IN THE DRINKS AISLE

There was a tiny, tiny little man trapped inside of a bottle of water.  To say I was surprised would be an understatement.  Strangely enough, he seemed to be dressed in some sort of a spacesuit.  I looked around nervously not sure what to expect; a reality show or a truck from the funny farm.  The little spaceman slowly bobbed up and down in the liquid, one dead hand -he was clearly dead- still pressed up against the ridged side of the bottle.  I peered closely and saw his face was decorated with the worlds tiniest muttonchop sideburns and a pair of miniature green-tinted sunglasses, and a tiny peace symbol on a little string floated up by the crest of his helmet.  Should I buy the bottle?  Take the oddity on TV and get famous, or to sell it on the internet for a fortune?  Bring it to the government to explain how a hipster from the 70's ended up in a bottle of generic water in a convenience store?  So anyways, that's why I bought a ginger ale.

ANOTHER SHUFFLING ZOMBIE

This is a long ramp.  It's a very slight incline, but the length is what's going to give her trouble.  More trouble, that is to say.  Her jaw is hanging open and she's groaning slightly as she shuffles along, listing slightly to the left because of the limp.  It would have been easier for her if she'd managed to keep her cane in her left hand, but that was forgotten some time ago.  She might have fallen over if it weren't for the heavy purse that dangled absently from her opposite shoulder in an unconscious balancing act.  But there's no stopping her, there's no amount of physical infirmity in her that can top the unending hunger deep down inside her.  Relentless, she shuffles up the ramp with unfocused eyes on the closest bank of slot machines.  There's one machine wide open, thankfully one with armrests. 

A SORT OF SLEEPY PASTORAL SCENE

The sun shone high and bright over the field, the long grasses whispering peacefully in the breeze.  It'd been a long, long time since the grass in the outfield had seen a mower.  It would be a long time before it would ever see one again.  The dead walked aimlessly through the park, endlessly wandering in ragged clothes and even more ragged flesh.  The chalk lines of the field had long ago been wiped away by thousands of mindless, shuffling feet. Seed from the long grasses had spread, and even now slender green shoots crept up from the dirt in the infield.  The birds made their nests up high in the rafters, safe from the hungry jaws and claws of the dead who roamed throughout the summer heat.  They were silent, with no obvious prey for them to snarl and groan at or to chase with their mindless, slavering hunger.  It made for a sort of sleepy pastoral scene.  A nearly silent meadow, placed here in the center of an empty and haunted city.

I STOOD UP TO THE BADDEST MAN IN TOWN

That is what I wish I could tell you.  I wish I could tell you that I told him to put down his beer and step outside with me, but that's not what happened.  No, what happened was that he insulted me, insulted my date and I sat there covered in sweat and stinking of fear.  He actually said that, he told me "you stink like fear, pussy" and I sat and stared a hole in the surface of the bar.  I cringed when he clapped me on the back with his fat, meaty palm.  I looked away when my date grabbed her purse and her coat and fled the bar.  I tried not to hear him as he laughed right in my ear and whispered "you're a goddamn pussy" at me, but I heard.  And I let him take my unfinished beer and upend it in my own lap.  I ran out of there and sat in my truck and cried.  I cried like a child.  I wish I could tell you that I stood up to the baddest man in town, but I was a coward.  And I'm still a coward, even now.  Even now as I wait in the dark behind a dumpster, near his motorcycle with a cocked and loaded pistol in my hand.  And so, this is how I will stand up to the baddest man in town.  Under the cover of darkness, from behind, by surprise.  I'm a coward, not a fool.

THE TASTE OF DEFEAT

I'm tired.  My head weighs a hundred pounds, it's all I can do to keep it level on that stack of dimes I call my neck.  I can barely keep my eyes open.  Exhausted.  And the pain, my God the pain.  My stomach feels like it'd been worked over by a dozen different fists, although I know the damage was due to just the two.  I hear cheering, the crowd cheering him in the distance.  I'm barely here.  Barely awake.  I struggle to sip at a cup of water but the effort is to much, the cool liquid just dribbles out of my mouth and down my chin.  I let my head slump forward so that I am staring at my hands, so stained with red.  Red and yellow and green flecks of relish.  Was it the relish?  Is that why he beat me?  Is that what they'll ask me, after they finish taping his victory laps?   Is the relish why you lost?  It might be.  I think it must be.  And now a bitter taste fills my mouth, shoving aside the flavors of sweet relish and tangy mustard.  I want to shout to the world, to the cameras and the crowd and to the victor: yes, I lost.  I lost!  But have any of you ever heard of a hot dog being served without relish?  Because I never did.  I want to shout, but I am just too tired.  And thankfully, too tired to even cry.

THINGS DESERVING OF 'MEH'

The word 'meh' is often thrown about haphazardly.  Researchers have determined there are nine items of discussion which absolutely deserve an immediate 'meh.'    

THINGS DESERVING OF MEH

This Tuesday's 24 hour 'Empty Nest' marathon

Would you like a free sample of organic, gluten-free granola?  It was made with brown rice syrup and quinoa.

Coca-Cola has developed a new flavor: Ice

Netflix has emailed to ask about the picture quality of 'Troll 2'

Major League Soccer newest expansion team in Columbus, Ohio

Any upcoming 00's rock supershow

Columbus, Ohio

Your wife's second cousin whom I have never met is pregnant with her third child

The Starbucks on the corner is closed for renovations, thus you must go to the Starbucks across the street, the Starbucks in the Target, or the Starbucks on the other corner

VACATION LIKE YOU WANT TO

Thirteen black candles and a book of forbidden knowledge, bound in something shiny and unpleasant: catch up on your pleasure reading!  A metal folding chair wedged underneath the doorknob: rest easy with the protection of our top notch, high class security.  Plastic trash bags sliced and taped taut over the windows: blackout curtains provided upon request, for the soundest of sleepers.  The rug ripped from the floor with a crude pentagram carved into the flooring: just sit back and relax and enjoy some of our fine art and sculptures.  The modem smashed with the heel of a combat boot, and the phone ripped out of the wall without any gentleness: early morning wakeup calls provided only by request; it's your vacation.  Sleep in late if you want to.

The Problem Is the Solution

Screwed.  The manager left, with just this side of twenty grand in her pocket.  The only good news is that I never have to see that woman again.  The bad news is that twenty grand was supposed to be ours, not hers.  She got away from this mess with my half of the getaway money.  And man, I just think that's a little self-centered.  There's nothing left now, no way for me to make up that kind of money.  The investigators are coming to town tomorrow, and once they get here and figure out how we'd been running this failure of a failed Bed, Bath, and Beyond chain...well, I'm probably going to go to jail.  And the inventory is just plain gone.  Gone.  Nothing left but five hundred bottles of bath salts that somehow fell behind a heater in the break room.  Yeah.  Yeah, I read the papers.  I know what some people use bath salts for.  I know what they're worth.  And I know how I'm going to pay to get my ass out of this town before it's too late.