Currently untitled, part 2
*Yes, I realize that it switches to a first person point of view. That's what it'll be for Wilshire's account of what's happened. Deal with it.*
It all started out with Joe, a perfectly average guy. Well, almost perfectly average. More like he was as average as you could be without drawing attention to your averageness. His girlfriend had left him hurting bad on the curbside. I caught a glimpse of him as I zoomed by in my Lexus. I didn’t think much of it then. His girlfriend kicked him out every few weeks, and usually to the curbside. It was a full twenty feet from his front door to the curb, but she could kick pretty hard. He was hurting bad, but I figured he’d be okay in the end, so I just went about my business and let him be.
Two days later, on my way to pick up some frozen yogurt at the store, I saw him again. Same place, same position, same pain. Poor bastard hadn’t moved a muscle in forty-eight hours. I felt so sorry for him that I almost stopped. By the next day, he had managed to move his head a little and stared at me with those hurt puppy dog eyes when I was driving by on my way back from the store. The best frozen yogurt is only carried out of state.
It had been an interesting trip. As usual, when I got into the store, I just had to look around a little. It wasn’t the type of place you would expect to find in the middle of a big city. Sure, there were some odd stores in China Town, but nothing quite compared to the absolute absurdity of this dusty, mildewy corner store. I didn’t quite find what I needed at first. The dried, shriveled monkey heads and magical knives had been moved to where the frozen yogurt had been on my previous visit.
The clerk regarded me with a friendly smile as I approached. He recognized me as the frozen yogurt guy, as if I was the only person in the world who ever stopped by from out of state just to get frozen yogurt and then go back home. He was whittling away at a small piece of wood, and it looked as if he was making some kind of flute or whistle, since he had hollowed most of it out. Small curls and shavings of wood formed a small pile on his counter.
“Hello, Mr. Wilshire. What can we do you for today?”
I thought for a moment before replying. “Forty eight bucks minimum. But I’m looking for the frozen yogurt.”
The man chuckled. “Well, that’s a damn fine coincidence. You see, we sell frozen yogurt.”
“Yes, I know, but it used to be where the monkey heads are now.”
The man stroked his chin, twisting a few strands of his long, white beard around his index finger. His eyes grew wider and he looked into the distance toward his left, sighing deeply. “Yes, the location of such things had troubled us for a while. It seems as though the health department has problems with the monkey hair getting into the yogurt. We moved it into the cooler with the embalming fluids.” The distant look faded from his eyes and he smiled again. “We added an extra ingredient, you know.”
“Really? Is it newer than the oregano? Because that was a fantastic addition.”
His eyes brightened. “Actually, it’s-” He paused for a moment. “Yes, it’s the oregano.” He was visibly disheartened that I already knew. I thanked him and meandered toward the coolers in the rear of the store. Past the corpse wrappings, around the corner and - an empty freezer. Upon closer inspection, there was a bit of greenish goo at the bottom, but no frozen yogurt.
It all started out with Joe, a perfectly average guy. Well, almost perfectly average. More like he was as average as you could be without drawing attention to your averageness. His girlfriend had left him hurting bad on the curbside. I caught a glimpse of him as I zoomed by in my Lexus. I didn’t think much of it then. His girlfriend kicked him out every few weeks, and usually to the curbside. It was a full twenty feet from his front door to the curb, but she could kick pretty hard. He was hurting bad, but I figured he’d be okay in the end, so I just went about my business and let him be.
Two days later, on my way to pick up some frozen yogurt at the store, I saw him again. Same place, same position, same pain. Poor bastard hadn’t moved a muscle in forty-eight hours. I felt so sorry for him that I almost stopped. By the next day, he had managed to move his head a little and stared at me with those hurt puppy dog eyes when I was driving by on my way back from the store. The best frozen yogurt is only carried out of state.
It had been an interesting trip. As usual, when I got into the store, I just had to look around a little. It wasn’t the type of place you would expect to find in the middle of a big city. Sure, there were some odd stores in China Town, but nothing quite compared to the absolute absurdity of this dusty, mildewy corner store. I didn’t quite find what I needed at first. The dried, shriveled monkey heads and magical knives had been moved to where the frozen yogurt had been on my previous visit.
The clerk regarded me with a friendly smile as I approached. He recognized me as the frozen yogurt guy, as if I was the only person in the world who ever stopped by from out of state just to get frozen yogurt and then go back home. He was whittling away at a small piece of wood, and it looked as if he was making some kind of flute or whistle, since he had hollowed most of it out. Small curls and shavings of wood formed a small pile on his counter.
“Hello, Mr. Wilshire. What can we do you for today?”
I thought for a moment before replying. “Forty eight bucks minimum. But I’m looking for the frozen yogurt.”
The man chuckled. “Well, that’s a damn fine coincidence. You see, we sell frozen yogurt.”
“Yes, I know, but it used to be where the monkey heads are now.”
The man stroked his chin, twisting a few strands of his long, white beard around his index finger. His eyes grew wider and he looked into the distance toward his left, sighing deeply. “Yes, the location of such things had troubled us for a while. It seems as though the health department has problems with the monkey hair getting into the yogurt. We moved it into the cooler with the embalming fluids.” The distant look faded from his eyes and he smiled again. “We added an extra ingredient, you know.”
“Really? Is it newer than the oregano? Because that was a fantastic addition.”
His eyes brightened. “Actually, it’s-” He paused for a moment. “Yes, it’s the oregano.” He was visibly disheartened that I already knew. I thanked him and meandered toward the coolers in the rear of the store. Past the corpse wrappings, around the corner and - an empty freezer. Upon closer inspection, there was a bit of greenish goo at the bottom, but no frozen yogurt.