Rain is More Than A Hippie Name

Some people run away from the rain. I tend to run towards it. I guess it's for many reasons. First of all, I never wear expensive clothing. Second of all, I never wear expensive shoes. Third of all, sometimes I like to sneak a bar of soap outside in my pocket and than take a shower in the middle of the street. Just because I can. But I didn't sneak a bar of soap out today. I just went out into the rain.

I saw her before she saw me. In fact, I don't think she can see me at all. She is off in her own world, in whatever the hell kind of world those people live in. And by those people I mean fortune tellers, which I group in the same category as goths, supernaturalists, and religious people. I can no longer call her gait a walk. She is nothing less than staggering. Staggering through the park.

The rain pours down my face. I don't know why I'm following her but I am. I guess I have nothing better to do. She collapses under the slide, escaping from the rain. I turn and walk away.

Minutes, maybe hours later, an ambulance sounds. It seems to be coming from the general direction of the daycare center. I don't really think nothing of it. Another injury, perhaps a death, that's all it means. Lost, trapped in this dismal town, I find it hard to care. It's ironic that a town cursed by its people curses its people. It's as ironic as a fortune teller predicting her own death and than dying.

The Kay Jewelers commercial pries its way into my head. I start to get kind of... annoyed. I guess in this town "Every Kiss" will never begin with "E". Maybe it just has to be like that here. Forever.

Me, Myself, and Sub-Ingredients. Irene ran away.

I'm sitting at the Subz. The air inside is surprisingly cool and refreshing, a mountain spring amidst a see of industrialized plastic water bottles. The roach problem is all but gone; the stray leg still remains among the black olives. I am STILL angry over the Kay Jeweler's commercial. If I ever become wealthy enough I will open my own store called "E" and use the EXACT same advertising slogan. The door to the shop opens and a man walks in. He looks pretty ordinary, which in this town is extremely unordinary. 

"How may I help you sir?" I ask with feigned interest, almost as if I really cared about how I could help him. 

"I want a sub." He replied. I refrain from calling him out on his brilliant statement of the obvious. 

"What kind would you like sir?" He tells me. I make it for him. I wrap it for him. He pays for it. He leaves. 

I look around fondly at my world of meats, vegetables, condiments, and breads. I realize that even though I utterly despise the mundaneness of my job, this store is still a part of me. When I run away in a few days, I will miss it. And I'll REALLY miss all the free food. 

My eyes drift lazily towards each other. My heads lolls towards my chest. I don't even know if "lolls" is a word. If it isn't, it should be. Before I know it, I am in a deep sleep, a calm sleep, one that is usually reserved for babies, and teenagers on the weekend. As I sleep, I dream. I dream that I am walking through a field of marshmellows in my flip-flops. A man rushes towards me and starts yelling, but his words are all jumbled and I can't understand what he was saying. My dad was there, but he didn't LOOK like my dad, and that was freaking me out. I walk up to a revolving door at the end of the marshmellow field. A sign next to the door reads "pull on it". I pull on it. I am an idiot. 

"Every Kiss" Begins with... "E"!

I notice his hand before I notice him. Actually, to be more specific, I first notice what's in his hand. It looks like a fish scrap. It is swinging up and down in rhythm, a direct reflection of his arm motion. The man's hand grips it tightly. I walk almost completely past the man before I look at him. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have. He looks like he should be the chief antagonist of the fourth Lord of the Rings movie. His face is spotted with cracked red sores, his hair is greasy and frizzled, and his eyes looked like they have lived through Dante's Inferno. I whistle at him after he's past me, just for fun. He doesn't turn around.

I suddenly realize it's high time for me to get back to Subz. I now completely forgot why I left. Did I have something to drink recently? Nope. Wait...

Back at Subz I am confronted with yet another roach problem. They have gotten into the olives. I try to point out to my dad that they are black olives, and therefore the customers won't notice, but he does not find my twisted attempt at humor amusing. I sigh and begin crunching away.

Lately I have become increasingly bothered with the "Kay Jewelers" commercial. The slogan reads "Every Kiss begins with Kay". Yes, I realize the clever attempt at a pun, but... IT'S FUCKING WRONG! "Every Kiss" doesn't begin with a fucking "K"! It begins with an "E"! "Every kiss" begins with a fucking "E"!!! Pisses me off...

If I Throw A Quarter At Jesus Will I Go To Hell?

"I HAVE RETURNED!" The man hailed, raising his arms triumphantly towards the Heavens.
"I AM THE SON OF GOD!" he continued, "I HAVE COME TO RULE THE WORLD FOR ALL ETERNITY!"
Now I'm not even Christian, but I do have access to Wikipedia. Therefore even I know that Christ was supposed to be the final judge of the world, and lead all the Christians out of the world.
"IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME ANY MONEY!" The man just wouldn't stop "YOU WILL PERISH AND DIE!"
Perish. Kind of a big word for a guy like that. Too bad he said perish and die, which basically mean the same thing. That's where it becomes obvious that his linguistic skill is somewhat lacking. He also seems oblivious to the fact that his money jar is right next to his feet, and his feet are standing on top of a three story bank. However, not in spite of this but because of this, I toss a quarter up as high as I can towards the man. It sails over his head. I should have played right field.
Another man, standing next to me, is kind of freaking me out. He looks Russian, or at least he looks like he could be the next James Bond villain. I try not to look at him, but it's kind of difficult. He shoots me a glare and walks away. I see a tiny red dot on his shoes. Although my mind immediately concludes that it is probably just ketchup or something, my mind is also thinking about James Bond movies and therefore entertains the possibility that it might be blood. Maybe even another man's blood. My heart-rate increases to a rate higher than it's been since the last time I worked out. Which has been a while.
I walk on for a while, humming lyrics to the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack. A sudden commotion commands my attention. I look ahead to see a man I feel sure I've seen before being shoved against the car. The man has several tatoos, a brilliant gold necklace, and biceps to rival Vin Diesel's. I also can't help but notice that his pants actually sag down so far that the top of them is below the end of the boxers. I watch with interest as a cop handcuffs him, asks him a question, and then uncuffs him. I move closer. The man now signs a piece of paper the cop has given him. The cop proceeds to re-cuff him.
"Thanks for the autograph." The cop declares. "My kid will appreciate it. I'll make sure you have a safe ride to the jail." He guides the man into the back seat of a cop car, and shuts the door.
I suddenly realize that I consistantly prefer to use the word "cop" over "police."
My left elbow itches. I scratch it.

Ooops, I did it again.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have pulled on that fire alarm. It SEEMED like a good idea at the time, but now I just feel kind of guilty. I remember I had done that once in middle school and gotten caught, but I never really got in much trouble. The teachers all bitched me out and I got I.S.S. for 2 days, but that was it. This time though, there was no WAY anyone was finding out. I thought it would be hilarious. I guess not. All I really did was waste a few hours of the fireman's time. But oh well. Fuck it. At least it took up my afternoon.

I am walking towards the bank. I need some cash. Actually I don't NEED cash, but I strongly desire it. Because I want a mini-scooter. But that's beside the point. The point is, as I am walking up the road I accidently smack into some random guy who is walking on the wrong side of the road.

"What the Fuck?" He says to me, "watch where you're fucking going!" He is of average height, with scraggly clothes and a roughly kept beard. He smells strongly of fish.

"Fuck you." I reply cordially, slowly raising my middle finger up in front of his face.

"Fuck." He mumbles and stumbles away down the road.

"What the fuck?" I wonder as I walk the opposite way, towards the bank.

I look around me and realize how beautiful of a day it is outside. I have never truly realized how nice it can be outside, even in this piece of shit excuse for a town. If my name was James Wright, I might even go as far as to say that because I have never really noticed the beauty around me, I have wasted my life. I would however, respectfully disagree with him.

Would You Like Fries With That? Really? You Would? Well That's Too Bad, You Can't Have Fries With That. Cause This Is A Sub Shop. Get Over It.

"Mommy it's SNOWING!!!"

I resist the urge to reply with a choice sentence along the lines of "Big fuckin deal." They must be from down south. Maybe from some dumb state like Georgia. Some state where snow is actually still... cool. Instead I say "Welcome to Subz welcome to subz how may I help you how may I help you?"

" I want tomatoes mommy I want tomatoes!"

"Ok sweety I'll get you some tomatoes." The girls mother rolled her eyes. She thought I wasn't paying attention. But I was. I know her little girl annoys her. Even though she knows she's supposed to find every single freaking thing this girl does - from crying to burping to screaming at the top of her lungs - cute and adorable, she doesn't. I resist the urge to call her a terrible mother and see if she will cry.

"How may I help you how may I help you?"

"I'll have a large meatball sub, with some extra tomatoes." She said, smiling at her daughter.

"Ok no problem." I begin the process of making a sandwich. It's a process that I've done so many times by now that I could do it in my sleep. Although if I DID make a sandwich in my sleep, it would SUCK. I put the meat and cheese on the bread, and put it into the wrapping. I take three tomatoes and stick them into a plastic container. I put the sandwich and the tomatoes in the bag. I tell her how much it costs, and take her money. I cheat her a penny. She'll get over it. The two turn around and leave the store.
Another customer walks in. It's a woman. An Asian woman. She is NOT wearing makeup. But it looks like she WAS wearing makeup, and then just wiped it off with a rag. She also looks like she would have NO problem mercilessly beating a homeless man if he entered her house against her will. But that's just speculation. Anyways, before she could place her order something dramatic happened. The clock struck six. Now it's not that I was looking directly at the clock at the time, but Subz has one of those bird clocks that chimes annoying bird calls every hour. So that's how I knew it turned six. The NEXT thing I noticed was that the power went out.
The evening sky outside was light enough so that the store was not completely black, but it was still extremely dark. I thought about making a joke and pretending to read this lady the dinner specials, but then I notice she is preoccupied with beating several cockroaches with her umbrella. I guess the cold weather had driven the roaches inside. All I can say is that I am extremely glad the little girl wasn't still here. She would be screaming so loud I would have to plug a couple of black olives into my earlobes.
The bird clock chimed two more times for the power came back on, so I guess the power must have been lost for about two hours. It actually didn't take them that long to fix it. Usually it lasts for days. I guess the workers weren't as drunk this time. I'm actually kind of happy because I got absolutely no customers during that span of time. I just got to chill. With my lettuce. And my red wine vinegar.

Take The Long Way Home

FUCK it's cold outside! I knew I should have brought a coat. Or at least a jacket. All I'm wearing is this tattered Red Wings t-shirt, a tribute to the days when people actually gave a damn about the NHL. I'm on my way home now, if you can call Subz my home. I guess I have a bed and a bathroom, so I can't ask for much more.
Anyways, my nipples are so frozen they are nearly poking holes through this shirt. I see my breath forming furious clouds of water vapor as it leaves my mouth. I can't even remember how long it's been since I've actually been able to FEEL my toes. Than again I am slightly inebriated so that might have something to do with it.

I'm now walking past Goldstein and Frick's Bank. Now THOSE are some Jew names! I resist the sudden strong urge to enter the bank and superglue some change to the floor of the bank, just to see how many people will struggle to pick it up. I turn onto my street. I can see Subz off in the distance, a beacon of hope on the horizon. By hope, I of course mean overpriced deli meats, breads, cheeses, rabbit-food, other vegetables, and condiments. My shoes crackle lightly as they step over the rough cement of the road. Some people say my shoes are ripped and torn, and I need to get new ones. I like to think they have lots of character.
I have FINALLY made it to Subz. I reach out with my frozen fingers and pull the door handle towards me. At risk of sounding like a pansy, it actually kind of hurts, because my fingers are SO frozen. To make things worse, the door is locked. I should have worked at a 7/11! Anyways, I now have to make my way over to where our spare key is hid - inside of a sandy, desert, fake rock, that fits in worse in these urban surroundings than Paris Hilton would on "Survivor" (copyright, CBS, all rights reserved. Any attempt to use this word without the express written consent of CBS is strictly prohibited) - and took it out. I unlocked the door of Subz and walked inside.