Daily Fiction 10
Billy needed a bike, but the bike shop wasn’t open until 10. He needed the bike in the morning to go to work, because his subway line down and there was no way he was going to pay for a taxi.
“Goddamn,” he said. “What the fuck am I supposed to do about that?”
He didn’t want to sit around like a sap waiting for the bike shop to open. On the other hand, he didn’t have a way to get a bike otherwise, except going far away, by which time he might as well have walked to work.
He was really mad that the place wasn’t open until that time. Here he was, willing to buy a whole bike that day just so he could go to work. Not even shop around, just get their cheapest good bike that fit him. He thought that was a pretty generous offer, and yet still, they stubbornly sat there, with a 10 am opening time, not hearing his offer, not even aware of it, confident that they didn’t need to be aware of it.
He decided that he would break in and steal the bike. One brick through the front window, kick out the glass a little, grab the bike, go. Jesus, the glass could be a problem, huh? Gotta carry it through so it doesn’t get cut on the glass. Damn. He had problems on top of problems.
He considered leaving some money to show them that he wasn’t stealing the bike out of malice, just that it was a last resort that they forced him to because they wouldn’t open their store on time for him to go to work. What was the point of a place that was only open when he was working? That was the least convenient time. They were supposed to be there waiting for him, that’s the deal he had had understood when he was waking up. He was supposed to be waking up to a world that was ready. He was sure the people who ran the bike shop got coffee. Come on. Of course they did. People who are that into bikes are definitely into coffee. Well, how would they like it if the coffee shop opened at the same time as their bike shop, and they couldn’t get coffee before work? Not much, not much at all. They probably wouldn’t even go.
Billy realized he didn’t have a brick. He went to the hardware store to get a crowbar or something. They were closed.
What could he do? How could he get a bike? Steal one? He didn’t know how. The bike shop. But they weren’t there. Right. Break in. But no brick, no crowbar. What else? A car? How would he get a car? Rental? ZipCar? SmartCar? Did you need to sign up?
He considered calling a car operated by a person finding customers through a service called Uber, and hijacking the car. He refused to call the car an “Uber.” He would not accept their nouns.
(to probably not be continued)
Once upon a time there was a caveman. He thought of himself as a fairly advanced man, because he lived in a cave. Most men walked around outside, exposed to all the elements, never really having a place to call home. He had aspired to better, he had turned the environment into a tool. He had art on the wall. Some of it he made himself, some of it was drawn by noted artists. He’d invite artists in for a dinner party when he killed a deer. He had a nice fire pit in his home, and he couldn’t eat a whole deer himself,. so he’d gladly trade meat for art, because it raised his status.
Sometimes he’d have women back to his cave. They liked that he was a caveman. That made him attractive, more attractive than he usually was outside in the light. The subtle lighting of the fire made his features look a little better. And the women usually felt secure, it being a nice cave, relatively clean, protected from the elements.
This caused some resentment among the forest men. They’d make him of him for being a fancy boy, needing a nice clean cave to sleep in, being afraid of the elements. “Hey caveman,” they’d say, “sure you’re not lost? You seem to be out in the forest.” It hurt to hear them say that, because he’d been born in the forest like them, he’d walked the forest floors, he’d hunted all sorts of forest animals, foraged for all sorts of forest vegetables. And still they taunted him, looked at him like he didn’t belong.
So he began spending more and more of his time among other cavemen, because they wouldn’t taunt him, and they understood his lifestyle, and they would appreciate his cave design, and comment on his stalactites, recommend the best kind of firepit to give him the right balance of heat and light.
It still saddened him that he had lost his place in the forest a little. He still was a good hunter, and he’d still meet with forest women, and they’d catch him up on all the latest news going on among the forest people, and it’s not like the forest men didn’t talk to him, But he never felt like he was one of them. He felt like he was on the outside looking in.
So despite his very good cave life, he grew resentful. If he couldn’t be of the forest, he would take it out of play.
He had been practicing building fires every day for a while now, he kept count actually, 11 seasons now he’d built a fire every day. He was beginning to become a fire expert.
(to probably not be continued)