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Oh good lord - hell on earth. My sympathies...

Tiny Coconut

You are brilliant.

R J Keefe

Brilliant and terrifying.


You met my husband.

I'll continue your narrative. Before dawn, he boarded the same plane, blackberry in pocket, earpiece glowing blue. Later, weaving through Phoenix traffic, top down on his too-expensive-two-seat convertible, voice still transmitting to the blue thingy, he drove past the gate without nodding to the guard, down the long driveway, past three bicycles and two kids, and into the single garage door (because he hates parking his car in the double garage in which his wife's SUV and all the family crap is stored). Still talking.

Suitbag laid on the couch in the MBR, he walks outside to the pool, bushing off the patio chair before draping his suitcoat, not noticing the large sculpture his wife finally finished. His kids wave and walk past him without bothering to interrupt. His wife brings him a diet coke. On ice. Lots of ice. Still talking.

He calls the poolman, complaining. He walks around the walled backyard, superficially inspecting the plantings and paths. Still talking.

Sitting under the gazebo, removes his shoes and belt. Beckons his youngest son to bring them into the house. No words for the child. Just gestures. Still talking. Ear glowing blue.

Two hours pass. As the sun sets, red and orange streak behind black mountain peaks. He is sitting in the hottub in his boxers eating Chinese food that was delivered right to him. Ear glowing. Still talking.

Thousands of dollars are earned that night from his booming voice and glowing ear.

All wasted.

No one knows him.

No one cares.

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