I Buy Comics

Photo by Gunnar Ridderström on Unsplash

My whiskey-tinted vomit hits the cracked asphalt with a wet slap. You’ve been there before, right? Opening the car door just in time to avoid barfing all over the leather interior. Last night was fun, but not much to remember. It’s about 6 in the morning, just enough time to shower and head to work.

My hands grip the steering wheel, eyes drawn to a house up the street with a lawn sign in front. Mustard colored background with bold black letters: “I Buy Comics: 510-845-8821.”

The front door of the comics house opens. A French bulldog on a leash steps out, followed by an athletic brunette. She reminds me of someone I used to date. Before I realize it, I’m walking towards her and the dog.

She’s not yet out of her driveway when I catch up to them. She stops and yanks her dog backward as if I were about to kill them both. Stranger danger, I guess.

“Morning,” I say. “Can you tell me how to get back to the 10 freeway?”

The brunette’s eyes are moving side to side, she’s checking her surroundings, clever girl.  Her face says it’s too early for this shit. She speaks. 

“You do have GPS, don’t you?” 

The dog stretches its leash to the limit and frenetically humps my shin. It becomes clear the dog is a “he.” 

“Cellphone’s dead,” I say. “Can you help me?”

I stoop down to pet the little guy and peel him off my leg when my guts twist into an ugly knot. Tangerine-colored liquid spews out of me like a Mentos mixed with a 2-liter bottle of Fanta, splashing the dog and the driveway. 

The brunette screams. “What the hell?”

The dog shakes off the puke, sending it flying in all directions.

I cover my mouth to stop the flow, but I’m empty again. 

“I am so sorry,” I say.

I look up at the brunette and her dog. He’s licking my vomit off the pavement, she’s got orange spatters on her Lululemon outfit. Her face contorts, blood rushing to it.

“Get the fuck out of here…NOW!!” 

I’m walking away and apologizing. “Send me the cleaning bill, would you?”

“Fuck you, mother fucker, get the fuck off my property!”

The brunette stomps back into her house as I settle into the driver’s seat of my car. The headache’s gone and I feel fine. 

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