FireVaney

The dog ate the tomato at the stroke of midnight. When he told me this I referred him to the nearest post office because they might have missed it. The post office likes to know about the whereabouts of dog-consumed tomatoes. Exactly why they want to know is a matter of national security. This is what they tell me. And I ate a tomato at a quarter past ten last night, but the post office doesn’t care. They only care about the dog. Which is exactly why I need to drink coffee after every TV show that displays cats eating tomatoes at the diner across the street from Jack. I don’t know who Jack is. I don’t know who Tom is. I knew a Tom once. I know a different Tom now. I’ve probably known a few Toms in my life. This is the job description from the deposit account in San Francisco. When I tasted the lima bean it tasted like ice cream from the Bob in Detroit. I’ve known a few Bobs, too. Time to turn up the music. I drink tea when I eat at the Chinese place across from the train station. I’ll ...

FireVaney busses and wipes down the tables. Here’s what he overhears…  “Something’s the matter with my armpits. Not sure what. More hair, more skin. Maybe both. Just thought you should know.”  “So Ry’s, what, twenty-one? You know this seventeen year old he’s seeing? Yeah, he says she’s seventeen. Mm-hm. So few days ago they’re at his place. She puts a blindfold on him. Leads him out the building, down the street. All the way to the Red Line. The Belmont stop. They ride the L to Howard. She leads him, blindfolded, across the platform to the Purple Line. They take it all the way to Wilmette. That’s where the tracks end. She guides him out the station, then down the street. I dunno which street. No idea how far. They end up in a field. I dunno what kind of field. I didn’t ask. I didn’t think to ask. But they’re in the middle of this field. She whispers in his ear, ‘I want to make love to you.’ If they went ahead and did it, I don’t know if that’s where they did it. But why el...

Why do we have to smell so bad? And everything that comes out of us, why does it all have to smell worse? Why does poop have to smell so bad? Is it so we won’t eat it? Is that really why? Was that just how stupid our prehistoric ancestors were?  And God said, “They might eat their own shit — so, uh, I’ll make it real stinky — yeah, that’s what I’ll do.”  Maybe Caveman Bob got curious one day, bent over, and took a hard look at what he’d just squeezed out of his butthole. And maybe he said, “Huh. That’s kinda like what chickens do. Then again, what I just did there is more cylindrical than spherical. And I never make a white one. Most importantly, mine doesn’t have a shell — THANK GOD. But I say we drop it in a pot of boiling water for twelve minutes and see what happens. Or, we could scramble it up with cheese, ham, onions, and green peppers. If anybody asks, just say it came from Denver.”  That’s when The Lord stepped in and said, “No, no. That’s shit. Nothing like an eg...

The “backroom” of the Chicago Coffee Cadre (store #7). FireVaney washes dishes. Clayton enters and hangs up his jacket.  FireVaney   You two have a good time?  Clayton   We get along great.  FireVaney   I mean,  [ slowly ]  did you two have a good time?  [ Brief pause. ]  Clayton   Is that any of your business?  FireVaney   ‘Course not.  [ Brief pause .]  She a screamer?  Clayton   What?   FireVaney  Does she scream?  Clayton   No.  She’s quiet.  FireVaney   Maybe you don’t satisfy her.  Clayton   No. She once said she can see colors.  FireVaney   She color blind?   Clayton   No.  FireVaney   What colors?  Clayton   She didn’t say.  FireVaney   She didn’t say?  You didn’t ask?  Clayton  She said she saw colors.  So I said I saw spots.  FireVaney Cute. Next time ask what colors.  I...