by plermpt

It was a warm day, so Vivian left the pet shop door open to allow some cool breeze inside. As I walked past the entrance I stood on tippy toes so I could see her better when saying hi. I couldn’t see her anyway because she was laying on the floor behind the counter.

An anxious audience was awaiting for me to speak at the helm of a coach bus, but I played an abrasive song on the bus speakers and walked out of the front door instead.

Sergio was shaping patties of ground beef and laying them in the hot broiler with bare hands.  I knelt next to the open oven door to smell them on his recommendation and felt flecks of hot grease land on my face. Dennis was wearing glasses that I had never seen him wear before. He looked good. Sergio served the patties crisp on the outside, cold on the inside and wrapped in palm leaves. On of their friends stood chewing his patty over the trash can. Most of the patties were trashed.

I stood with my brother on a step ladder beside a multicolored wall composed of bell peppers and nets of hay. We reached inside the nooks of the wall and pulled out monochrome tin cans, which were filled with notes written in crayon by my five-year-old father to his neighbors, informing them how to become better Christians. Yuck.

Everyone in attendance at the holiday party plays a really confusing game they claim is reminiscent of bingo. Each team has a page with straight, crisscrossing lines, and when a number is called we write a letter at the end of the line. My sexy partner sits on my lap while we play, but my confusion over the rules makes me irritable. Somehow we win the game when we spell the word ‘congrats’, and the prize is a white v-neck replete with Oreo creme filling. I finally smile when my sexy partner pulls the shirt on, and I dunk an Oreo cookie down her shirt, dragging it up her torso, flicking her nipple with a mound of icing. Her tits look amazing and I think I deserve it. She already loathes me because my attitude sucked during the game, and now she is appalled and humiliated. My Dad stomps around the party, drinking three different flavors of Listerine and loudly comparing them in a bizarre, single man parade. I am on all fours begging my partner to reconsider my personality in a pathetic display, and my dad is on all fours scooping Oreo cream from beneath the room’s only armchair, where my fat uncle is snoozing.