How Do Mechs Love?

 I sat there in one of three horrible dayglo orange chairs lined up against the outside wall of the Principal’s office. Next to me was the secretary’s desk, an oversized thing made of fake food and fake plastic. Statues of fairies cluttered the desk and pictures of what I imagined were a boyfriend, although, it could have been a pug.

The secretary sat behind her desk pretending to do work, but when I stretched, I noticed she was reading an Entertainment Weekly. I guess it’s more important for her to find out how the Kardashians were just like her than to make the massive amount of calls I knew she should be making. Three panes of glass and an oak door separated the secretary and the chairs from the rest of the administration office. The entire experience of being here again was surreal.

One seat away from me sat a small boy with sandy hair that hadn’t been washed in what seemed like a week or therebouts, a real rat’s nest. He wore a black button-up, Aviator sunglasses and blue jeans cuffed above some combat boots. I glanced over at him and smiled at him. He treated me to a vicious sneer with flared nostrils and what I could only imagined was a strained eye roll behind his shades. I sighed and shook my head. Then I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

I looked over again and I had to figure out what this kid’s deal was.

“What’re you in for?” I straightened my posture.

He clicked his teeth and sighed. “I shouldn’t even be here; it’s that bitch Judy’s fault. If she wouldn’t have ripped out my fucking heart leaving me an empty husk with a gaping hole in my soul.” His leg started shaking rapidly and the orange chair squeaked as a result.

My eyes bugged out of my head a little.

“What?”

His leg still shook. “She had the goddamn nerve to tell me that she couldn’t see a future with me!”

My eyebrows knitted high above my glasses, the kid didn’t notice.

“That’s rough.”

He wetted his lips and ran his tiny porcelain hand through his matted hair.

“I know. I was like, ‘Bitch! What do you know about the future except flux capacitators?”

I threw my right leg over my left knee and leaned forward. I rested my chin on my left hand and stared more closely at the boy.

“How old are you?”

“Seven, but I’ll be eight in a few months.”

“Should you really be talking like this?”

“What are you, a pussy? Fuck, I just had my goddamn life shitted on by some stupid bitch who thinks that the sun rotates around the earth. How the fuck do you think that makes me feel?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like you’re better off.”

“Better off? My life is in a tailspin. I had everything going for me. Now look at me, I got no bitch, no allowance and I’ll probably be grounded. My life is a train wreck collided with a plane crash while a nuclear reactor explodes.”

“It’ll be alright, dude. You’re young; you should be playing the field anyway.”

He leaned over to me and removed his sunglasses. Thin red tendrils crisscrossed from his light blue irises; he stared at me hard for a few seconds.

“Do you know how whiskey mixed with chocolate milk tastes?”

“No?” I scratched my stubble.

He shrugged. Then he leaned back and put back on his shades.

“It’s delicious. I had six of them this morning.”

“Mr. Jones, she is ready to see you.” The secretary said in a small, raspy voice.

I got up from my chair and fixed me jacket. Thank God, I thought. The secretary saved me. As I walked past her desk, I leaned in and whispered, “Did you hear any of that?”

She looked up at me with a blank expression. Her makeup was caked on, and she smelled like a Tijuana prostitute.

They were probably pictures of her boyfriend.

“Hear what?” She asked without a hint of irony or cunning.

I shrugged my shoulders and walked into the Principal’s office.

A woman in her late forties sat behind a large mahogany desk, which was too big for the office, with papers neatly ordered on top of it. Today her long strawberry blonde hair was done up in a bun, and she wore her favorite blue pantsuit. It was the one she always said made her feel like a real Principal. She looked younger now, watching over middle schoolers was doing her some good. Behind her were heavily bookcases loaded with books of various subjects. To the sides of them were diplomas from respected Alma Mater, hung precisely with no edge crooked. I took a seat opposite her desk and we exchanged smiles as I fall into the cushy leather chair.

“You know when I got here I didn’t want to kill myself, but now…”

“What’re you talking about?” She looked me over and shook her head. Disappointed, that’s typical.

“That kid out there. Was he cloned from James Joyce’s finklematter?” I pointed to the lobby.

“Which kid?” She sighed.

“There is only one out there. But to be more specific the one that is dressed like Robert Smith and sounds like Holden Caulfield.”

“Oh! Jeremy. I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy. He used to be such a sweet kid.”

I shrugged. “Apparently, a broken heart.”

“What?” She narrowed her eyes at me.

“Never mind.” I sniffed heavily and waved my hand.

She shook her head and sighed again. That same sigh she exhaled when I brought home bad marks in Middle School, when I told her I was going to school up North to chase some girl, and when I moved back after things went sour with that girl. To her credit, she didn’t turn me away when I showed up at her doorstep a few months ago. Just the quiet, cutting I told you so. I could live with it though.

“You look terrible, Occam.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still not over Amelia?”

I picked my teeth as I looked over my clothes. Jeans that hadn’t been washed in a month with a crusty stain from last week’s Taco Bell. My wrinkled shirt and my shoes covered in mud; she was right, I was a mess.

“I came here didn’t I?”

She rolled her knuckles across her forehead. “I guess that’s better than sitting in your room all day crying, but you really need to get a job soon.”

“Do you need money that badly?”

“It’s not about money. You need to get out of the house.”

“I’m fine. Really, Mom, I’m fine. Look, I’m here, right?”

“You’re here because I told you that there would be free sandwiches in the gymnasium today.”

“By the way, I’m still waiting on those sandwiches.”

“There are no sandwiches.”

My head fell. “You tricked me?”

“Only because I care about you. You need to get out of the house, otherwise you’ll never get over her. Getting a job will help in doing that.”

“Can’t I just earn money playing online gambling?”

“The money doesn’t matter. I can’t watch you destroy yourself in my house. So, either get a job or find someplace else to live.” She frowned at me, and held out her hand.

I got up from my chair and looked down at her hand. I shrugged, shoved my hands in my pockets and walked out of her office.

“She wants you to get a fucking job? You just got back here,” Chance said as he passed his ice blue bong to me.

“I know.” I paused to light up the bowl. Smoke filled my lungs, and my eyes watered a bit as I held in the smoke. Thick gossamer streams of THC seeped out my nostrils and mouth. I coughed as a haze covered my face.

“She thinks that it’ll help me to get out of the house, but shit, look I’m out of the house now.” I gestured to Chance’s living room.

A giant 72” LCD sat in front of his stained fuchsia futon. In the corner of the room, a cheap fan from Costco rotated, blowing THC clouds out of the open window behind us. My bare feet rested on the filthy shag carpet. As the weed hit the base of my skull, I curled my toes in the crusty strands, feeling hot Cheeto crumbs cling to the sweat of my sole.

He took the bong from my hands. In his seasoned way, he packed down the bowl and started lighting up.

“Yeah, but dude I live next door,” he wheezed before he set the bong down on the chipped IKEA table he had found in an alley in Costa Mesa.

“Still counts.” I motioned for the lighter.

“Whatever, man. You still not over that bitch?”

“That bitch has a name. Not that I’m going to give her the satisfaction of saying it, but still.”

“You really need to let it go, dude. She dumped you. Move on. Come out with me this weekend and get some fucking panocha!” He looked at me with his smoky eyes and failed to make a ‘V’ gesture.

“I’d love to get some snatch, but I’m broke. I guess, if I ever want to get laid again I should find a damn job.”

Taking the bong from me, he said, “We need a driver at Car Quest.”

“Okay, this is the basics of the job,” Joey said as I followed him through the sales floor of the store.  He was a stout man, his wispy, brown hair thinning a bit, and he wore coveralls, that made him look a bit like a walking inkblot. There was a pervasive smell of chili and mayonnaise coming from him. And, when he wasn’t talking he had the horrible habit of breathing through his mouth. It wouldn’t have been a problem if he didn’t sound like a vacuum cleaner that accidently ran over a penny.

“This is the sales floor. You don’t need to worry too much about this since you’re a driver.”

It was small, only a few racks on the floor with oil filters and other car stuff. Light bulbs, screws and everything else that the average person would need to buy to fix a car lined the walls of the store.

Chance said I’d be a shoe-in, but I thought that there would be at least some competition. I mean with how easy I got this, I guess the only people vying for the job were dudes with massive head contusions or vegans. However, I underestimated Chance’s clout with his boss because after he made the call, I got the job.

“This is going to be your main concern.” Joey walked me behind the register and showed me an archaic printer. The thing looked like a prop from an 80’s movie. He ripped a sheet from it and showed it to me. It made no sense really, except I recognized that there were different numbers of quantities.

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re a driver. You have nothing to do but pay attention to what comes out of this printer.” He sat the paper down on the counter and pointed to different spots. “Okay, up here is the top left corner is our information. In the right corner is where you’re going to deliver the parts ordered. Below are the part numbers, quantities and brand.”

“Are you going to show me where all the parts are and how to get them?”

He laughed and shook his head, which caused his jowls to shake. “You don’t need to know that. All you gotta do is take this paper here over there.” He pointed to a closed, red door that was adjacent to the register. “You take this piece of paper, knock on that door and hand it to Herb in back. He’ll get what you need, and then you’re ready to get on your way.”

“Seems simple enough,” I chuckled. Seriously, I would need a lobotomy not to be able to do this job. Even then I probably could still do it.

“Sort of, but you need to focus on delivering these parts in a timely manner. It can get pretty hectic on a busy day. Are you up for it?”

I nodded.

“Good. Well, until an invoice comes in, you can just sit behind the register until Chance gets in.” Joey shook my hand with his giant, hairy paw.

“When is he suppose to be in?”

“About fifteen minutes. Don’t sweat it, if there is a customer, come and get me,” he said before he closed the door to his office.

I sat in a chair behind the register staring at the burnt sienna counter tops for a while. I hoped that either an invoice or Chance would arrive so I wouldn’t be so bored. The store was quiet, and the florescent lights constantly flickered, which drove me crazy. The flickers always made me think that my mind was skipping as if it was a taped-over-once-too-much VHS. My head started spinning, so I got out of the chair, and the red door that Joey pointed out earlier caught my attention. If I was going to be working here, I might as well meet Herb, since I’d be depending on him to make my job easier. As I walked toward the door, I realized there wasn’t a handle on the outside. There was only a slot big enough for a sheet of paper to go through. I was about to knock when I felt a hand grab my wrist.

“I wouldn’t do that, dude.”

I turned around and saw Chance. He let go of my wrist and then walked over to the service counter. I followed his lead.

“Why shouldn’t I knock on that door? There isn’t a knob.”

I sat down on the chair behind the register while Chance clocked into work.

He turned to me. “Because no one goes in there. You drop your parts order into that slot and then whatever you want is pushed out a crack in the door.” I eyed the door and saw that the bottom of the door scraped a tiny fish tail into the tile. I guess that Herb only opened the door enough to get a medium size box out of it.

My eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you’ve never met Herb?”

He shrugged. “Nah. Back when I worked as I driver, I was always too high to care. By the time I worked the register, it never bothered me.”

“He never comes out of there?” I wiggled my fingers in front of me like I was controlling marionettes.

“I’ve never seen him.”

I stopped my fingers and got up from my chair then walked over to Chance. “And you don’t think that’s weird.”

“Nope. Why does it matter if he doesn’t want to come out? Long as he gives us the parts, who cares?”

“If you say so.”  I shook my head and sat back down.

I stared at the door when I noticed something blocking the light from the slot.

“Hey brother, looks like you might get to meet Herb.” Chance ripped an invoice from the printer. “It’s your first delivery.” Looking over the right hand corner. “Oh and it’s a good one. You’re delivering to Yvonne.” He lewdly wiggled his eyebrows.

I kind of hated driving. Not that I was a terrible driver, I wasn’t. However, I rather liked the idea of having a chauffeur, but I’ve never had the money to afford one. Driving the 5 was basically playing Russian roulette with a compulsive liar who had cerebral palsy. You never could be sure if there was one or six bullets in the chamber. There have been a total of six near death experiences in my life, and all of them happened while driving the 5. Three of them involved old people, two involved whipped cream, and the last one involved three pigs in a trench coat. All of this made it ironic that I took a job that revolved around driving up and down the 5, but I didn’t care because there was little responsibility. Plus all I had to do to get the job was know a guy, literally.

The 5 was pretty empty today, which meant that I was only cut off twice. My first job was to deliver to some chick named Yvonne who ran an auto parts shop in Tustin. Chance was particularly vague about her, but full of insinuations. I don’t like insinuations; at least not his because his insinuations either ended up being a hot chick or a punch in the dick. I wasn’t ready to deal with either option today.

Tustin was a funny curiosity. It used to be nothing but orange groves like all of Orange County, but progress hit it like a bomb. Now there were multi-million dollar houses and dozens of ticky-tacky suburban communities within walking distance from brand new elementary schools and sprawling shopping centers. Its borders were what fascinated me. Right next to it was Irvine, which was like it’s more successful older brother, and Santa Ana, the cousin it never wanted to hang out with at family reunions. Yvonne’s shop was closer to Irvine, meaning I’d see a lot more white people and Beamers, and also guaranteeing that it would have a pervading smell of cold cuts and hot dog water.

The shop was what I’d expected. Clean white exterior with a plain sign advertising ‘Brooklyn Brothers’. Right next to the office, there was a four-door garage painted a cherry red that contrasted perfectly with the stark white of the main building. It made the whole thing look like an In-N-Out, which made me hungry. Giant bay windows paneled the front door, and I could see a number of people milling around in red plastic chairs waiting for their car to be ready.  There was a coffee machine in the corner, and behind the front counter was the prettiest girl I’ve seen in my life. She was so pretty it made me hate her and myself. I caught my reflection before I went inside and I looked like Paul Giamatti and Phillip Seymour Hoffman had a baby with fetal alcohol syndrome. I hated myself even more as I opened the door and went inside.

“Hey, is Yvonne here?” I sat the box of parts on the counter and pulled the invoice from my back pocket.

I tried not to make eye contact with the angel behind the counter. Her blonde hair hung down to the small of her back and it actually shimmered in the sun light that leaked in from the sky light above the counter. She was so beautiful, with porcelain skin and a slight smudge of oil on her cheek. Even though she wore a pair of burgundy coveralls, I could tell she looked like Christina Hendricks in normal attire. I wished I was dead as I gazed upon her with my seven-day beard and tangled hair.

“That’d be me, Tex. What can I do for…” My heart sank as she looked down at the invoice. “Oh, you’re Joey’s new guy.” She looked me up and down and gave the slightest hint of a grin. “Nice to meet you.” She stuck out of her hand for me to shake it. Each dainty finger was covered in grease and as I did my best to give my firmest handshake, I felt thick calluses on the base of her palm.

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too.” I let go of her hand wishing that I didn’t have to.

“So, you got my parts, great. What’s your name by the way?” She looked at the box as my hand rested on top of it.

“My name is Occam. You run this whole place?” I handed her the invoice to sign.

“I wouldn’t classify my managerial style so briskly. I’d say I stroll this place.” She scribbled her signature on the paper.

I laughed. “I like that. I think I’d be more of a moseying type of manager.”

She giggled as she handed me back the invoice. “Occam. That’s a weird name.”

“I know.” I folded the paper and slipped it back into my back pocket as I handed over the box.

“How’d you get a name like that?” She ripped the tape off the box and started checking the order.

“It’s a long story.”

“Is it gonna take longer than it’ll take me to check this box?” She had almost reached the bottom of the box.

I nodded. “It’s a pretty long story.”

She bit her bottom lip as she put all the parts back into the box. “You’ll have to tell me sometime later then.”

“Yeah.” I turned around and walked out.

Fuck! I had an opening and I didn’t take the shot. I’m such a fucking idiot. There it was, right there, all I had to say, “Yeah, maybe I could tell you over a drink.” Then she’d give me her number and I could see what those dainty, calloused hands could do. I slammed my head against the steering wheel and then I heard a knock at my window. I leapt up startled and there she was. My eyes welled out of my skull, and I rolled down the window.

“Hey, you really need to tell me that story.” She handed me a scrap of paper with her phone number on it and a heart next to her name.

I looked over the paper. “Why are you giving me this?”

She laughed. “You made me laugh. No easy task. And you’re kind of cute, except you need to get rid of that beard.”

The sight of her pearly white smile caused flashes of Amelia in my mind.

“You’d be kind of cute if you grew out your hair.” She said that in her general way of suggesting something that wasn’t a suggestion at all, but an edict. Her husky voice never got below what normal people considered yelling. At five foot three, she was a terror in a small package that knew exactly how to get me to do whatever she wanted. And I fucking loved her.

It’s never easy to deal with a girl breaking your heart. It’s happened to me three times in my life: when I was 16, 19, and most recently 23. Each heartbreak was different. Amelia was the worst.

I went into my room and she was sitting cross-legged on the comforter. I asked what’s wrong and she told me. I never expected it to be that, I foolishly thought it’d be about forgetting something. All she told me was that she didn’t see a future with me, and she never expected anything serious with me, but after a year, enough was enough. I tried not to cry, I tried so hard, and I asked what I could change so she’d still want to be with me, but there wasn’t anything. I got dizzy and I fell down on the bed, and I did everything to stop the tears, but I couldn’t. My voice transformed into something I couldn’t recognize and in my self-awareness, I commented on it, and we both laughed. I thought, she’s laughing, there could be hope, but I knew there wasn’t.

She got off the bed and went to her side of the closet. I followed her, tears still streaming down my eyes fogging up my glasses, and I wrapped my arms around her hips. By this time, I knew it was over, and I asked her if she could touch my penis one last time. She asked how I could possibly have an erection at that moment, and I joked that I could get an erection at my grandmother’s funeral. But both my grandmothers were alive, and I lied to cover up my hurt. We both laughed and she one-upped me by saying in my defense that my grandmother was really hot. Each syllable was like a dagger, and now I had the weekend to think over what I was going to do.

“Are you okay?” Yvonne’s voice snapped me out of my trance.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” I pulled out my phone and started entering in her number.

“You’re gonna call me, right?” She smiled.

“Definitely, even though I have no idea why you would want me to.” I showed my phone to her with the information and she nodded.

“You need to stop that self deprecating shit. It’s kind of a bummer.” She shook her head.

“Sorry. I’ll try to have a less depressing attitude after I shave.”

“You better.” She slapped the side of my door, smiled and walked away. The way her hips swayed in those coveralls made me wonder what God I blew in some alternate universe to be so lucky.

The curlicues were what struck me first. Each number was an inexplicable tapestry of swirls and winky emoticons. These ten digits were my key to unlocking the mystery of this fallen angel. It would allow me to unravel what she could possibly see in someone like me. The only thing I knew was that Chance was going to want to commit seppuku once he found out that I got her number.

“Fucking bullshit! You didn’t get her number, dude. That shit has three extra digits.” Chance threw the paper back at my face. Then he looked down at the product an elderly customer placed on the counter. The old man shook his head, his jowls quivering. Chance paid the man no mind, and finished the transaction. My best friend was a master of couthness, discretion and tact; he was also an idiot.

“It doesn’t have three extra digits. It’s real.” I placed the number back in my wallet and tipped my head to the side.

“Whatever, man. It’s not like you going to get anywhere with her. You just look like free dinner and drinks.” He wiped his hands across his goatee.

“Damn. That hurts.”

He leaned against the wall next to me and patted me on the shoulder. “Just telling it like it is.”

“Fuck you. I must have some kind of shot, otherwise she wouldn’t have given me her number.” I slide down the wall and pushed my knees into my chest.

“I don’t know, dude. I think you’re just a free lunch. I mean, why would she want you when she could have me.” He flexed his right bicep to add emphasis.

My childhood home was basically the same suburban town house that existed everywhere on earth at the same time, a Xeroxed thing copied over and over ad infinitum until the entire suburban sprawl of the America looked like the same beige plaster with a brownish roof. The only thing that varied from suburb to suburb was how often the gate code changed. I remembered when my Mom signed the contract for the place, a few years after my father split. I was seven when we moved out of the one bedroom apartment in Fountain Valley that we lived in at the time. She told me that I was going to a brand new school and I would have so many new friends. The move was fine by me because I didn’t have any friends at the time. I was the weird kid at school. It was when I started second grade that I met Chance, and we’ve been heterosexual life mates ever since.

My mother was sitting at the dinner table working on her school-issued laptop, a cheap, but efficient model of Dell that the school district got a break on for buying more than a hundred. If anything ever went wrong she called on me to fix it. I thought that was half the reason she allowed me to come back home. She smiled tentatively, the corners of her mouth wrinkling. I sat down at a chair to her left, watching her work for a while. She didn’t say anything and I was content to let the silence pervade the dining room. However, the small moments in life never last.

Her fingers stopped frantically jumping around the keyboard and the symphony of keystrokes ceased. “How was your first day of work?”

I licked my lips leaning back in my chair. “It was work.”

My mother shook her head. “Obviously, it was work. Don’t give me that snark. Is the job difficult?”

I shrugged. “I made a few deliveries. A monkey could do my job.”

“Then they picked the right man for the job.” She leaned over the table and tugged on my beard.

“Hilarious… Mainly I just stood around watching Chance ring up customers.”

She laughed and started typing again. “Basically you found a way to get paid for hanging out with your friend.”

I cracked my knuckles. “It’s not like that. Today was slow.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s good that you’re out of the house.”

“Yeah…because my getting out of the house is all that means anything nowadays.”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you meet any interesting customers today?”

Yvonne’s face flashed in my mind. I shook my head. “I’m going to head to my room.” I got up and walked out of the dining room.

When I moved up north, I left in a hurry and only managed to grab a few books, DVDs and small amount of clothes. I expected my mom to turn it into an office after I told her I was leaving. Imagine my surprise when I turned up broken at her doorstep and found my room exactly as I had left it. It was a shrine to someone who perpetually sixteen years old. Old videogame and hiphop posters hung on the wall with anime wall scrolls swaying in-between them. My dresser was still chipped with band names I etched in them when I was thirteen. Comic book figurines lined the shelves on my desk and books sprawled all over the floor. It even smelled as I had left it of cum stains and aloe vera, but mustier.

The room hadn’t changed much since I moved back in; there were a few more stacks of novels and comic books. I bought an overly expensive and flashy HDTV; or rather, my mother bought it for me out of pity. The PS3 was entirely on my dime, even if I did have to sell a bit of blood and semen to pay for it. Otherwise, I was back in my room that was the wet dream of my sixteen year-old self. I just hoped that if I ever bring Yvonne back her that she loved Organized Konfusion and Metal Gear Solid.

I laid down on my bed and pulled my cell phone from my pocket. The gloss of the screen reflected back my haggard face and I realized that with my beard I looked like an alternative Grizzly Adams. My reflection grimaced at me and I sat my phone down on the comforter. I had to do something about this nest of gnarled hairs on my face.

The lights in my bathroom always took forever to turn on. As I waited for each of the Hollywood style lights to flicker on, I stood in my undershirt facing the doublewide mirror. My beard was a tapestry of swirls, like a six-year old’s attempt to paint Van Gogh’s Starry Night. I hated shaving, honestly.

Every now and again though it proved to be too itchy or too hot and I had to shave it off. The cap on the razor fell into the sink as I popped it off. White foam poured into my palm like a fluffy waterfall. The supermarket quality lather was cool on my face, and spread like margarine on a piece of burnt toast. I started by shaving out some muttonchops and pretended like I was gunning down Andrew Jackson. Then I carved out a Hogan moustache trying to rip open my undershirt. Next, I pared down to a Hitler and acted like the Tramp. Finally, I shaved it all off, and I was baby smooth.

When I got back to my room, I took my cell phone from my pocket and I was ready to make the call, but then I noticed that I had no bars. Fucking iPhone, it’d be nice if I could make a call inside considering I pay so much a month for service. I slipped on my shoes and walked downstairs taking careful measures to sneak past my Mom. Outside, a stiff gust of Santa Anas slammed against me. I pulled up Yvonne’s contact information and stared a long time at the numbers. Then I stopped being a pussy and made the call. It rang full three times, I started to bite the finger nail on my index finger when the fourth ring started. I feared she wouldn’t take my call and it was all a horrible joke, but before the fifth ring, she answered.

“Hello.” Her voice was silk and velvet pouring out of the speaker.

“Hey Yvonne.” I threw my free hand over my elbow.

“Who is this?”

“This is Occam, we met earlier. I dropped off your parts.” I held my hand over the receiver and winced.

“Mr. Long Story, I’m glad you called. I thought you might pussy out.”

I wiped my hand across my face. “Heh, yeah, I wouldn’t do that.”

“And you didn’t. That’s good. So, what’s up?”

The moon was large in the night sky and I stared it for a second. “Nothing much. Just on the phone.” Fucking stupid.

“What a coincidence, so am I. We have so much in common. I know we just met, but will you marry me?”

I laughed. “I don’t know. It’s so sudden. I don’t want you to think I’m that type of girl. How about I buy you a drink first.”

I could feel her smile ooze through the receiver. “And the boy finally gets a clue. I’d love to have you buy me many neon drinks. What’re you doing right now?”

I scratched my head. “Now?”

“Yes, right now. This very moment. I mean except for talking on a phone.”

“Nothing.” My shoes were starting to fall apart; I should probably buy some new ones soon.

“Wonderful. Do you know where the District is?”

“It’s in the Orange Circle, on Chapman, right?”

“You’re on a roll. I may just have to give you a prize.”

“Promise?”

“Now don’t go getting saucy. We only just met.”

“Sorry.”

Her laugh curdled into my ear. “I’m fucking with you. I hope you get real saucy by the end of the night. Meet me at the District in an hour.”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, I know. It sounds real good.” The last sentence was all seduction and innuendo.

Don’t fuck this up, Occam.

Plus, an unfinished scene that I haven’t worked in yet.

“So,” she stops to knock back her shot, “What’s your story? Did your dog die of AIDs or something recently?”

“I don’t even have a dog.”

“Then why the fuck did you look so sad in your car today?”

“I didn’t look sad? I was thinking.”

“Shit, dude, it looked like you were thinking about killing yourself…or cheese. I kind of look that way when I’m thinking about cheese.”

“Nah, I wasn’t thinking about killing myself with cheese.”

She laughs, it’s a deep and full body laugh. It’s one of those laughs that should come from having diabetes and a thick handlebar mustache.  Her smile is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, it’s like something a hipster would film in black-and-white then throw some vaguely poetic cliché over. I love the way her lips slowly recede over her teeth and how her top lip pauses for a moment at her slightly askew right canine tooth. The corners of her mouth curl near her dimples.

“Alright, so then what’s your deal?”

“What the fuck do you mean, what’s my deal? Like if I sold my soul to the devil to look so ruggedly handsome?”

“Well, I was wondering, but no. What did you do to end up delivering car parts?”

“Chalk that one up to a series of bad life choices.”

Her eyebrows shoot up and I can smell the heady aroma of her perfume as she leans into me. She smells like spiced apples and crushed velvet. “Oh, do tell.”

“Fuck, where do I begin? The fuck am I saying? It starts how these things always begin with a girl.”

“That bitch!”

“Aye. So, I chase this girl up north to some little college town where I got accepted to the University there. It was chasing in the most convenient sense. You know how it is when you first fall for someone? You think it’s going to last forever or at least until graduation…but then you move in together and things get all fucked up. Whatever, I guess I don’t have anyone to blame but myself. The break down eventually leads to break up and next thing you know you’re getting high in your car working for fucking Auto Mission.”

“That’s fucked up. So, what’d you go to college for?”

“Acting, but I wasn’t any good, so it doesn’t matter. I spent most of my time learning to play guitar. Figured I’d learn an instrument that could actually get you laid.”

“As opposed to what?”

“The fucking trombone, the least sexy instrument ever. I play one note of that thing and you’re pussy would seize up from how dry it’d get.”

“Have you seen Treme? Seems to do pretty well for that dude on there.”

“Yeah, but when you’re as charming as the fucking Bunk then you could play a glockenspiel and get pussy. Fuck if I was half as charming as that motherfucker, I wouldn’t need an affectation to get women.”

“Well, you’re not half bad, so there’s that.”

“Enough about my pathetic life, what about you?”

“You already know that my Dad owns the shop, right?”

I nodded.

“Of course you fucking do.”

“Sorry, Chance told me.”
“Chance has a big fucking mouth.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Back in high school, he managed to talk Tammy Pinsky to let him finger her beneath the bleachers during gym, and guess what this fuckhead goes and does?  Next period in Algebra he sits next to me and shoves his fingers in my face. The fucker didn’t even wash. By the end of the period, he’s done that to every guy in the class and is telling everyone that he fingerbanged Tammy.”

“Sounds like something he would do. What a dick.”

“No kidding, but after that my man had to invest some serious money into Jergans. That was until Jordan Palmer got caught blowing his dog over summer break then everyone forgot what an asshole he was.”

“Like you can ever forget something like that?”

“High school is fucked like that.”

“Tell me about…”

“Why Yvonne, did you have a bit of a reputation?”

“Fuck you.”