Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Sunday Brunch

The snow fell like it had a point to prove. The world was a fury of white.

Dave opened the curtains of his bedroom window.

"Crap," groaned Dave to the world in general.

Doing his best not to fall into the heaps of laundry and trash that littered the floor, Dave rushed over to his night stand and grabbed his phone. Dave swiped away his latest updates and messages, and frantically mashed in his bosses phone number and the speaker button.

After several rings a robotic voice answered, "The mailbox for the number five, one, eight-" Dave hung up the phone.

"Double crap," moaned Dave while hitting himself over the head with his phone.

In the blink of an eye (roughly five minutes) Dave was rinsed, clothed, fed, and out the door. In another blink of an eye (roughly .2 seconds) Dave was fell down the snow covered front steps. He landed in a graceful pile of tangled limbs with a few bruises thrown in for variety.

Dave pulled himself up from the snowy ground and squinted through the blinding storm.

"I know I left my car here," said Dave as he walked blindly forward. The sound of a metallic bag, and pain blossoming from Dave's knee attested to the car still being there.

"Damnit," yelped Dave. He leaned down to rub his knee and managed to hit his head on the side-view mirror. "Come on!"

After several numbing minutes Dave's keys refused to exist as keys, but rather as key-cicles that refused to fit in the lock. A great burst of steam bellowed from Dave's clenched teeth as he rammed the keys home, ripped the door open, and jumped inside the car.

A was safe.

He took a deep breath.

He looked next to him in the car.

"Crap," sighed Dave.

A man sat next to him. His frozen body showed bloodless signs of where flesh had been carved, or in some places bitten, out.

"I guess brunch is on you, John," said Dave.