A New Hope

Movies and sitcoms make heartbreak look like so much fun; a girl breaks your heart, you cry for a few days until your supportive roommate drags you out of the apartment to go get drunk, your friends are super supportive and let you get away with everything, you eventually hit bottom like get drunk and arrested for trying to beat up her new boyfriend (who actually isn’t her boyfriend, but he’s standing in the same room as her and looks like a dude who would probably be her new boyfriend because the way he is acting in that bar on a Wednesday night makes you jealous and wish you were him), you rot in jail for the weekend, and you finally meet a kindhearted redhead who works at the Salvation Army you are assigned to do your probation at and live happily ever after.

 

Either that or you are just drunk for two straight weeks and the phrase, “Drew is a bad influence” actually shows merit.

 

Weird Shapes

Tim opened his wallet to find nothing.

Well, not nothing, just nothing that he needed. Cash, drivers license, debit card, and even his blood donation card were all gone. Everything Tim owned as proof that he was a real person was gone. All that remained was a punch card for a bakery he won at bar bingo and a pocket sized schedule for the local semi-pro hockey team.

“Do you really need my ID for these cigarettes? I’m pretty sure I have a ten in my car if you can hold on a second…”

Tim knew the answer to this question. He had worked as a cashier for three years in college. He hated himself for even thinking to ask that question, let alone saying it, but at this point he was desperate.

“Yes,” sighed the cashier, who had most likely thought of very intricate ways to torture and kill people who asked him that question on a daily basis, “I really do need to see your ID. It’s the law.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Shit. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear me apologize, but…fuck, alright. Thanks anyway. It gets better, don’t worry.”

Tim didn’t really know why he added that last part. To give the kid hope, probably. To let to kid know that standing behind the counter at a gas station isn’t something that was going to last his whole life, even though it may seem like it. Tim was living proof that one can escape the prison that is dealing with the general public for more than 40 hours a week just to barely afford rent and whiskey.

It All Feels Right

“Whatever, man, it’s out of our hands now. Let’s go get a taco.”

Tacos were becoming a bigger part in his life by the day. Not just eating them either. It had expanded to taking the long way to work so he could drive by his favorite taco stand. He started drawing tacos on everything he could, however crude they may look. Arts were never his specialty. He even started calling people taco, so much so that he was beginning to forget peoples real name.

“Again? We had tacos yesterday. And the day before that you showed up with a taco for breakfast. At 9am. It didn’t even have eggs in it. It was just a straight taco. Are you okay?”

Shit. He knew too much. He knows about about the taco obsession. Quick, distract him with some natural small talk.

“Whatever happened to that girl who dumped you the day before your mom died? Did she get that boob job she always wanted?”