scolding-hot oil, primarily since any sound it might’ve made was immediately drowned out by that of Jeff shrieking in pure agony. As soon as he realized what happened, Jeff pulled his hand from the oil, but the damage had already been done.

Cody stared bug-eyed at Jeff’s horrifically maimed right hand. The burns had left every bit of flesh up to the wrist a deep, angry red, the color only lightening in the areas where his skin had already begun to blister. Jeff lost all balance, falling to the ground as he clutched at his scalded hand. Almost immediately, co-workers began rushing to Jeff’s side to inspect the damage and help him up. A few moments later, Mr. Severson ran into the kitchen from his office, after taking one look at the chaos that had ensued in his absence, all he could ask was “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?”

Despite the tremendous amount of pain he was in, Jeff was quick to recognize the opportunity to get even. Pointing his good hand accusingly towards Cody, he yelled “He pushed me!”

The realization of what was probably about to happen hit Cody like a brick to the stomach. Desperately, he rushed to his own defense. “I-He was trying to get me to skip work with him!”

“So you maim him?”

“It was an accident! He was trying to drag me out of the building!”

“Enough.”

 Just that one word had enough force behind it to bring everyone’s undivided attention to Mr. Severson. “If I’d spoken to Jeff like that a few minutes ago, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess right now.” Cody sadly mused.

“I don’t care who did what or why they did it. The fact of the matter is that I was this close to firing when you came in today.” Mr. Severson held his thumb and index fingers close together to emphasize his point before continuing. “But I thought “What the hell, couldn’t hurt to give him another chance.” …And then not even an hour later you decide to prove me wrong.”

Mr. Severson walked up in front of Cody. He wanted so badly to say something, anything to make him see Jeff was the one at fault, but in his heart, he knew Mr. Severson had already made up his mind. Mr. Severson grabbed Cody’s nametag and, in one fell swoop, ripped it from his chest, leaving a pea-sized hole in his shirt. “Get out of here. You’re done.” He said, with a softly enraged finality. He turned back towards the rest of his workers, paying no mind to Cody as he glumly walked past him out of the kitchen, the weight of what’s happened slowly starting to sink in. “Someone call an ambulance, then get this cleaned up.”

As Cody walked out the heavy rear doors of the Burger King, he could faintly hear Mr. Severson tell someone that he’d “deal with you later”. The thought of Jeff facing some consequences for his actions comforted him a little but was vastly outweighed by the crushing hopelessness that his firing had injected into his soul. Here he was hoping to become some great filmmaker when he couldn’t even work a fast-food job for more than six months without landing someone in the hospital. Sure, he might’ve had it coming, but that didn’t change the fact that no restaurant in the county would ever hire him again if word of this got spread.

Even assuming nothing came out, job hunting in a city like Arnav is already a nightmare as is. He’d spent weeks sending resumes and filling out forms to get the job at Burger King, and he certainly wasn’t eager to go through that again. He had around $3000 left in his bank account, which would be enough to cover this month’s rent, but if he didn’t have anything lined up by the end of September, he was screwed.

 Cody briefly wondered how to tell his mother he was now unemployed, before quickly deciding she was better off not knowing. What exactly was he supposed to tell her? “I just got let go from Burger King cause I accidentally knocked someone’s hand into the deep fryer”? He’d sound like a maniac.

A cool breeze blew through the Burger King parking lot, sending a chill through the exposed part of Cody’s breast. “At least now there’s no reason I can’t go to that concert.” He thought to himself.

Cody hummed a few bars of “Sister Christian” as he dried his face off and put his glasses on before exiting his bathroom. Walking into his small studio and sitting down on the couch, he grabbed his phone from the coffee table, opened it up, and tapped out a message to Mike.

           “WHERE R U?”

           No sooner than Cody set it down did the phone vibrate twice, a green LED on the hinge flashing along with it. Opening the phone again, Cody read:

           “OMW C U IN A FEW”

           “Great, that could mean anything.” Cody thought as he exhaled though his nose. Seeing that it looked like he now had time to kill. Cody decided to see what was on TV at the moment.

           Cody’s TV (A 32’ Trinitron), laid atop a dresser cabinet that had been repurposed into a makeshift media center. An early model PlayStation 2 laid horizontally across the top of the screen. Cody had no intention of playing anything though, so he just took the remote off the coffee table and turned the TV on.

           “-pokesman, stated that there was a total of three suicide trucks carrying a combined two tons of explosives. The current death toll is estimated to be at least five hundred, and is expected to steadily rise.”

           Cody frowned, He tried not to give much thought about the war, which was fairly easy as he didn’t know anyone who was enlisted. Even so, he didn’t want to put himself in a bad mood ahead of the party, so he quickly turned the channel.

           “-WELCOME, to my CRIB!”

           “Cameras are flashing, while we’re dirty danc-“

           “-text “XL10” to 755 55, now!”

           After about a minute of surfing through channels, Cody had settled on an old Tom & Jerry short being played on Boomerang. Cody let himself relax for a few minutes, occasionally chuckling at one of the show’s gags. Eventually, A hard pounding at the front door startled Cody away from the TV, signaling Mike’s arrival. He got up from the couch and made his way over to the door to unlock it, Mike unleashing a second volley of knocks upon the door as he did so. “CHRIST, CALM DOWN, I’M COMING!” he shouted as he arrived at the front door.

           Undoing the deadbolt, Cody came face to face with Mike. Physically speaking, the years had been kind to him, with much of his baby fat having been grown into at this point. His sense of taste, however, as evidenced by his combo of an Abercrombie polo, Ed Hardy sneakers, and an overgelled fauxhawk. Nevertheless, the two of them were glad to see each other, Mike seeming to be in a particularly jovial mood as he extended his arm out for a handshake. “Fuck, there you are man! How’s it going?”

           Cody took Mike’s hand and was subsequently jerked around a little by his overly vigorous shaking. “Fine, I guess.”

           “Great to hear, great to hear. C’mon, the car’s parked outside.”

           “Alright, just let me get the TV.”

           Cody headed back into the apartment and grabbed the remote, clicking the TV off. As he turned back to face Mike, he noted a bitter amusement in his expression. “Is that what you’re wearing?” he practically scoffed.

           “What?” Cody questioned, before looking down to make sure there wasn’t any sort of stain on his modest outfit of blue jeans and a black Decepticon symbol t-shirt. Finding nothing of the sort, he looked back to Mike “Yeah, why?”

           Mike exhaled sharply through his nose. “You look like a fucking dork, that’s why.”

           “Fuck you.” Cody said dismissively. Truth be told, he wasn’t that upset. This type of petty teasing had been common between the two of them from the day they met, and he’d already been half-expecting for him to say something like that anyway. Still, his sense of pride demanded that he give some type of defense, no matter how weak.

           “Man, how do you expect to ever get any when you keep going out dressed as a…” Mike paused for a moment as he mentally searched for a suitable insult. “…Like some kinda pervert.”

           “Fuck you mean, pervert?” Cody snapped back, more out of confusion than anger.

           “I don’t fuckin’ know, but when a girl sees a 24-year-old man out in public wearing a fuckin’ cartoon shirt, they’re bound to think something’s wrong with him.”

           Cody picked up a light jacket from his floor and put it on. “You’re acting like I’ve got a Barney shirt on or something. It’s Transformers. It’s cool robots. Everyone likes those.”

           Sensing that he had little chance of convincing Cody to change into something nicer, Mike raised his hands in concession. “Christ, forget about it. Let’s just get out of here.” And with that, the two of them headed on their way.

           After a brief climb down the stairway, the two emerged from the slightly scuzzy, brick-veneered apartment building and into the cool breeze of the slightly overcast late August afternoon. Mike’s car was parked by the curb in front of the building’s entrance. It was a dull grey Buick sedan, about a decade old. It was the kind of car that no one under the age of 40 would be caught dead in unless it had been handed down to them from a parent, as Mike’s had been.

           “So, who’s house is it that this party’s at again?” Cody asked Mike as he settled himself into the passenger seat, kicking aside a few discarded wrappers in the process.

           “No clue.” Mike said, pulling out onto the street. “I only know about it ‘cause my friend Bradley said that he’d be going.”

           At the mention of Bradley’s name, Cody’s mood instantly began to sour. “Ah fuck, Bradley’s gonna be there?”

           “You’ve met?”

           “Yeah, no shit we’ve met. You don’t remember the New Year’s Eve party last year?”

           His memory jogged, Mike replies. “Ah, right.”

           “The fucking guy kept getting up in my face and calling me a chink.” Cody recalled, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

           Mike didn’t remember any of this from the party, but knowing Bradley, he felt like it was plausible enough, so he chalked that up to having had a few too many. “Yeah, his sense of humor’s pretty out there.”

           “I don’t think he was joking; I think he just thought I was Chinese.”

           “Ah, you’re being overdramatic.” Mike said, waving off Cody’s complaint and bringing an end to the conversation. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes after, Cody staring listlessly out the window at the passing storefronts. Eventually, however, something caught his eye, and his attention was pulled toward the car’s dash.

           On the dashboard, in the area where the car’s stereo was once held, was now a gaping plastic hole holding little more than a few disconnected wires. Curious, Cody pointed it out to Mike. “What happened there, you get robbed?”

           “Nah, I just got the stereo taken out last week so they can put a new one in.” Mike replied, seemingly unbothered by the unsightly hole in his dashboard.

“It takes them a week to do that?” Cody asked, skeptical, but not knowledgeable enough on the subject to know if that was unusually long.

“No, No. I’m having it imported from overseas. Real top-of-the-line shit. They said they’d call me as soon as they got it in.”

Cody raised an eyebrow. “You bought a stereo without listening to it first?”

“Yeah, but they had like, one of those little booklets with the speaker’s specs in it at the shop.”

“Ah.” Cody said. The answer satisfied him momentarily, but after a few moments thought, he realized that something wasn’t adding up. “But why wouldn’t they just take the stereo out once they got the new one in instead of making you wait for it without a stereo?”

“Well-“ Mike started before his train of thought came screeching to a halt. Mike was dead silent for a few moments as he scoured his mind for an explanation that didn’t involve him getting scammed. Coming up empty-handed, Mike dug into his pocket and took out his cell phone. “I’ve gotta make a call.”

Mike was still on the phone with his sound guy when the two of them pulled up outside the party. It was being held in the lower level of a duplex in a recently built housing development on the outside of town. Mike put the car in park, and Cody stepped out, while he stayed in the car to finish his call. Cody stepped onto the fresh cement sidewalk that ran outside the duplex, still unweathered by the elements for the moment being. There were a handful of other cars already parked outside. A Hummer, A Supra, A Charger – All of them were far nicer than Mike’s, but he seemed too preoccupied with his conversation to care much.

Cody couldn’t hear much of what Mike was saying from outside the car, but from his body language, he seemed to be displeased. The longer the conversation went on, the longer the pauses in his speech went, his expression steadily growing into a mixture of shock, confusion, and rage. At that point, Mike seemed to have hit a breaking point, yelling something into the phone’s receiver. He said a few more words, then pulled the phone away to look at the screen. They’ve hung up. Mike let out a muffled “MOTHERFUCKER!!!” before shoving the phone back into his pocket and getting out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he walked over to Cody. “Let’s go.” Cody was a little curious as to what the exact details of the phone call were, but decided not to risk upsetting Mike further by asking him about it.

The two of them headed down the driveway towards the house’s front door, where a muscular, dreadlocked man in a tank top was collecting an entrance fee. As they approached the man gave them a warm smile before starting to speak in a thick Jamaican patois. “Wagwan, bredren, wagwan?”

Cody shot Mike a confused look, hoping he could understand the man better than he could. Mike replied, “…Fine.”

“Criss, criss, mi wi nedda ten dalla from bot’ ah yuh.”

Mike was only just about able to figure out what the man was saying. Making an educated guess, he took out his wallet and handed the man a $20 bill. He gave it a brief once over before smiling and ad stepping aside to let them through. “Tank yuh, tank yuh, Fulljoy di party. Jus nuh guh a start eni chubble.”

“Alright.” Mike nodded toward the man, before the two of them headed into the house.

Once they were inside the entranceway, they quickly started heading down the stairway leading down into the house proper. “You got all that?” Cody asked Mike, slightly disbelieving.

“I heard “Ten Dollars”. That’s pretty much all I needed.” Mike responded. As the two reached the bottom of the staircase, Mike began taking in the party’s atmosphere and was quite obviously unimpressed. “Oh, what the hell…”

To say that the party was dead would’ve been an understatement. Of the dozen or so attendees that were scattered throughout the barren living room, only one, a drunken, breaded man who looked to be in his mid-30s, seemed to have any interest in dancing, the rest all preferring to stand and mull about the barren living room. The only furniture of any sort to speak of was a light-up DJ booth placed at the far end of the room, behind which a young man in a Blackhawks snapback was playing “Fergalicious”. Standing near the booth was a 20-something-year-old man dressed in a Playboy bunny t-shirt and sporting a Durst-esque goatee, who was unsuccessfully attempting to chat up one of the partygoers. Fortunately for her, he caught sight of Mike and headed off to greet him, giving no mind to the dissatisfied expression that he wore.

“Mike! I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna make it!” Bradley said before he turned over to face Cody. “And I see you’ve brought you’ve brought your slant-eyed friend.” He added, before putting his hands together and giving the very much white Cody a mocking bow.

At this point, the two of them were both very upset with Bradley, although for very different reasons. Mike was the first to let his displeasure be known. “What the fuck’s this?”

“What?”

Mike motioned around him with his hands. “This. The party. You said there was gonna be like a hundred people here. I’ve seen fucking elementary school parties livelier than this.”

“You spend a lot of time hanging around elementary schools?” Bradley said, in a smug, self-satisfied, “get a load of how unbelievably funny I am” sort of tone. He followed it up with a large, shit-eating grin.

“I’m in no fucking mood for comedy.” Mike snapped back. As he began going off on Bradley, Cody found his gaze beginning to wander around the room, looking for something to hold his interest until the two of them had finished their squabbling. Eventually, his gaze landed upon a woman about his age with a stripe of green running down the bangs of her black hair. She was leaning up against the kitchen counter, lit cigarette in her hand, seemingly unconcerned at the prospect of the apartment’s owner catching her smoking indoors.

The sound of Mike raising his voice took Cody’s attention away from her. He seemed to be a few moments away from having a vein show up on his forehead. “I just got ripped off a shitton of money. I could be out trying to get it back, but instead I decided to come here, Since I thought it'd be a fun time, and not just a few retards standing in a dark room listening to the Black Eyed Peas.”

Bradley raised his hands defensively, taking a step back while doing so. “Take it easy, man! It’s only like 9:30, the party’s barely started.”

“It is?” Mike turned toward the kitchen to check the microwave clock. Sure enough, it was far earlier than he thought it would be. Realizing this, Mike began calming down. “Shit, you’re right. I thought it was like eleven.”

 Bradley smirked, satisfied at having won the argument. “Yeah, man. Just give it an hour or two and this is gonna be jumpin’.”

“Alright, fine. Let’s see where we’re at after I’ve had a few drinks.” Cody digressed.

“Oh, well, they’re all out of booze.” Bradley stated matter-of-factly.

Mike looked at Bradley in frustrated disbelief, his mood quickly souring once more. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“You just said that the party was barely started, how the hell are they already out of booze?”

Bradley shrugged his shoulders uncaringly. “Fuck should I know? The guy probably just misestimated or some shit. I think out picking some more up right now.”

Sensing that the conversation was headed nowhere quick, Cody slipped away from Mike’s side unnoticed, making his way over to the smoking girl in the kitchen. Now that Cody was closer, he was able to get a better look at her attire. Torn leather pants, Chuck Taylors; and a black Coheed and Cambria tee worn over a striped longsleeve.

The girl paid Cody little attention as he walked up to the counter, leaning up against it in a similar fashion as she had. For a few moments, the two stood in silence, Cody’s brain scrambling for something to say. Eventually, the silence became too much for him to bear, and Cody forced himself to say something.

“Whaddya smoking?”

“Camels.” The girl said, taking the pack from her pants pocket and offering it to Cody.

“No, I don’t smoke.” Cody said, shaking his head.

“Hm.” The girl put the cigarettes back in her pocket. “So what was that then, you trying to make small talk?”

Cody exhaled shallowly, the ghost of a chuckle on his lips. “Well, it's not like I have much else to go from. I don't even know your name.”

The girl took another drag of her cigarette before responding. “Amy, you?”

“Cody.”

She nodded, before looking off elsewhere, clearly somewhat disinterested. “You go out to this sort of thing often?”

“No, I’m not really the partygoing type. I just ended up getting dragged here by a friend.”

“Who’re you with?” Amy asked.

Cody turned around and pointed Mike out of the crowd. “The bigger one on the left.”  He was still talking with Bradley. Cody couldn’t make their words out over the combined sound of the crowd and 50 Cent blaring from the DJ’s speakers, but it looked like Bradley was trying to explain something to him judging from how he rubbed his forehead in frustration.

Upon taking a moment to observe Mike, Amy gave a small smile. “You two seem mismatched.” She ribbed.

“We’ve known each other since grade school. He was the only other kid in my class who thought Pogs were stupid.”

“So that made you best friends?”

“Made us something, I guess.” Cody stated, matter-of-factly.

Just then, the conversation was interrupted by a sudden bellow of “WHO’S READY TO GET FUCKIN’ WASTED?!?!” Turning back around to see what the cause of the commotion was, Cody was met with the sight of a man descending the staircase, holding a large cardboard box loaded with various bottles and cans of booze. Almost as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, partygoers began crowding around, eager for their pick from the box.

“There we go.” Cody thought to himself, relieved that he wouldn’t have to go through the night without any form of social lubrication. Confidence already growing, he turned back towards Amy “You uh, want me to get something for you?”

The act of simple chivalry did little to impress Amy, but nevertheless, she took him up on the offer. “Just get whatever.”

Cody nodded and headed over to the small crowd that had quickly formed around the man. Seeing Mike and Bradley digging through the box, he pushed his way through the crowd and walked up behind them, knowing they’d let him through. Bradley, taking a bottle of bottom-shelf tequila, turned around to find Cody only a few inches away from him. Bradley flinched, nearly dropping the bottle. “CHRIST, you fucking scared me. That’s some fucking ninja shit right there.”

Cody was unamused at the mockery of his nonexistent heritage, and lightly shoved Bradley aside without another word. Looking into the box, Cody could see that its procurer had spared every expense in loading it up. Its contents were largely the sort of plastic-bottled swill that only the most severe of alcoholics would even consider drinking on a regular basis. Digging around in search of something palatable, Cody managed to find a one-liter bottle of Smirnoff Ice lying on the bottom.

Thankful he was able to find something decent. Cody took the bottle and began heading back over to Amy. “Hey, c’mon man, where’re you going?” Mike objected, not wanting to have gone through the trouble of picking Cody up only to be immediately ditched. In lieu of a response, Cody gestured towards the kitchen counter where Amy was waiting. Mike quickly got the message. Nodding his head and giving Cody a stiff pat on the shoulder as if to say, “Good luck”.

Returning to Amy, Cody set the bottle down on the counter in front of them. “Smirnoff Ice’s fine, right?”

Stubbing her cigarette out on the counter, Amy took the bottle and gave the label a quick once over before nodding in approval. Amy cracked the top of the bottle open and took a big swig from it. Once finished, she handed the bottle back over to Cody as she wiped her mouth off, muttering “S’good.”

Not wanting to seem cowardly, Cody took the bottle from her and knocked back some of the sweet, lukewarm liquid. Taking the bottle down from his lips, he swallowed, the drink leaving a saccharine aftertaste behind in his mouth. “So, you new in town?” Cody asked, secretly hoping that conversation would slow down the rate of alcohol consumption.

“No, why?”

“It’s just that I’ve lived here my whole life, and I don’t think that I’ve ever run into you before.”

Amy smiled, took the bottle back from Cody, and took another drink before responding. “Well, how do you that we haven’t met before, and that you just didn’t notice me that other time?”

Without missing a beat, Cody responded. ‘Nah, I feel like I’d remember you.”

The two of them locked eyes for a moment, and Cody’s confidence grew even more. He guessed from Amy’s personality that she wasn’t the type of girl to tolerate talking too long to people she dislikes, so the fact their conversation had lasted this long felt like a sign that she liked him somewhat, even if just platonically.

Cody motioned for Amy to hand the bottle back over to him. “What high school did you go to anyways?”

Amy rolled her eyes a little at the cliched question but obliged his curiosity. “Massey Park. You?”

“Morgan Heights.” He paused as he took another drink. “You go to college?”

 “No, after four years of high school I just wanted it to be over with.”

Cody gave a humorless smile. “Yeah, there’s a lot of times I wonder if I should’ve just done that too.”

“Oh yeah, what’d you study?” Amy asked.

“Film, at DU. Load of good it did me though. Flunked out in my second year.” Cody remarked bitterly.

“Yeah, what happened?”

“I always wanted to do things one way and they wanted them another. Now all I have to show for it is a loan I’ll still be paying off five years from now.” Cody paused, before turning his head to look at Amy. “But hey, you probably don’t want to hear me whining about my problems. What about you, what do you do for a living?”

“I just work part-time at my uncle’s car dealership.”

“What, like a salesman?” Cody corrected himself. “Saleswoman?”

“No, nothing like that, just a lot of admin work. Taking inventory. Shit like that.”

“Ah, alright.” Cody nodded.

“I also play in a band sometimes,” Amy added. “But I wouldn’t really call that something I do for a living.”

Cody stood up a little straighter, his attention now piqued. “You play in a band? How come you didn’t lead with that?”

Amy clarified. “It’s just a hobby. We only do a dozen or so shows a year. We haven’t even played outside Arnav.”

“Yeah, but still, if I were in a band I’d be bragging about it to everyone I met.”

“I am just the bassist.” Amy drily joked.

Cody disregarded her comment and continued questioning her about the band. “So, what’s the band called then?”

“We’re The Unloved Children. And before you ask, I’d say we sort of sound like Green Day if they were a little heavier.”

“That’s a good name.” Cody said, mentally filing it away for later. “You guys have like a MySpace page or something?”

“No, we keep saying we should make one, but we never end up doing it.” Amy and Cody both smiled a little at this.

“That’s a shame. I’d love to hear what you sound like.” Cody said. While there was some truth in his statement. He mainly just said it because it felt like the right thing to say.

If Amy felt Cody was insincere, she didn’t show it, “There might be a few videos of us up on YouTube. Probably lousy quality though.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to check that out when I get home.” Cody glanced at the bottle of Smirnoff Ice sitting on the counter before him, which was now only about a quarter full. Had they really been drinking that much? He didn’t feel like it. In fact, it felt like he’d only just gotten the bottle a few seconds ago.

There was a large part of his brain that practically seemed to be screaming at him to make a move on her, that if he played his cards right there was a chance that could get laid that night. However tempting that possibility seemed, he didn’t want to come off as too forward and risk ruining her impression of him. He decided to take it slow for the moment and gauge her interest. “You mind giving me your number?” he asked, trying to sound like this is something he does regularly.

Amy didn’t seem fully convinced of his bravado, but didn’t seem upset either. “What for?” she teased.

“Well…” Cody scrambled for a response and was somehow able to spit one out. “You just seem like an interesting person, and I think I’d like to talk with you again sometime after this.”

“Just talk?”

“Well, maybe we could meet up for lunch or something sometime. If you wanted to.” Cody offered.

Amy shot him a coy look before taking her phone out of her pocket and opening it. “I don’t have anything to write with on me, so you’ll have to put this down in your phone.” Understandingly, opened his own phone up and navigated to the contacts menu.

“Ready?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

Amy began slowly reading out her number, one digit at a time. “5…5…5…” Cody quickly entered each number into his contacts as she read them off. “5…4…8…” Another three digits were tapped out on the keypad. “1…4…6…4.” Amy finished. Cody entered the last number into his phone and hit enter, saving it into his contacts.

“Great.” Cody said, putting his phone away. He looked back towards the main dancefloor, where he could see Mike trying to shotgun a tallboy. “I should probably head back before he gets the idea to come over here himself.” Cody joked.

Amy seemed to agree. “Yeah, he seems the type to be an annoying drunk.”

Cody half-heartedly defended his friend. “He’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he isn’t.” Amy said, just flatly enough for one to have trouble telling if she was being sincere or not. “It’s been good talking to you.”

“Likewise.” Cody said before making his way across the room to Mike with a small grin. At this point, Mike had mostly finished his drink, tepid domestic lager running down the sides of his mouth and onto his shirt as he finished the last few gulps. Once finished, he spiked the empty can on the ground like a football and raised his hands as the crowd cheered. Taking notice of Cody, he took him by the hand and pulled him towards him. “Heyyy, Cody!” he yelled, raising his hand like a referee would a victorious boxer. Lowering their arms, Mike led Cody away from the center of the crowd so they could talk privately. “How’d it go?” Mike asked, still quite loudly.

“What, with her?” Cody gestured back towards the counter where Amy was finishing off the Smirnoff Ice.

“Yeah, no shit with her!” Mike playfully nudged Cody. “C’mon, what the fuck else would I be asking about?”

Cody laughed a little, even though Mike’s nudge had hurt a little. “It went good.”, He said. “I think she likes me.”

“Really now?” Mike asked, a twinge of disbelief showing itself in his voice.

Picking up on this, Cody decided to rub his victory in Mike’s face a little, just to make it clear to him he wasn’t lying. “Yep. In fact, I even got her number.”

“Bullshit!” Mike said laughingly, his disbelief now making itself explicit. “Let me see it then.”, he asked.

Cody shook his head. “There’s no way in hell I’m gonna mess this up for myself by giving you her number.”

“I didn’t say I wanted her number, I just wanted to see it.”

“So you can take it.”

‘Cody, I’m already on my third beer of the night. I couldn’t memorize her name, much less her number.”

Cody briefly considered showing him the number, he certainly seemed to be as drunk as he said he was. In the end though, the mental image of Mike calling up Amy (likely drunk) and trying to get into her pants was too strong for him to feel comfortable doing so. Cody shook his head, then added, “Her name’s Amy. Let’s see if you remember that tomorrow.”

With that being said, Cody quickly put aside the topic of Amy for the night and asked Mike to get him a beer. The rest of the night was enjoyable, if fairly unremarkable as far as parties go. At some point around two hours after they’d spoken, Amy had seemingly had enough of the party and had left without saying another word to him. By around two, things were beginning to slow down as more and more people trickled out of the house. Mike at this point had gotten drunk enough to pass out on the floor, leaving Cody to dial a cab for himself.

About 15 minutes went by before Cody saw the taxi pull up outside through the window. Looking back at Mike’s unconscious body, he considered dragging him into the cab and dumping him on his sofa once he got home but figured he would be more upset about having to pick up his car than he would spending the night on a stranger’s floor. “He’ll probably be fit to drive by the time he’s woken up.” Cody reasoned to himself as he climbed the stairway leading out of the duplex.

By the time that he’d arrived back home, all that was on Cody’s mind was lying down on the couch and falling asleep. As he began settling in for the night, he vaguely started to remember what he said to Amy about checking her band out online. “Whatever, I can always do that tomorrow.” Cody thought to himself, trying to push the thoughts from his mind so he could get some sleep before his shift in the morning. No matter what though, he couldn’t help himself from thinking about the band. Grumbling to himself, Cody got up off his couch and walked over to his computer.

While by no means a bad computer, Cody’s desktop was anything but impressive. A single look at the computer’s bland, no-frills casing and dinky LCD monitor told you at once that it probably couldn’t run Crysis. Regardless, it worked well enough for Cody’s purposes, which were mainly related to wasting time on the internet.

Opening up Internet Explorer, Cody quickly made his way onto YouTube. Once he’d made it to the home page, He took a moment to jog his memory before making a search for “the unloved children”.

           After scrolling through a few pages of pop-psychology videos on parenting, Cody found a video titled “UNLOVED CHILDREN AT CLUB 355 – 10/13/06” that seemed to be what he was looking for. Cody clicked on the video, only to be met with the distinctively unintelligible sound of a cell phone recording. The visual quality of the recording was similarly poor, the picture resembling that of a VHS tape being played at the bottom of a swimming pool. It was no wonder Cody was only the 23rd person to watch the video.

           Cody spent a good 30 seconds trying to make out a lyric or band member before growing frustrated and closing the page. It was far too late for him to be wasting his time trying to make sense of this crap. Cody slouched back over to his couch and collapsed onto it. “Amy might have some better quality recordings on hand. I should call her sometime this week.” Cody faintly thought to himself as he started to fade into unconsciousness.

It was a cold November evening when Cody Hedges decided he wanted to be a filmmaker when he grew up. He was about 14 years old, and his best friend, a chubby, slightly older boy by the name of Mike Parks, had talked him into sneaking into an R-rated movie with him on the weekend. Cody normally tried to avoid the type of age-inappropriate antics Mike tended to end up involved in, but in this case, was persuaded by the promise of full-frontal nudity on the big screen.

           Cody arrived at Mike’s house at five, and after waiting ten minutes for him to finish watching a wrestling match he’d taped the night before (and another ten for him to use the toilet), the two of them headed off, Mike’s mother giving the usual platitudes about staying safe and being back before ten. The theater was about half an hour from Mike’s house. Typically, on a walk as long as this, the two of them would pass the time with inane chatter regarding naughty urban legends and whatever was on TV last night. That evening, however, his nerves had gotten the better of him, leaving him uncharacteristically on their way to the theater. It wasn’t until the two of them had reached the parking lot that he’d decided to finally speak up.

           “I’m a little nervous.” Cody admitted, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

           “What for?”

           “Well, I’ve never snuck into a porno film before.”

           Mike looked at him with the exasperation of a father whose baby had been crying for the past six hours. “No man, I told you, it’s not a porno, it’s a movie about porno.”

           “Ah.” The answer momentarily satisfied Cody, who fell silent again as the two moved aside to let a passing SUV through. Eventually, though, another question came to the forefront of his mind. “So why are we even seeing it then?”

           “I told you at school, they show lots of tits in it.”

           “…But you just said it wasn’t a porno.” Cody questioned as they stepped into the theater.

           “A movie isn’t a porno just ‘cause it’s got tits in it.” Mike claimed confidently.

           “Well, then what…” Cody started, before dying down as he noticed they were nearing the ticket booth. Not wanting to blow their cover, he quickly changed the subject. “Shit, what’d you tell your mom we were seeing?

           “Just let me do the talking.” Mike advised as he stepped up to the ticket window, which was being manned by a young metalhead-looking type with long hair and a vacant look on his face. “Hey.” Mike said, hoping to grab his attention. A few moments after most people would, the man took notice.

           “Yeah?” the man mumbled lethargically; his mind clearly somewhere else.

           “Two for Bean.” Mike said calmly, any hint of his true intentions going unnoticed by the clerk as he printed their tickets off and placed them on the counter.

           “That’ll be $10.58.” the clerk said, prompting Mike to nudge an inattentive Cody, startling him. Brought back to reality, Cody digs a $10 bill from his pocket and swaps it for the tickets, quickly powerwalking away from the either unaware or indifferent ticket clerk. The two moved deeper into the lobby proper, settling in at the rear of the concession line as their ears adjusted to the ambiance of arcade noises and muffled Top 40 radio playing over the P.A.

           “So if the movie has tits in it, how the hell isn’t it a porno?” Cody asked, eager to return to their previous topic of conversation.

           “There’s no penetration.” Mike explained as they slowly made their way through the queue. “I read in Entertainment Weekly once that they can pretty much show whatever they want in a movie as long as you never actually see anything go into anything.”

           “You read Entertainment Weekly?”

           “I was waiting for the dentist.” Mike elaborated. His curiosity quelled for the moment, Cody nervously turned back towards the ticket booth.

           “You think that guy noticed I ripped him off for the tickets?” Cody asked, half bragging and half concerned.

           “Whaddya mean?”

           “The guy asked for 10.58 and I just gave him 10.” Cody admitted to Mike, who seemed visibly unimpressed that Cody would even care about something that insignificant.

           “So what, you expect the guy to chase you down over 58 cents?”

           “It’s his job, isn’t it?” Cody said sheepishly.

           “Even if he cared enough to go after you for that, that guy looked like he’d been sniffing glue between customers, there’s no way he noticed.” Mike assured Cody.

           His delusions of guilt mostly shattered, Cody returned his attention to the concession stand, which they were quickly nearing. “Yeah… You’re probably right.” The customer in front of them walked away, and the two boys took their place at the concession stand, which was being manned by a cute brunette in her late teens.

           The girl made her introduction with a chipper smile, obviously a recent hire. “Hi, Welcome to Diamond Cinemas! What can I get you today?” In response, Mike leaned up on the counter and flashed her a grin, trying his hardest to seem as cool as a 15-year-old with an Offspring t-shirt and a bowl cut possibly could.

           “Yeah, could I get two large popcorns, two large Cokes, a thing of Milk Duds, and uhhh…” Mike turned back towards Cody. “Anything else?”

           “Twizzlers.”

           Mike turned back to the counter to finish his purchase. “Yeah, and a thing of Twizzlers.”

The snack clerk smiled and turned around to fill their popcorn buckets. While her attention was elsewhere, Mike leaned into Cody and spoke to him in a hushed but excited tone. “Dude, that chick totally wants to fuck me.”

Cody, despite having seen no evidence to suggest the girl had any intentions other than serving them their food, nevertheless decided to humor Mike a little. “Oh yeah?”

“Totally, did you see the way she was looking at me?” Mike said, braggadociously, before returning his attention to the girl at the counter, pulling a $20 bill from his pocket as she reached beneath the counter the get the boy’s candy.

“That’ll be $14.25!” the girl exclaimed as he handed the snacks over to Mike, who placed the $20 on the counter.

“Keep the change.” He said, attempting to channel his inner DiCaprio as he handed the snacks over to a slightly amused Cody. The clerk thanked him and put the bill into the register. At this point, Cody had began making his way to the theater. Within a few steps, however, he noticed that Mike was no longer following him, and his stomach dropped as he turned around to discover why.

His ego having outgrown his charisma, Mike had decided to linger at the concession booth in the hopes of managing to score with the snack clerk. “So, Angela…” Mike said, as if expecting her to be impressed he could read a name tag. “What time do you get off work?”

Angela nervously laughed and asked him what he was talking about as Cody walked over, hoping to stop Mike from embarrassing himself too badly “Mike…” he said softly, like a vocal nudge to indicate to him “it’s time to go”. It didn’t work.

“Well, I wondered if you wanted to meet after the movie, so we could… You know…” Mike’s confidence faltered, leading him to resort to flailing his arms about in a series of vaguely sexual hand gestures which Angela was only barely able to discern the meaning of, causing her face to take on an expression more befuddled than disgusted. “Y’know, that sort of thing.”

Cody, at this point desperate to get out of the situation, lightly kicked Mike in the ankle. “C’mon, man, the movie’s in ten.” Having been reminded of why they came to the theater in the first place, Mike decided to wrap things up and made an attempt at a smooth exit.

“Look, just meet me outside the theatre in three hours. By the Harrison Ford poster.” Mike attempted to seal the deal by giving her a sexy wink, failing horrifically. With that being done, the two of them took off for the theater.

Once Cody felt the two of them were out of the clerk’s hearing range, he started to lay into Mike. “What the hell was that supposed to be?”

“What?” Mike said, defensively. “I saw she was interested and I decided to make a move.”

“That’s “Making a move”? because to me it looked more like you waving your arms around like a fucking retard.”

“Man, you’re just jealous ‘cause she didn’t wanna fuck you.”

Cody looked at Mike in absolute bewilderment, stunned that he would say something that fucking stupid. “That’s it, now I’m really gonna give it to him.” Cody thought, but before he could retort, he’d realized that they were only a few feet from the ticket-taker. “Shit. Could you hold this?” Cody muttered as he handed the drinks and popcorn off to Mike before approaching the ticket-taker.

The ticket-taker was a decrepit old man, no younger than 75. If an older Cody had seen him, he probably would’ve thought him to resemble Abe Vigoda. As Cody walked up to him, he managed to speak up with considerable effort. His voice was harsh and raspy, as if he were moments away from death. “Tickets, please.”

Nervously, Cody took the movie tickets out of his pocket and handed them over to the old man, who held them up close to his eyes as to better see the text printed on them. Realistically, Cody knew the ticket-taker had no way of knowing they were planning on sneaking into another movie, but he still held his breath, fearful he may somehow figure out their plans. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the ticket-taker feebly ripped the stubs off of the tickets and returned them to Cody. “Enjoy the show.” He creaked out before sending the two boys on their way.

Having successfully made it past the ticket-taker, Cody began growing more relaxed as the two of them made their way down the hall to the theater, Cody scanning the entrance signs for the correct movie. “What’s up with the Crypt Keeper back there?” Mike cracked in a lame attempt at a joke. Cody briefly considered turning the subject back to Mike’s failed attempts at seduction, but decided it was a lost cause, instead opting to ask Mike for his snacks back.

Eventually, the two had made it to their first destination, Theater 9. The rolling red LED signage above the theater doors simply read “BEAN”. Likewise, a poster of Mr. Bean pulling a stupid face had been hung up to the left of the doors. After pointing the door out to Mike, he and Cody walked into the theater to avoid suspicion, before exiting out into the hallway again after about a minute had gone by.

Mike and Cody moved quickly, but carefully down the halls, hoping to get to the other theatre as soon as possible. growing a little anxious as they passed the entranceway to the lobby, Cody whispered to Mike. “You think he’s forgotten about us by now?”

"You kidding? That guy probably needs to be reminded he’s still alive.” Mike snidely assured Cody, it was just then that a theater employee exited from Theater 13 toting behind her a mop and a pail of dirty water. Cody nearly froze as his fight-or-flight instincts began to kick in before his mind was able to catch up to his body, at which point he simply followed Mike’s lead and walked past her, trying his best to act natural.

         The strategy had seemingly worked, with the woman paying them no mind as she walked past them and into Theater 11, which was playing a movie about fairies. Cody breathed a small sigh of relief and whispered to Mike. “Bitch almost gave me a heart attack.”

         “Relax, you’re being a pussy. Look, Theater 16.” Mike said as he pointed out their destination.

         The dark red steel door of Theater 16 stood tall, the collaged, star-framed poster to the side of it beckoning the two boys in with promises that they’d be witness to 2 hours of sex, drugs, and excitement. The shiny LEDs above the door read out “BOOGIE NIGHTS”. “C’mon, I think it’s about to start.” Mike said as he pushed the door open, with Cody following after looking over his shoulder one last time.

         The boys kept their heads down as they made their way through the theater, eventually settling down in a sparsely populated section near the rear where they felt confident they wouldn’t be noticed. The movie had just started, an orchestral score swelling through the speakers as credits went by on a black screen. “Good, looks like we made it on time.” Cody muttered as he sat down.

         “And you were saying we left too late.” Mike said with a slight smugness.

         “We did leave too late.” Cody said, starting to get fed up. “We literally just barely made it on time.”

         “But we made it.” Mike said as if it made Cody’s complaints any less true.

         “I come over to your place and I have to wait half-an-hour for you to get out of the bathroom after doing whatever the fuck it was you were doing…”

         “I told you I had Mexican for lunch.” Mike weakly protested.

         Ignoring him, Cody continued airing his grievances. “…And then on top of that, I practically had to drag you away from the concession stand since you were too busy trying to get your-“

         Music filled the theater. Loud, hot disco that immediately snuffed out any chance of conversation taking place. On-screen, the bright neon lights of a nightclub shone extravagantly, casting any argumentativeness from Cody’s mind within seconds.

         It was then and there that Cody knew that the movie was something different. It wasn’t something that would serve only as a night’s worth of cheap titillation to promptly be forgotten the following day. It was something that was going to stick with him through the years. Through the crappy backyard home videos shot with his mom’s camcorder, through the late nights spent watching through the classics he’d rented, through the countless arguments about whether film school was a waste of time and through the drunken haze of college house parties such as the one which Mike had invited him to nearly a decade later.

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the sun had just about begun to set by the time I stepped off the bus to the keystone motor inn. taking a moment to check my pockets to make sure I didn't leave anything behind, I turned my attention to the other side of the street where my destination lay. the great western roadhouse was by far the most popular nightclub in Brandon, not that it had much competition. though it was ostensibly meant as a venue for country music, its owners had quickly realized that it would be far easier and cheaper to keep a DJ on payroll instead of going through the hassle of booking new acts on the regular. the club itself was a part of a larger complex called the keystone centre, which contained a hotel, a pool, a hockey rink, a convention centre, and a few restaurants, among other things.

not wanting to put myself at unnecessary risk of a collision, I hurriedly scampered down the crosswalk as soon as i'd seen the signal change. once i'd reached the safety of the other side, I returned myself to a normal walking pace, heading southbound towards the centre's entrance. the roadhouse had an exterior entrance that would've gotten me in quicker, but if I wanted to have more than one or two drinks, I was going to have to stop at an ATM first.

once I was inside, I made my way down a long entrance corridor covered on both sides with blown up antique photographs of the city's original settlers. the hallway had always unnerved me, the judgmental stares of long dead strangers looking down at me as i prepared to drink my wage. at the end of the hall, next to the entrance for a low-end steakhouse, was the ATM. it was one of those suspicious third-party ATMs that charged a small fortune in fees, i knew if i took the time to search for a more reputable machine that i'd probably return to a line outside the roadhouse a mile long,, so i bit my tongue and stuck my card in, silently praying all the while that the machine wouldn't steal my information.

a few button presses later, the machine spat my card back out before dispensing $60 of fresh twenties. sliding the money and my card into my wallet, i turned around and walked back down the hallway to the roadhouse. the club's interior entrance was fairly low-key. no sign, no lights, just a black pair of steel doors with a decal of the club's logo slapped on. pushing the doors open, I stepped into the club and was instantly hit with the blaring sound of obnoxious tropical house. a bearded man in a black t-shirt asked for my id. after confirming that was of age, he held out a small plastic container and instructed me to empty my pockets into it before stepping through the metal detector behind him. I nodded and did as he said. i remembered the clubs security being particularly overzealous, but with the number of fights i'd seen brek out there, I could understand why.

after I went through the metal detector to no complaint from the machine, the bearded man began loosely patting me down to check for any concealed items. finding me to be clean, he stepped aside and allowed me to enter into the club, thankfully remembering the advertised promise of free cover before 10 this time. the roadhouse's interior was about as nice as one could expect for a nightclub in a city like Brandon. a few booths were set up in the entryway leading into the main room, where a wooden dancefloor was laid out in front of the DJ table, taking up a good portion of it. surrounding the floor was a scattering of circular metal tables, as well as a lightly stocked bar on each side. tucked away in the back behind a larger bar were a few pool tables and the entrance to the smoking patio. finally, the entrances to the two bathrooms were located directly next to each other in a space to the left of the DJ table.

as usual for that early in the night, the club was mostly deserted, save for a handful of bartenders and security personnel. walking over to the large bar in the back, I waited to catch the bartenders attention before ordering a vodka red bull. setting the drink down in front of me, the bartender informed me that I now owed her $11. i supposed the price should've outraged me, but i'd been to clubs that charged about that much and didn't even have the courtesy to mix it together for me, so I laid down a twenty without another word.

shoving the change deep into my back pocket, I took the drink and headed over to the booths in the back to wait for more people to trickle in. as I sat my glass down onto the sticky, chipped, wooden table, my eyes caught ahold of one of the number of messages that had been carved into it over the years. "STEFAN + CANDICE", written inside a heart. I stared at it as I took a sip of my drink, the sickly sweet concoction doing a well-enough job of masking the taste of the alcohol. it felt like everywhere I went I was being haunted by my desire for affection. I briefly thought of that scene in taxi driver where deniro calls himself "god's lonely man" before sweeping the thought out of my mind, irritated by my played-out mopiness.

it was at about that moment that a young woman walked up to my booth and sat herself down. the combination of the lights, the alcohol, the music, and my own thoughts proved to be overwhelming enough I barely even noticed her until she spoke. "are you waiting for someone?"

snapping back to reality, I allowed myself a moment to take a good look at the woman. she looked to be about my age, maybe a year younger, 5'2, and skinny. shamefully though, the foremost impression I got was that she looked a female version of mr. bean. despite what other people seemed to think, I was socially aware enough to know coming right out and saying this likely wouldn't go over well, so I decided to humor her for the moment. "no."

She gave me a toothy smile and seemed to grow more comfortable in her seat. "my name's maya, what's yours?" she asked, holding out her hand.

"XXXXXX" I replied, giving her as firm of a handshake as I could muster. her grip was loose and her skin was clammy. i let go of her hand and took another sip of my drink, hoping I didn't look as uncomfortable as I felt. "so, how're you doing?"

"good, how about you?"

"good, good." I said, nodding my head frantically.

"that's good to hear." she paused, before asking "do you go to BU?"

"yeah, I'm taking uh... business."

"that's cool!" she smiled again, and I wondered why I only ever seemed to be approached by ugly women when I go to clubs. "I'm studying there too, I'm taking nursing."

"cool." I said, barely bothering to feign interest. i took another drink and formulated a plan. as soon as my glass was empty i'd say I was going to get another drink, then i'd make for the outside door. I was pretty sure they weren't allowed to keep it locked from the inside due to fire regulations, and it was far enough that I was pretty sure she wouldn't see me leave.

"yeah, I just moved here from regina a few days ago, and I still don't really know many people here." she continued. "honestly though, I didn't really know many people back there either, but I'm hoping that here things can be different." she said, giving a small, melancholy smile.

"shit." I thought to myself 'i'm gonna have to end up fucking this woman. or at the very least spending the rest of the night stuck in this booth pretending I have any sort of interest in her." anyone with an ounce of courage would've made it clear to her that they weren't interested, but I knew I wouldn't be able to stand seeing or even thinking about the look she'd get on her face upon being coldly rejected by the first person she'd tried to reach out to in her new home. I finished my drink, and excused myself to get another. if this was how I was going to have to spend the night, I was definitely gonna need a few more. 

i made my way over to the bar and ordered a smirnoff ice, sliding a $5 bill across the counter. by the time I had returned to the booth with my drink, maya had disappeared, taking a brief look around the club, I was quickly able to find her at one of the tables, conversing with a rotund older man in a cowboy hat. a wave of relief washed over me, soon followed by a feeling of inexplicable jealousy. sure, I hadn't had any interest at all in this woman, but being ditched in favor of some redneck who looks like ernest borgnine will do a number on any man's self esteem. "maybe she just thought he looked rich." I justified to myself. nothing about their body language seemed to suggest anything sexual, but I could only assume women went to nightclubs alone for the same reasons men did.

trying to put maya out of my mind, I walked over to the pool tables and began dispassionately observing a game being played by two young, well-groomed indian men, I didn't know who was shooting at what balls, but frankly, I didn't care, I was just looking for something to pass the time until more people showed up. after a few minutes though, I began growing restless and desperate for activity. i pulled out my phone to check the time, 10:39. i'd known from past experience that it usually wasn't until after 11 that the club started to get a decent amount of people in. a part of me wished that I had just taken the 10:15 bus, but I knew that if i'd done that, i'd've had to spend half-an-hour waiting in line. it was for the better I showed up early. at least that way i'd already have a decent buzz going once the place started to get more lively.

that was pretty much all I could do for the time being. i had no clue how to play pool and no interest in being the only person on an otherwise deserted dancefloor. by the time the club had started to properly fill up about an hour later, i'd downed another two cans of smirnoff ice and was ready to finally have some fun. as I stumbled out of the men's room for the third time that night, the chorus to "S&M" hit and I yelled/sang along despite only knowing one line. a scandinavian-looking man pulled me over to his table and asked me for a picture. i obliged, and playfully flipped off the camera a la johnny cash, which he seemed to find amusing. making my way past him, I pushed through the crowd to make my way over to one of the smaller bars and get another drink. a small voice in the back of my head told me I should probably call it here, or at the very least slow down a little, but I quickly pushed those thoughts to the back of my head. i made enough from my part-time job I didn't need to worry about the cost, and I had faith in the bartender to cut me off before I made myself sick.

i had nearly made it up to the counter when a loud crash rang out from the back of the club, causing me to turn around in search of it's source. over by the outside exit, a well-built Chinese man in a cowboy hat had been in the process of being thrown out by security, putting up such a fight that another two bouncers had to be summoned to quite literally drag him out kicking and screaming, knocking over a metal detector in the process. the disturbance taken care of, everyone did their best to put the incident aside and return to their prior business, myself included. still, a palpable discomfort could be felt radiating throughout the room, as if one could hear everyone thinking at once, "what the hell was that all about?"

after i'd gotten my drink, I decided that it was about time for me to start dancing. by this point of the night, the floor was packed, a good 60 to 70 people being crammed onto it. spotting an opening in the crowd, I slipped myself into the sea of people right as the DJ switched the track over to "milkshake". the floor was coated in a thick layer of spilled sweat and alcohol, to the point that the soles of my shoes audibly stuck to the ground with each step I took. none of this stopped me from giving in to the rhythm, though. i wildly flailed my limbs about, taking care not to spill any of my drink (though not being too upset when I did). i slinked through the bodies, attracting a good deal of attention as I tried my best to imitate something i'd seen in a james brown video ages ago.

as I danced, I noticed that the crowd was slowly beginning to give me a wider berth, unwilling to take the risk of being struck by an errant limb. eventually, I was left with a good 8 feet of floor space to myself. somehow, my particular style of dancing had managed to catch the attention of the DJ, who threw on "it's tricky" before shining a spotlight down on me and exclaiming "this guy's on fire!" I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I just kept dancing.

eventually, the crowd closed in on me again. no longer the center of attention, I slipped away from the dancefloor in order to use the bathroom and catch my breath. a black guy up to me and called me his n-word, which I responded to with nervous, disbelieving laughter. I walked into the club's bathroom, where about half-a-dozen people were milling about, taking advantage of the slight audial insulation provided by the tiled walls to shoot the shit in a somewhat calmer environment. the bathroom itself looked to be in desperate need of a remodeling. a good deal of the tiling on the bottoms of the walls had been smashed in by unruly occupants, while half of the sinks had no mirror hanging above them, just a ghostly outline on the wall.

moving past the bathrooms other occupants, I leaned up against the counter and waited for one of the stalls to open up.. a few moments later, a fat guy in a weezer shirt exited the stall closest to me, not bothering to flush. not wanting to hold my piss in any longer, I reluctantly entered the stall, averting my eyes as best I could as I pulled down on the toilet's handle. the bowl now emptied, I sat down on the still-warm toilet seat and began to relieve myself. the bathroom stalls were constructed from cheap, low-grade wood, which had splintered off heavily around the lock area. this meant that as I was doing my business, I had to use one of my feet to keep the door held shut, lest some drunk attempt to intrude on my privacy.

once my bladder had been drained and I was sure I didn't have any piss droplets lingering on my dick, I flushed the toilet and exited the stall. i was just about finished washing my hands when I heard someone call out to me from the bathrooms entrance. "XXXXXX? is that you? how's it been man!"

I turned around and was met by a tall, pasty man a little older than me clad in a blue plaid shirt and a cowboy hat, from which a few tufts of ginger hair were poking out of. his face was angular and masculine, though not in a particularly flattering way. it felt like I knew the man from somewhere, but from where exactly was something that was slipping my mind. "who are you?" I asked.

"max stapleton, from middle school. remember?"

as soon as he'd said his name, everything seemed to click into place. of course I remembered, how could I forget? as soon as we'd met in first grade max had it out for me. the two of us could hardly go near each other without it ending with someone (usually me) on the floor crying. the only time I could recall the two of us ever managing to get along was in 6th grade, when me and about a dozen other kids watched a porno on his ipod touch under the bleachers on track & field day. i assumed that i'd never have to see his face again after graduating from elementary school, but now here he was, standing in front of me in a nightclub bathroom, seemingly without any idea how much I hated him as a kid.

as tempting as it was for me to lay into him right there and then, I decided to play dumb for the moment being. after all, it had been a good decade since we'd seen each other last, and he was acting friendly enough. maybe he'd managed to clean up his act since elementary school. "oh yeah, I remember you now." I said, trying my best to seem pleasantly surprised. "what've you been up to?"

"not much really, I've just been helping out at my uncle's construction company."

I nodded, unsurprised "oh yeah? what's that pay?"

"pretty good, around $17.50 an hour."

"nice." I said, somehow managing to contain my resentment.

"what about you, what're you doing?"

"oh, I'm uh, studying business down at BU."

"ah, cool, any particular type of business, or..."

"accounting." I answered, cutting off the question i'd been asked practically every time I mentioned studying business.

"oh, yeah. that's a good choice. i heard accountants make lots of money."

"yeah, well they'd better, cause that's the only reason I'm studying it." I said, half-jokingly.

max laughed, then patted me hard on the shoulder. "yeah, alright then buddy. it's been good seeing you around. take care now."

"yeah, you too." I said through gritted teeth as I squeezed my way past him and out of the bathroom. whatever urge for revelry i'd had a few minutes ago had been thrown out the window with that encounter. i'd had my fun for the night, now it was time for me to get the hell out of there before I ended up standing next to max at the bar. i didn't know if it was the booze or the way he was acting all buddy-buddy with me or stupid fucking cowboy hat but something about the whole deal made me feel sick to my stomach and I knew I needed to get some fresh air quick.

shoving open the club's side entrance, I stumbled outside and took a deep breath of the cold night air. a few moments and a few more breaths later, I was starting to feel a bit better. now that my head was cleared as much as it could be for someone in my state, I realized that unless i wanted to stand in line half-an hour to get back in the club, I was going to have to call a cab home. taking the phone out of my pocket, i selected the cab company from my call history and told them to meet me at the front entrance of the hotel.

as i made my way over to the front of the hotel, where i'd asked the cab to meet me, what little improvement in mood i'd seen quickly vanished as i began thinking about a bust the night turned out to be. all i'd wanted out of the night was to meet some new people, and maybe get some pussy for once in my life if i was lucky. but while i'd technically achieved the first part of my goal, what little connections i'd managed to form that night were fleeting and meaningless enough to make me wish i'd just stayed home and finished off the last of my pot stash. why was it so fucking hard for me to just talk to people like a normal person? (apart from the obvious.)

a white toyota pulled up in front of me, bearing the logo of the taxi company on its doors. i got into the car, and as i was giving my address to the driver, i decided to kill myself once i got home. it wouldn't be too hard, there was a bridge about 15 minutes away from my house that seemed like it would do the trick. it was over a river too, so if the fall wasn't enough to take me out, the water would finish the job.

i looked out my window. signs lit up the street from both sides, even though practically nothing was open at this hour. briefly, i wondered how much money was wasted a year lighting up closed stores. enough to change my life, no doubt. the cab made a left off the main street and slowly rolled into my neighbourhood, it was a couple blocks of dumpy suburbs, just barely nice enough not to be considered a ghetto. to the southmost edge of the neighbourhood, a fenced-off train track cut through the city, separating us from the downtown area. at the very least it made rent cheaper.

pulling up in front of the dull beige duplex i'd been living in for the past 3 years, the cab driver turned around told me my fare would be $11.70. I dutifully took out my debit card from my walled and tapped it on the card reader that was mounted between the two front seats. the two of us wished each other a good night and i was on my way. after managing to get the front door unlocked, i made my way down the stairs and headed straight for the kitchen. if i was really going to be doing this, i figured there was no sense in not allowing myself a last meal. i opened up my freezer and produced two pizza pops, placing them on a paper plate and shoving them into the microwave. as they cooked, i briefly contemplated leaving a note behind for my parents, but decided there wasn't anything i could say that wouldn't just end up hurting them more.

a series of short, shrill beeps from the microwave indicated to me that my food had finished cooking. i opened up the microwave and removed the food, some of the filling had leaked out of one of the pizza pops, oozing out onto the plate like the entrails of a roadkilled animal. sitting down at my dinner table, i wasted no time in shovelling the steaming hot pastry into my mouth. it was good. even the mouth blistering heat of the melted cheese wasn't enough to stop me from feeling reinvigorated. within a few bites i had started to rethink my outlook on life. so what if i hadn't managed to get laid that night? i was still 20. that was plenty young. i still had a good 10 years of youth ahead of me before i had to worry about having wasted it, i might as well see how they were going to play out before i went and made any rash decisions.

finishing my meal, I threw away my plate and proceeded to stumble down the hallway to my bed. as I worked my way under the sheets, I faintly remembered recognizing an old acquaintance of mine in the VA credits of a newgrounds post i'd watched earlier, and decided to send her a DM whenever I woke up. burying my face into my pillow, I put all my troubles aside for the moment and allowed myself to slip into a more temporary type of oblivion.