Joe THE HITMAN Pini

http://soothslayer.tumblr.com/
twice how it is, you know?

Hello, Live Journal. I've been busy.
I got my grades for my first semester of Graduate School: straight A's.
My first time ever! But I worked hard, so I guess I deserve it.

Now I've got a break from school and a short break from work.
What to do with my time? I've done so much writing this semester
I feel like maybe doing something else... music? We'll see.
In the meantime I have been listening to a lot of music, my first
true love.

Here's a video for OutKast's Rooster:


Ok, I guess Andre is absent from this vid, but Speakerboxxx/Love Below
is a fantastic double CD. I do love OutKast.

One of my cat's is having trouble breathing. It is long and complicated and full of medical terminology but she sometimes struggles for air, though she is getting much better now.

I feel like I can identify with that. School and work and school and work have been weighing heavily on me, making it hard to breath. Trista helps me through each day and I love her for that. My cats give me simple but effective happiness.

I have to keep reminding myself there is an end in sight. Only four more weeks of school left this semester. I still have a lot to do but I will survive. There is an end in sight to my school as well. I am working hard and I will be done in no time so long as I keep up my hard work.

I've finished typing up my assignment for one class and now I go off to another -short one at least. Keep my fingers crossed and my head up. Keep breathing like that cute, strong little kitty.

yesterday was bittersweet.

one of my cats is sick and that has made me depressed. perhaps i grow too fond of animals. part of me feels so stupid for feeling so sad for Gwen. i just don't want her to suffer at all. I would pay whatever i have to to make her well, honestly. i never thought i'd be the type to shell out a lot of money over a sick animal. of course then, the most loving little ball of fur in the world gets a cough and suddenly there's nothing I wouldn't do for her. Trista is naturally upset over this, too. she has her own, very vaild, very good reasons, too. I think i identify with gwen as we were both once strangers to the condo and it took some time to warm up. but now the place is our home. Penny, my other cat, is the same way, but she is too young to be so affectionate. Gwen is a perfect pet to me and i can't help but cry a little. i just want her to be ok. i will do anything I can to make sure of it. i think the scariest thing right now is the uncertainty. she is still very young. i know i haven't written in a while but i felt compelled to, out of love. it is just on my mind and i know i wont be able to just shake it. i love that little cat.

https://www.sos.mo.gov/firstvote/students/request.asp

Here's the deal. I've started a writing blog so as to leave regular journal entries to my Live Journal. From now on I will be posting regularly at joepini.blogspot.com
thank you for your support!

by joe pini

That you are reading this is an indication that the events that follow are untrue. What happens through the course of this story pertains precisely to the acts of reading and writing, abstractions like words and letters, and concrete things like paper and binding. The events of this story might still happen because I cannot tell the future, and do not know how things are going to pan out. As you read this, should things ring familiar or hit too close to home, then please set this story aside and decide your next course of action.

Reading a book – any book – might seem like a harmless activity but only because we are so familiar with it. Written word is older than you and will be around longer than you because chances are there will be something written on your headstone. Should you be so lucky to be the sole surviving human in the universe and have no headstone prepared, then perhaps it is all for the best. Treat this activity with some reverence because you are very lucky to be doing it at all.
On the evening of his 27th birthday, Jack was not feeling at all lucky to be reading. Having fallen on hard economic times, Jack picked up a second second job, that is to say a third job, to his full time job. 40 hours a week at The Mixing Bowl and 20 hours at the movie theatre were not enough to cover his credit card monthly payments. His new job at Koffee Shoppe gave him the last few dollars an hour each week to break even. So long as he had no unexpected expenses, he would be able to get by for the next three months until his debts were paid.

So there he was, tired and staring blankly at a chart on the wall in front of him, instructing him how to put together a cheddar club sandwich. He could not focus on the words in front of him. There was something about cheddar, something in Spanish then something about white bread, something in Spanish. He was unhappy with his jobs and hated what he was doing with his life. He figured if he could get out of debt, then life would start to get easier. He could not live knowing he had $15,000 in credit card debt not to mention late fees and interest rates and – oh yes, the cheddar club. Coming right up. What comes after the turkey? What is queso? When is the last time we had a Mexican cook here? But $15k? Those three months of unemployment were killer. He could have kept looking for a high paying job but it got to the point where he needed money and fast. He took on one job then another, then another. Before you knew it, he was working 70 hours every week and the only plus side he saw was that he never had time to spend his hard earned money on something besides bills – which is what he would probably do. He didn’t even have time to spend money if he had the money to spend. What a wonderful birthday.

Once upon a time there was a man with one million dollars – Bruce Wayne! He lived in Gotham City. Nobody knew this, but he was a superhero named Batman. He would only dress up as Batman at nighttime. When he did he looked for bad guys.

Bad guys are easy to spot. They steal things from buildings and put them into their getaway vans. Sometimes they kill people. Sometimes they kidnap kids. Bad guys do this at night so no one sees them but Batman does because remember I said Bruce Wayne would dress up as Batman at night to look for bad guys.

And he found them! Sometimes that bad guys were really dangerous. They were easy to spot because they wore funny costumes or had funny names like The Joker who was a clown and The Penguin who was a penguin. When Batman found those bad guys he put them in a special jail called Arkham Asylum. The they would get out and Batman would find them again!

One night it was a nice night and Batman found two robbers, three murderers, and two drug users. He put them all in jail. Then there was a laugh behind him Batman turned around and he saw who it was. It was The Riddler. The Riddler told riddles to stop Batman like: What cheese is made backwards?

Batman could not go arrest The Riddler until he solved it! Batman thought about it. He knew this was a riddle and not a regular question so Batman thought literally. Was there a cheese called ‘eseehc’? That would be the word ‘cheese’ spelled backward. That did not make sense. Then he thought what if the word ‘made’ backwards was a type of cheese. He found a pencil and wrote it down: ‘edam’. That did make sense! Edam is a type of cheese!

He went and found The Riddler and said “I know the answer! It is edam cheese. It is ‘made’ backwards!” The Riddler got sad because he knew he had to go to jail. Then Batman brought him there.

Another exciting night come and gone for Batman. His life was not an easy one but he knew it was his duty to keep the city safe from criminals. He went home and took off his clothes that made him look like a bat and then he went to bed. He would need rest because tomorrow was his birthday.

Mona could not concentrate with all of the road construction outside of her window. Granted, she was on the third floor of the building and so closer to the street than, say, the sixteenth or twentieth floors, but she thought the machines were unnecessarily loud today. She tried to focus on the forms on her desk. The pages were blank and supposed to be turned in within the hour. She had spent thirty minutes on them so far but still the pages were blank. She managed to fill out the client’s name but when she got to contact information RATATATATATATATATATATATA-BZZZZZZZZZZ-CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK RATATATATATATATATA-BZZZZ-BZZZZZZZ until she couldn’t take it any more. She gave an aggravated “Yeargh!” and threw the pen from her hands. She burst through her office door and marched through the lobby.

Her secretary tried to catch her, “Mona, I got a message from a man looking to-“

“Not now, Linda.”

“Where are you going?”

“I cannot work with all of this racket. They are working outside of my office and I cannot focus.”

She never stopped and before Linda could reply, Mona was in the elevator and storming through the lobby. When she reached the door to the building, she could see three men in hard hats standing around, laughing and drinking coffee.

“Is there any possible way you fellows could finish this at night? Or before the rest of us get our days started?”

The men were speechlessly caught off guard.

“Or could you at least do it a little quicker? And quieter?”

“Look lady,” the foreman in a blue hardhat started.

“No. No, do not look-lady me. I am trying very hard to work, just like you except that my work does not keep you from doing your work. So in pursuit of fairness I have come down here to bother you during your work. Which doesn’t look like much as the three of you are doing very little while those two men over there are doing all of the RATATAING and BZZZING.”

“M’am, I’m sorry if it seems a little loud to you. There’s not much we can do. We’re trying to let you work as peacefully as possible,” said one of the workers.

The third chimed in, “And I don’t know if you want us to hurry. That might not turn out so well. For you I mean.”

Mona gasped, “Is that some kind of threat?!”

The foreman chimed in again, “No, m’am, you don’t understand. Not only will there be a lot more noise if all five of us were working the machines, but also we’d be done quicker with, you know, the road.”

Mona fumed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lady, do you have any idea what we’re doing out here?”

Mona looked around. They were tearing up a lane in the road. Concrete blocks were strewn about. There were trucks with big concrete slabs and pillars. A wrecking ball. They had the entire city block sectioned off so that traffic could only go through one way in one lane. Whatever they were doing it was a huge project.

Mona calmed down a little bit. “You are fixing the road or something like that. Sewers work?” The man on the crane and the man with the jackhammer saw what was going on and they stopped. They gave each other a look and stepped away from their machinery to join the others.

“M’am, we are building an exit ramp.”

Mona was confused. “To what?”

“Highway 56.”

“But that is impossible. The highway is on the other side of this block. You’re on the wrong side of the building.”

“No, m’am. The ramp is going through the middle of your building. Right through the third floor. Through that corner.” The foreman pointed up.

Mona shrieked “That is my office!”

“Yeah, see, we were taking things slow so as not to rush you out of your office. We wanted to give you some time to finish some stuff up.”

“How can you make a road go through a building? Are you kidding me?!”

The foreman showed her the blueprints. Sure enough the ramp went straight through the building, eliminating most of the third and fourth floors, starting with Mona’s office. The ramp then curved around the block and met up with Highway 56 on the other side.

“This is insane! This is impossible,” Mona cried at the sheer ridiculousness of the matter.

The foreman responded, “Makes sense to me,” and pointed to the project’s name at the top: Highway56/Mona’s A Raging Bitch Bypass.

TO BE CONTINUED

short story
by joe pini

Don't invite Oliver Madison. No, I'm serious. If you invite that guy I am not coming along. I don't care if it's Jessica's birthday, I won't come. You just met the guy last week. Don't invite him. Trust me. You wouldn't believe me. Just don't. Ok, that was one evening at a bar, you have not spent considerable lengths of time with this guy. Dave's house doesn't count - we were there for like ten minutes. I don't care how many shots you guys did at the bar last week, don't invite him! I'm not fucking around. Yeah, he's not my friend but I have spent a lot of time with him. We used to work at McCallister's together. Yeah with A.J., that's how A.J. knows him. Invite A.J. but do not invite Oliver. He will kill your party, man. I'm just saying. You won't believe me if I tell you. You need to see it yourself. Just not at Jessica's party, please. I swear to fucking god I will not come. Ok, fine.

But it sounds fucked up. I'm not kidding here. Yeah, I know you think the guy is a riot but he's got a bad habit. He tells Christmas jokes. I said he tells Christmas jokes. Jokes about Christmas. Yeah, see, he told you that story last week didn't he? The one about when he was six and his parents put that coal in his stocking? Yeah, yeah, and the barbeque, yadda yadda yadda. Good story and all. But you laughed, didn't you? You showed interest, right? There you go, fucked. You opened a door that you won't close. I told you, he tells Christmas jokes. That's all he does. No, I'm not talking Knock-Knock-What's-Up? jokes. I mean like all his stories. All his laughs. This guy is obsessed with Christmas. When we worked at McCallister's in the dishroom, he would pick up a tray of mugs and as he walked they would jingle, right? So every time he would go "Jingle bells, jingle bells, la la la la la". Every time. If he has something to give to you, like a stack of dishes or paycheck, whatever, he bellows "Merry Christmas! Ho ho ho!"

It drives me fucking insane. It's like Christmas is the only thing he associates with anything. Like he doesn't dress in red and green, no, no. But like when you see something and you think "Oh that reminds me of something on One Tree Hill." He's like, "Oh that reminds me of evergreen trees. With lights on them." Yeah, you see what I'm saying. His sense of humor is based on Christmas. It's fucked up. I've never seen anything like it. Like you can't avoid it. You see, like, eight cars at a stoplight. He will chuckle under his breath "What to my wondering eyes should appear?" I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about at first but- yeah! Yeah! Exactly fucking Night Before Christmas and shit.

Want to know the fucked up thing? I don't think he knows he's doing it. Or at least that it's out of place. I don't think he's crazy. I just think he has a shitty sense of humor. See why I won't come now? I am warning you. Unless you want fucking eggnog jokes at Jessica's party, man, don't invite Oliver Madison.

by joe pini

Screaming Hands was sad and solemn. Cell mate's eyes bore through his head. Often wished he'd just died trying. Hated living with regrets. Should have been a murder/suicide. Only got half the job done. Cell mate's eyes bore through his head. Wouldn't look up to confirm it but he felt it. Cell mate didn't take kindly to killing young women. Cell mate killed his father who would beat his mother. Screaming Hands was sorry he got cold feet. Always had a hard time finishing jobs. Wouldn't be here if he did himself first. She would have suffered his death. Screaming Hands suffers her death, his failure, and his capture. Screaming Hands suffers cell mate. Shouldn't have been so merciful. Should have thought it out better. Wasn't supposed to be caught. Wasn't supposed to be alive. Supposed to be two bodies. First night, didn't eat anything. Cell mate finished his supper for him. Second night said things in his sleep. Cell mate's been boring holes ever since. Cell mate might finish the job. Two bodies was the plan. Chicken shit couldn't finish it. Was going to be romantic. Was going to be exciting. Was going to be in the papers. They loved each other. Chicken shit choked her, screaming. His screaming hands made her quiet. Can't choke yourself to death, Screaming Hands. Didn't think that one through. Cell mate's boring holes. Knows now because he looked up. Didn't think things through, fella. Cell mate's gonna have to finish the job.

a short story by Joe Pini

Jarvis peered out the window. He had been lying in wait for over an hour. He was nervous. There was a lot at stake. The cold steel gun in his hand did not make him feel safe. It just reminded him of the danger he was about to face. He saw a car pull up to the building across the street. Several men got out of the car and entered the warehouse. It was time for Jarvis to make his move.

He stood up from where he was sitting, near the window on the fourth floor of a building that used to be a post office across the street from a building that once was a warehouse. The wall and floor he had been seated against was uncomfortable and dusty. There was a nail next to where he sat. He groaned and his legs were stiff. He used his left hand to push his body off the floor and then bent his left knee to support his weight from underneath. His right hand held the gun but raised to the window sill to help pull himself up. He shuffled his feet and was suddenly no longer sitting. He was standing. The room he was in was about 14' x 18' and the door was directly across from him towards the center of the building. The room was perfectly rectangular. To get to the door, Jarvis put one foot in front of his body until his weight shifted onto that foot (mostly but not completely). When that was finished, he did the same with the other foot until his body moved forward. He continued this motion until he was to the door directly across from him. Usually he would have had to stretch his arm out to the handle on the door and turn it so that a mechanism would allow the door to swing open. He didn't have to, though. The door was already opened. He wasn't surprised though. It was he that opened it.

Immediately outside of the door was a hallway. He proceeded down the hallway until he came to a door which was not opened. He outstretched his arm to the handle and opened the door. On the other side of the door was just what Jarvis had expected: a set of stairs. He knew it would be there for two reasons. First, it was a stairwell and second, he had come up that flight of stairs to get to the fourth floor of the building where he had been lying in wait. He had to be careful putting one foot in front of the other going down these steps as the surface in front of him dropped in elevation every 10 inches. He safely reached the bottom of the stairs without losing balance or stumbling. He moved one foot in front of the other again on flat ground until he reached a door. This one led to an alley on the side of the building that he was in which used to be a post office.

The alley was dry and nondescript. There were no puddles or dirt. It was fairly clean. Jarvis did not see a dumpster or a trash can in the alley. There were no homeless people or cardboard boxes. There were no ladders up to fire escapes or windows into the buildings. None of the walls had graffiti on them. There were cracks in the sidewalk but no grass or weeds sprouted up from in between them. The car might have been wide enough for a car to drive down. Jarvis was not sure. He did not feel the need to check that out since he was certain he would not have to drive a car down the alley. He was correct. He walked through the empty alley until he came to the street.

The building across that same street used to be a warehouse. There was a car parked in front of it. Jarvis recognized it as the car he had seen from the fourth story window of the building to his immediate left. He stepped into the street and walked towards the car. It was a nice car. It was a 2003 Mitsubishi Gallant. Jarvis knew two people who owned similar vehicles. He heard they were reliable and comfortable. There was little chance that this car belonged to either of the two people he knew that owned Mitsubishi Gallants. This one was red and the ones he was familiar with were blue and black. He was not concerned with the car, though, so he continued to move his legs in a walking motion past the car to the building in front of him. He was interested in the four men that pulled up in the 2003 Mitsubishi Gallant. They were inside of the building. When he saw the men he would raise his right hand which held the hand-held gun. He would make sure that it was pointing at one of the men and he would pull the trigger because when that happened, a bullet would come out of the gun and hopefully kill the man it was aimed at. He would continue doing this until all of the men were dead on the ground.

He did just that. He walked in and shot them all. They were dead. One was sort of still alive and shot back. Jarvis threw him through a window. Then Jarvis got in the car and sped off.

Driving on the highway is a whole story in and of itself.

inertia
a short story by joe pini

I was optimistic about buying it. There it was, in the window of the store like always. A little diamond necklace with a silver chain. I passed by the window every day on my way to and from work and I remember the day it was put into the window. It was a Thursday and I had just got out of a meeting. The sky looked like it was going to rain and people were hurrying to the subways and taxis before the sky let loose. I carried an umbrella with me always, even if it only looked like it was going to be cloudy. One can never be too sure and it is better to be safe than sorry. I never stopped to look in the store's window until they set out the necklace. Just as the rain came down I passed by the window. I stopped to open my umbrella but did not continue walking. The sky grew dark and the windows of the buildings glowed. The necklace beamed at me in the sudden darkness. I had never been so entranced by a piece of rock and metal. I stood there a moment as my pant legs got soaked. When I felt it in my socks, I blinked and moved on.

I stopped at the window the next day, making a note before hand to get a good look because I couldn't remember what it looked like. I just remembered being enchanted. It sounds silly I know, but bear with me. The next day it was not raining as much but I still had my umbrella in one hand keeping me dry and my briefcase in the other. It was there again. I was not as entranced and thought I must have just been there at the right moment so that it caught my eye. It was still pretty. I was in love with it still. More so, I was in love with the idea of buying it. For whom, I wasn't sure.

The work days went like that for several weeks. I would pass by the necklace and wonder whose neck it would sit upon one day. Would it make an anniversary present for some trophy wife? On old woman on her 40th anniversary or a young woman on her second anniversary? Would she deserve it? What did she get for her husband? Maybe it would be given to someone's mother. Or a sister. Maybe it wouldn't be given to a woman at all. What kind of spoiled daughter could get that for her birthday present. What if some asshole of a boyfriend bought it as an I'm-Sorry gift when he didn't deserve forgiveness. What if he cheated on his girl? Can a diamond buy that sort of forgiveness? These are the things I would wonder as I walked by it. I wondered if it was worth what the price tag said. Maybe not. If I bought it I would have to take it out of my savings. I saw it week after week with no one to buy it for but I was still optimistic that I might be the one to buy it.

On my way to my office I didn't have time to stop and stare. But on my way home, sometimes, I would take the opportunity. I'd usually have some thought or hypothetical situation for the necklace pop into my head as I went in. Then on the way home I would have the answer or scenario clear in my head having thought about it all day. I would go home, feeling alone sometimes, as I have been. I wouldn't think of it much at home.

Sometimes when I was standing a moment at the window, I would see the faces of people walking by, behind me. I would see their reflections in the glass window. I saw independent women, happy with their careers and lives, either settled down or never willing to settle. This was my necklace and they would never wear it because I would never love any of them enough to buy it for them. I saw a young girl, maybe half my age. She was beautiful and I was sometimes ashamed at thinking of her wearing the necklace. She was stupid. Young girls can be so stupid. They were stupid when I was young and they are stupid now. Naive. Petty. I wouldn't buy it for her. I saw mothers with daughters who probably were never as content with their families as they led on. They were window shopping like me. Once a mother stopped and eyed my necklace. I wanted to tell her to go away. She would never have it because if she had anyone who loved her enough to buy it for her, then it would not be in the store window. She was shopping for hope. She probably didn't deserve it anyway. Sometimes people spend too long wondering when they'll get this or that, never knowing that they won't.

I'm sorry. You must think now I have something against women. No, there were men too. Other men would shop the window and probably imagine what their girlfriends or wives might say or give to them or do to them if they were given such an expensive necklace. I saw a man my age once but he was so ugly he couldn't possibly be with someone. He had no ring and his clothes were a mess. He would never be able to afford my necklace. I saw a man much older than me once, he was on his cellphone talking about his work. This was in the late afternoon and he looked like he never turned off. He probably brought his work home with him every night and his wife resented him for it. He eyed some other jewelry - earrings and rings. Money was certainly no matter for this man, probably a CEO. So why didn't he buy anything for her? Why was he still looking? He could probably buy everything in the window that afternoon. I guess he'd have to get off the phone to make the purchase and that was just out of the question. I could tell where his priorities lay. I saw him a few times after that. Always looking but never going into the store.

Some people just don't deserve each other. They either settle or sell themselves short or they don't know how spoiled they are - how good they got it. They go about their lives each day and take for granted what they have and are jealous about what they do not have. They don't set priorities. Nothing's straight. They don't know how close they really are from living and then dying alone. One fight away. One missed medication away. One poor choice away from living alone, working alone.

There it was, in the window of the store like always. A woman walked buy and stopped at the bus stop. No ring. She looked healthy and pretty. She had dark red hair and green eyes. Why couldn't I meet someone like her? Why couldn't I find a nice girl like that someday? For the first time I only pretended to be looking at the necklace. I stared past it to her reflection behind me. The necklace would look great on her. It would look nice with her eyes. She's the kind of woman I would like to run into some day and start up a conversation, get to know, ask out for coffee. When the bus finally came and she got on, I looked back at the necklace. No worries. It would be there tomorrow. It was mine to buy someday. When I meet a girl like she with the green eyes. I will make her happy by buying her the necklace. When I meet someone like that someday. In the meantime I remain optimistic.


*writer's note: freakishly, as I finished this last paragraph, Radio Head's Optimistic came up on my iTunes. weird.

a short story by Joe Pini

Once upon a time there was a man named Tonythe Tiger and he neither ate nor endorsed cereal. He lived in a house on a hill near a power plant of the nuclear type, where he worked as a maintenance man. After a long work week he enjoyed a Friday to himself, sitting in his home and reading. There was suddenly a knock at the door. He went to that same door (the front door to his house, not a closet or bedroom door inside of his house). "Who is it?" he yelled to the person on the other side of the door (the person or persons who knocked).

"It's your neighbor!" said a voice on the other side. Tonythe peered through the peephole and saw that the person on the other side did in fact look like his neighbor, Mr. Su Garsmacksfrog. But was it? Tonythe could not be certain. He opened the door. It WAS Su. He sighed a sigh of relief.

"What brings you here (his home) to my home?" asked Mr. Tiger.

"Oh, I got some mail accidentally delivered to my house today. Belongs to you," replied Mr. Gasmacksfrog.

"Shame!" exclaimed Tonythe, "That new mailman is terrible."

"I believe the politically correct term is mail-carrier, as not all mail carriers are men, Tonyth."

"Oh, is it a woman?"

"No."

"Ok."

Mr. Gursmacksfrog handed Mr. Tiger a stack of mail. "Wow!" exclaimed Mr. Tonythe Tiger, "That looks like a week's worth of mail!"

"It's not."

"Ok." It was mostly bills and Aldi's coupons. Nothing impressive. "What is the new mail carrier's name?"

"I think it is Capta Incrunch."

"Capta Incrunch? What a name!" said Tonythe Tiger to Su Garsmacksfrog. He figured it was Bolivian. He had never heard as strange a name since he was introduced to his supervisor, Fred Flintstoneofpostfruityandcocoapebbles at the plant (where he worked). Tonythe laughed and bid Mr. Garsmacks a good day. He went back to his newspaper and tossed the Aldi's ads in the garbage. He hated being barraged with advertisements.

a short story by joe pini

Silly cunt. Never knows when to quit. She's lost both her knights, one rook, one bishop, and now she's close to losing her queen. I spent all night reading about strategies on Wikipedia so I could beat her and she has no clue. She's getting restless; I can tell. She's taking her sweet ass time because she knows what's at stake. Damn it I am thirsty again.Is that my glass? Yes. Oh god it looks dirty. I rinsed it out, didn't I? Ugh, maybe it's just the water. I see things in it! Floating. Little things. I don't know. It tastes ok. Maybe it always looks like that. Oh good, she's going.

My turn. She's so fucked. That queen is going to be mine. My strategy kicks ass. I wonder what to call it: Two of a Kind? Buddy System? It's working at least and I made it up myself. Oh she looks pissed. She doesn't want me to move there. She wants me to take her pawn. Nope, not today sweetheart.

"Are you just moving your knights and bishops together all the time?"

"Yeah, it's a strategy I made up. Like a Buddy System. He watches his back and he watches his back. See?" She doesn't look impressed. She's jealous. I can tell she's starting to sweat. I am totally getting free Taco Bell tonight. She's fucked.

"I could tell. That's retarded, now I know your strategy."

"Well I'm still going to do it. Doesn't make it less effective you know." Why doesn't she hurry up and go? If she knows shouldn't she, like, not tell me? Like it is her strategy to know or something? God my mouth is dry. Maybe I am sick or something. My cup is empty. She'll take her time. Oof! I feel dizzy. Maybe I am coming down with something. She won't cheat if I turn my back, will she? No, I have a good memory for where things are. "Don't cheat. I'm just getting more water."

"Again? You must be sick."

"Or something, yeah." The faucet doesn't look dirty but maybe the pipes are. I don't know. This glass has little things in it too. Has it always been like this? I don't feel sick. Just thirsty. It tastes ok. Not unusual. Mmmmm in fact it tastes great. Maybe that's what they mean by "hard water" like it has little sediments and minerals in it, right? Because of the pipes or something. Causes rust. She still hasn't gone yet? Come on, move your queen or I'm going to take her. I'm giving you the chance to run away here. She doesn't see my bishop all the way over there does she? She's fucked. She's fucked. I'm trying to be nice but I'm going to be getting some free Taco Bell tonight. Heading for the border.

"This sucks. I hate this game."

"No! You are the one who wanted to play. You can't back out of our bet." Damn right. She is not getting any more sympathy from me - damn I am thirsty. Did I really finish that already? I need more.

"Yeah I won't quit. I just think I'm hopeless. I will never get any better. You're over there making strategies with stupid names like you're some Russian master expert who plays all day in his shack when it snows."

Maybe I need a bigger cup. Forget it, I should just get a whole pitcher. Ha! "Well you should have better prepared. You are the one who challenged me anyway, I'm not swindling you." God damnit my lips are dry. Ok, I think I am getting really sick or something. This does not feel right.

"Are you ok?"

"No, I think we need to quit. I don't feel well. I don't feel well at all. Forget the Taco Bell. I just need to get some more water. Buy me a bottle of water from BP."

"You look pale. But you've been drinking nonstop since I got here. How can you still be thirsty?"

"I don't know. I just feel really dry. I don't even have to pee, though."

"I'll go get my car, we can drive up to the BP and get you some bottled water or some aspirin or something, ok?"

"Both I guess."

Fuck I am glad she has a car. I hope she's not mad at me. I know I can be a bitch sometimes when I play games. Especially if I am going to win. We will finish this when we get back. I am not letting her back out of this one, dehydration or not. I will take a pic with my phone so we know how the board was. Where's my phone? Shit. I am always losing my shit around here. There it is, next to that glass. God this place is a mess. Wait, is that my glass? No, mine was empty. I didn't fill it again, did I? Shit. No, that must be my glass. I thought I drank it. Well no point in wasting it. Mmmmm that is good. I need a big jug though, so I don't have to keep refilling this one. I don't remember setting it on the coffee table though. Ok, photo of the chess board. Menu, settings, camera. Ok. Save to phone. There we go. Wait, that's not right. Did she put all the pieces back? Damn it I thought she didn't want to quit. Woah. Now that is weird. The pic is blurry and it looks like the pieces are all set up like before we started. I guess she didn't touch them though. The picture is just blurry, I guess? Weird. Where did that glass go? Oh I set it down to take the picture. My head feels light. God this place is a mess. Is that my glass? I thought mine was empty. I didn't fill it again, did I? Shit. No, that must be my glass. I don't feel well. Where is she? I need to lie down.

--
-The World is Quiet Here-

"Maximum Efficiency"
a short story by joe pini

Mr. Winslet was reluctant to check the mailbox. That would involve putting on his shoes and socks which he didn't want to do. He looked across his bedroom to the closet. It was dark. He paced around the room, bare feet on the cold hardwood floor. He could perhaps not check his mail today and wait to get it on his way to work on Monday. That was two days from now, though, and he was expecting some bills and a package from Amazon.com. He hadn't planned on leaving the house until Monday. Mr. Winslet went to the window and looked out at his mailbox.

He knew there was something as he saw the mail-carrier pedal by on his bike and stick something into his box. Why didn't I get it yesterday on my way home from work? he thought to himself. He was such in a hurry to get inside before it got dark. He didn't like being outside when the sun went down, but that was understandable. Why did this have to be so hard? he bit his nails. Now it was the middle of the day but that didn't make things any easier. In the old days people came and went as they pleased. They drove their cars to work and spent hundreds of dollars a month on gasoline. They checked their mailboxes whenever they pleased. It was never such a chore to put on a pair of socks. The closet was dark and his sock drawer was in the back. Suddenly his head hurt.

Maybe, he thought, I can open the window shade enough that light spills into the closet and it won't be so dark. He shook his head. That was ridiculous. Why did this have to be such a chore? Was he really that reluctant to turn on the light? He looked through his window at the mailbox. It was full. Perhaps it was something he needed. Perhaps not. He really would have liked to check it. Folk just couldn't come and go like that anymore, though. Times were different.

He hated feeling like a prisoner. Some people had real problems, unable to leave their homes because they were anxious or sick. Some people lived in bad neighborhoods and feared for their lives when their front doors closed. Some people were kept, mentally tied to something or someone inside. For some people, the outside world was just something to be avoided altogether if at all possible. Now, it seems, everyone had this problem. So Mr. Winslet didn't feel alone, at least not as far as his dilemma.

He was still alone as he lived alone. Most people did. No one went out to meet each other. No one went out to meet new friends. People were confined ever since the energy crisis was solved. Other problems took its place, though. A shift in weight, other crises paralyzed the economy. Mr. Winslet didn't want to travel across town, though. He did not want to go out and meet new people. He only wanted to check his mail. He would like to have purchased his new book from a real book store (rare these days) instead of the internet. He didn't want to wait until Monday, though. He cursed himself for forgetting yesterday. He was sure it came yesterday, if not today. He wish he had another reason to leave the house, otherwise it was such a waste. He looked over to the closet, only the first in many obstacles. In the end, he decided, it comes down to having that book to read tomorrow, or sitting here staring out the window at the mailbox all weekend.

He rose and walked to the exercise bike next to his closet. He climbed onto the bike, determined. He pedaled for ten minutes, as fast as he could, sweat pouring down his face, and suddenly the little generator next to his bed kicked in and the lights in his house flickered on and, though winded, he dashed to his closet and scramble for his socks and shoes, never wasting a moment, and took them back into the bedroom to the light of the window where he slipped them on and dashed to the front door, or more specifically the number pad on the wall next to his front door where he keyed in the code to the automatic deadbolt (unmovable without power) which clicked open allowing the door to swing open. Mr. Winslet sprinted down his driveway to the mailbox where he grabbed the contents without even looking. He was almost hit by a passing sail-car but didn't waste a moment before sprinting back up the driveway and inside where he shut the door and keyed in the code to lock his home. The generator sputtered and the house lost power. The light in his foyer blackened but he could still see from the light coming through the windows in the other room. He slid to the floor, exhausted.

He looked at what the mailbox contained. No book from Amazon. Just some junk mail. He missed getting utility bills. He decided to rest at least a half hour before getting a glass of water as he'd need the energy for the treadmill.

"Limitless"
by Joe Pini

Caleb and Martin had been walking for hours. Their legs hurt. There was no sign of end to the hallway. There were no curves or doors or stairs or any other change in scenery. The hallway was certainly the most long and impressive one they had ever walked down. "How far have we gone?" asked Caleb. His feet were starting to hurt and their pace had slowed considerably.

"Seven or eight miles, I guess. I don't know." replied Martin. He slowed to a stop and Caleb, behind him pressed his back to the wall and slid down to sit. Martin joined him, "I'm exhausted."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, catching their breath. They had brought a lot of water with them. 5 gallons to be precise. They knew they would get thirsty after walking for so long. As daunting as the seemingly endless hallway was, anticipating the walk was more intimidating. At least when venturing into the unknown, one probably has as good a chance stumbling into something comfortable and rewarding, like the docking bay of a spacecraft, as one has the chance of stumbling into something unpleasant and dangerous. A bottomless pit or prison for instance. The boys did not want to think about the possibility that the hallway just kept going forever, and never ended. That possibility seemed the most unpleasant but also least likely. There were too many things to consider.

Such as the walls, as Caleb observed. There was only so much drywall in the world. Whoever put together the hallway must have had a budget and time frame in which to work. It couldn't go on forever then, could it? Unless the hallway was an ongoing project, getting longer and longer every day. But if that was the case, they would catch up to the end before the builders could continue. Caleb's father was a general contractor and Caleb knew putting up drywall, painting it, laying down carpet, and installing lights was no simple task.

It was Martin that observed the carpet had no end, though. There was never a break in the carpet. There was no edge where one piece ended and another began. Since they stepped into the hallway hours before, they must have been walking on one continuous piece of carpet. Or so Martin speculated. He didn't even think about it until after an hour of walking, so he hadn't been watching for it the entire way.

"Do you think the hallway bends at any point?" Caleb broke the silence.

"Maybe. But we've gone so far without one who knows?"

"It's just so... straight."

"I think I'd be scared if it was windy. It would feel like a maze."

"Yeah." Caleb looked behind them and it looked the exact same as the untraveled part before them.

"You know," Martin said, "I am glad we're not claustrophobic."

"What does that mean?" Caleb replied.

"It means scared of being inside, like, tight places. Like in a cave or elevator. If one of us was, they would be freaking out and panicking."

"Then I would have never come in the first place," Caleb said.

"Me too."

"But we're not scared. So I'm glad we came."

"Me too." Martin stood up and extended a hand. Caleb grunted under the weight of 2 remaining gallons of water. Martin carried 2 more on his back. Their legs were sore but the rest helped a lot.

"I need to pee." Caleb said.

"Pee on the wall behind us, that way if we come back this way we'll see the wall is wet and know how far left we have to go," said Martin.

"Good idea. You do the same when you have to go."

"Ok. Not for a little while though."

"Martin, do you really think there is something at the end?"

"It has to go somewhere. China? Space? I don't know. But everywhere goes somewhere." And everywhere got its stuff from somewhere, thought Martin. The lighting fixtures placed every 14 feet had to have been bought at some hardware store. The trim at the bottom of the wall had to have been designed by someone. Even the carpet, though seemingly seamless, had to have been picked out from a selection of other colors and textures.

They continued walking, weary, but fearless as young boys tend to be. They continued talking and making observations, guessing as to where the hallway might lead and whether they might die before they get there. Wondering how the air stayed fresh without any obvious air vents. Growing tired with each step but never bored so long as there were things to guess at.

--
-The World is Quiet Here-

A: A man who can play the accordion, but doesn't.
-Tom Waits