"I have eaten your last bagel," Kelly announced in a voice much
louder than necessary. His swagger as he entered the living room
was as loud and pronounced as he must have imagined his cock was,
his groin being the focus of his exaggerated method of locomotion.
"And there's really fuck all you can do about it," he said, picking
a poppy-seed - my fucking poppy-seed - from between his teeth as
he settled into the Lazy-Boy. He found the remote on the coffee
table and began flipping channels.
"I'm watching the soccer game, Kelly."
"Nah. That shit is boring. No one ever scores. Any baseball on?
"I'm watching the soccer game."
"Football, maybe?" Kelly wrinkled his forehead as he considered
this possibility. Normally I'd have found that cute. Right now I
just wanted to choke the bastard.
"Drink," he muttered looking around him before standing, and swaggering
towards the kitchen, his ass straining attractively against blue
jeans so faded they were nearly white. He returned with what looked
like a draft mug full of Guinness.
"Would have got you one," he smiled, "but this was the last one
I could find." Still smiling. I imagined bludgeoning him to death
with the receiver of the phone, wrapping the cord around his muscled
"You got any weed? We should smoke a bowl or something." He sat
on the couch beside me as he offered this suggestion. Kelly smiled
and ruffled my hair with large and calloused fingers.
"Yeah." I smiled. "It's in the bedroom." I nodded in the appropriate
direction, as if Kelly wasn't aware of the layout, and might need
some guidance or encouragement. He grinned as if in agreement, but
when I got to the bedroom I was alone and there was nothing to do
but root through my backpack, several pairs of pants and my desk,
looking for the half-ounce I bought that morning.
* * * * *
Day 10 | Kelly
Home | Day 12