I knelt down and he pointed his finger at me.
I asked myself why we couldn’t at least go to a nice restaurant.
A cooler atmosphere and a selection of appetizers might make it all the more delicious. Just now, he said he was sorry that I got into trouble with this scene and that I must be unlucky with my 18 carats. At least it’s not the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing anymore.
As he shot me in the head, I thought about where my sordid love life was now. Surely things can only start from here, right?
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I woke up to a bald man standing over me. He has a nice mustache and the kind of kind eyes that only a grandfather in a movie has, or a Disneyland mascot designed to calm a kid who pooped in a log sink. He was a little too old for my type, even though I appreciated the hug as he helped me out of bed.
Then, things got a little weird. He asked me to play this old carnival game to check if my brain was damaged, and then we headed to another room. First, he started playing word association games, then he showed me his art collection. One of the paintings looks like a dick, but I’m really embarrassed to say that. For some reason, one of the two high-fived. I wish he just had a Pinterest instead of showing them to me in person, but I think he’s a hipster guy. He gave me some nice parting gifts, but it wasn’t enough.
Outside, I encountered a robot with a cowboy’s face on its monitor. Well, maybe it needs to be explained to my parents and who knows how many nightmares there will be in the bedroom, but of course, I’ll take it. As it turns out, he effectively saved my life by digging me out of the grave my ex-husband left me. That didn’t help his case much. I just don’t like fake John Wayne acting, especially if he gets too excited during foreplay and might accidentally shoot me with a machine gun.
I headed to the bar because god knows the alcohol might make it easier. An old grey-haired prospector sat on the porch. “Hello. What can I do for you, Easy Pete?” he said. I thought about it for a moment, then walked right in. The bartender was missing. Instead, an insufferably cheerful woman in leather armor and Her dog accosted me. I thought, why do these types of people always have dogs? She offered to teach me how to shoot and go camping. Her outdoor center instructors hid an aura of a deeply traumatic past, and this began won me over.
However, during the process of photographing some geckos, it became thinner. I realized this wasn’t going to work because when we were with other people they would just ask me why I wasn’t as happy as she was. When she wasn’t paying attention, I ran to the mountain.
The next few days were a blur. There was a woman at the bar who shocked me with her foul language and appetite for whiskey. She talked about Long Dick Johnson, who had a very long penis, hence his name. At first, I worried that this was some ex I had to live up to, but soon, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t leave the outpost yet, and I wasn’t ready to settle down yet. On the roof of the same building, there is a woman wearing a cowboy hat. She is friendly but warm and has the color of a ginger. I think the latter two are intrinsically linked. She asked me to go to a nearby town to check for smoke.
There I met the lottery winner. And furry. I quickly ruled out the former. Shaggy takes more time. He and his pals wear dog hats and have real dogs. I resisted the urge to ask him if he was a wolf in all forms except his body. He tried to scare me into telling others to be afraid of him and his buddies. I don’t know if it was that, the hat, or the crucified bodies surrounding us, but I couldn’t quite place it.
I drift north and it all continues to blend into the human soup. There is a nightwalker who talks incessantly about his late spouse. I’m 90% sure she just left him and took the kids. There is a skinless glowing man who wants to jump on a rocket and go to space with his friends. Sorry, his cult. He’s funny, but people who think they’re Jesus can’t be. There was a girl in a brown robe who said she and her family lived in a hole in the ground. I don’t blame her, it’s hard to move out in this economy. However, I was a little concerned that she would ask if we could use her pneumatic gloves in the bedroom.
I kept going, drifting into town. There is a female doctor with a sickly mohawk and the calm demeanor of someone without a mohawk. In another way, she’s like the girl who taught me how to shoot. Too kind, too caring, and asking for nothing in return for our work. There’s an Elvis impersonator and a robot dog. That last part almost got things going his way, but then he said, “Yeah, yeah,” and I was shaking.
I paid my hat and headed to the main road. Finding love in a neon-decorated facade seems impossible, but I give it a try. The closest I got was when I traveled to the penthouse in the tower. He looks quite handsome on the monitor’s screen and looks rich enough to be prime sugar daddy material, even if he can’t stop gushing about it. Jedi spouting Adam Smith quotes and asking me for the damn chip. But something feels wrong. So, I snuck into his back room and that’s when I found him. The real him. Withered plums, thinning hair. A ready-made meal that has been out of date for about 200 years. I accidentally ruined the meal when I took it out of the refrigerator, but that’s okay. The search continues.
There’s a cannibal in a top hat and an Italian gangster who runs a big brothel that’s kind of on fire. go through. go through. There was a desk clerk who asked me to go talk to some baby boomers. He couldn’t hold on much longer. Then, I met the furry people again. He asked me to meet his boss, who sounded like a real salad. Fuck it, why not? I trekked through Nevada to a tent in the mountains where I found what I can only describe as “involuntary celibacy.” He dresses like a Roman soldier, has read some Hegel, and has a hairline that is beyond redemption. He is also very rude. He’s been on the table as an option much longer than he should have been. Mainly because I’m curious as to why none of his friends gave him the punch he so obviously needed.
Then I find out why. He’s built like a brick hut on stilts, carries a sword so huge I’m not even sure the rules about it compensating for something apply here, and wears a mask that makes him look a bit like Statues in expensive water features. He spoke in riddles, muttering about bears and oxen, east and west, flags and blood. I considered asking him to be the lead singer in a metal band I’d been planning to start a few years ago, but thought twice about it. He was apparently too normal for this career path. Eventually, I bit off his ear and he ran away.
Not knowing where else to go, I walked further and further away. There was a pious man with bandages all over his body. I find a lot of his sculptures cute, but I’m not sure how we can do it without him getting hurt. There was a brain in a jar that thought my toes were penises and kept yelling at me. For a short period of time, I thought he might be worth a try. There is another elderly couple who live in a neighborhood filled with severe pollution clouds. He was clearly in bondage when he drugged me and put an explosive metal collar around my neck. The other is a skinless singer whose ego is as big as the theater in which he performs. There was this guy in a sleeveless jacket who kept lecturing me over a robocall about America and everything I might have done wrong with my life. No, no, no, no, and, uh, no.
I give up.
I went back to the main street of the city and found the man who shot me in the head. I thought, you will, and I smiled softly and whispered something in his ear that he would never forget.
