The following excerpt occurs during my journey. If one finds themselves confused from Excerpt 1 to #2– good, that is the point. This is just a glimpse, a teaser, to gain both the attention and desire to read “Book 1.” Don’t worry, it is coming.
In the meantime, enjoy excerpt #2, the set up for this scene is a restaurant. Short story even shorter, the main character (yours truly) finds himself confronted by a giant old dude that is demanding his breakfast to be paid for because, “You’re sitting in my seat, buddy.”
PS, after you read this partial scene, don’t worry if you find yourself saying, “WTF!” Yours truly will not leave you hanging. You can expect excerpt #3 to fill you in on the remainder of this particular scene. Oh, it will also be coming almost immediately after #2, so your eagerness does not fade. Hell, if you want– stop reading now and just wait for #3 to come out, read ’em both together.
As a reminder, this site is a “click bait” site– so, if you see something remotely interesting by all means, feel free to click it– that would be cool. However, don’t click too many times or else.
PPS, if you ever start a page, if you have any other options besides Google click bait, take it. Just my opinion, but a “partnership” with Google, kinda sucks, but neither here nor there. Now, this:
Curiously, I ask, “What do you mean that it ‘makes sense’ that I was not in there that long? I don’t know what that means, bro.”
“Well, I mean most faggots don’t spend much time in the bathroom taking shits. It just falls out because of all that homosexual butt poundings,” Sam explained.
I reply, “I’m not gay, but I don’t think that’s true. But enough with that.”
As I see the waitress coming with a tray of Sam’s food, I simply state, “Here comes your food.”
The waitress begins placing an abundance of various plates of food before Sam.
She looks at me and says, “I will go get your coffee, sir.”
Before turning to walk back to get the coffee, she tells Sam, “Sir, let me know when you’re ready for the rest of your food. We didn’t want it to get cold. So just let me know and we’ll have it cooked up and out here when you need it. Okay, sir?”
Half-surprised, I inquisitively ask, “Dang, Sam. How much food did you get, man?”
Sam belts out an extended laugh of self-admiration before saying, “I set you back a few bucks, buddy. That’s what you get for sitting in people’s tables in these parts.” Another wave of self-admiring laughter rolls out of the old giant.
As my coffee arrives, I ask Sam, “Hey, tell me about being a Marine, dude. Did you go to ‘Nam, man? Did you kill anybody?”
“No, buddy. I don’t want to talk about that stuff,” Sam said in an uncomfortable voice.
Not accepting this answer and a hyper-peaked desire to know, I passionately urge, “Come on, man. I gotta know. Plus, I just bought your breakfast. You have to tell me something.”
A sight of glum came across Sam’s face as he briefly stopped eating before offering in a soft whimper, “No, buddy. I got nothing to say.”
The sight of Sam’s glumness mixed with his cracking voice only served to encourage my questioning, I smelled blood when asking, “Well, at least tell me what your job was, Sam. At least tell me that much, bro.”
“Told you, I was, am a Marine. Once a Marine, always one, buddy,” Sam offered with a sense of relief as if he had effectively dodged my line of questioning.
Nowhere near satisfied with Sam’s response, my direct and purposeful retort was, “Yeah, I know. However, what was your MOS? You know Military Occupation Specialty? What was your job? What did you actually do?”
Driven back in his shell but digging deep to find false confidence, Sam said, “I was a Marine, just a Marine, buddy.”
The realization that wasting all day talking to Sam was not on my list of goals, plus too much time was already wasted on this clown, it became apparent that a change of tone was necessary.
Thus, it was now my turn to falsely pretend a sympathetic and reassuring tone, as I replied, “It’s ok, dude. Look, it’s not like it matters. I mean, are we friends? Are we ever going to see each other again? Probably no to both, bro. So, it’s ok just to answer the question because it doesn’t matter.”
And then I changed my tone to encourage Sam to feel emboldened and to help me out of this unwanted conversation as I asked, “Besides, who am I? And what does it matter what I think anyway? I’ll tell you what, man. If you tell me your Marine story, then I won’t say one more word about it. In fact, I will get up, go over to pay the bill, leave the tip, and leave you to finish eating in peace. How’s that sound to you, Sam?”
A glow grew in Sam’s eyes as if he had succeeded in a great bank caper and was about to successfully escape his crime, Sam said, “Sure, buddy.”
Sensing that Sam might agree but then fail to answer honestly, I interposed, “But, here’s the catch, Sam. If I think you’re bullshitting or lying to me then not only will I stay here until you finish eating. I also won’t pay for your food. If you don’t like it, then fuck you, Sam. We can fight over it and then we can explain everything to the cops. So, what’s it going to be Sam?”
The glow immediately fell out of Sam’s eyes, the look on his face seemed to express a legitimate shell-shock from my boldness, Sam muttered, “Ok, buddy.”