"You're a wall of guitars... You're a megaphone... You
big.... you big-faced dickweed!"
Julie slammed the door and left me sitting alone in my fine
Moroccan silk armchair. I rubbed my hand over the high-quality leaf
patterned stitching and sniffed my fingers. Musty. Deep dish. I
stared at the wall for a while and rubbed the chair nice and slow.
The phone rang.
"This is Julie's mother. What did you say to her?"
I tried to talk but nothing came out. I coughed and sat up a
"Hello, Mrs. Dagnagio."
"Don't 'Mrs.Dagnagio' me, buddy. What did you tell her this
"We were just talking."
"Well I don't see how you factor into this, Mrs. Dagnagio. I
think you're being--"
"Listen here. I catch that girl when she falls, and I've been
doing that a lot lately on account of you. Julie won't be coming
over any more."
"But she lives here."
"Have her stuff ready by tomorrow morning. I'm pickin' it all up.
And it better be in good shape."
I put the phone down and leaned back in my fine silk chair again,
rubbing it hard. Rubby rubby rubby. I took my shirt off and rubbed
my terrible burnt skin on the leaf patterns. Rubby rubby rubby rubby
rubby. I caught my reflection in the door of the oven. No wonder she
hates me. Oh God! No wonder.
Potato-based civilizations communicate with Proton Canisters, or
"pro-cans." Every pro-can is numbered 1 through 6, and only
individuals with like-numbered canisters are able to understand each
other. This creates some interesting situations, both comedic and
tragic, often simultaneously, often without apologies from
- Why Can't You Sleep On The Floor?
My neighbor has high-speed internet. When I set up my computer,
it showed her web connection as "Lizzy" and it had a padlock over it
which means I am not allowed to use it without the password.
Part 3 -
Lizzy Don't Share
Julie took a job as a switchboard operator in Chicago after the
fires settled and everything was still gently smoking. The sun
didn't come out for like three weeks. She was driving home from work
with her shirt pulled over her nose so she didn't have to smell the
city. Musty. Deep dish.
Part 2 -