Rest Stop

by Nat Cassidy

Safe inside the store—so bright, so blissfully cool after even just a few moments of the muggy summer air—and he feels better. Sometimes capitalism knows how to hold you just right.

Abe sits there for a long time. Panting. Sweating. Tingling all over. Carbonated by adrenaline.

“I can’t just run at him. I need a weapon or something.” “Your mind is your best weapon.” “Great. Lemme just scoop that out and throw it at him like a fucking water balloon.”

“You think he left us alive on purpose?” Abe considers that. “What’s the point of creation with no one there to witness it?”

The God that demands proper nouns and capitalization. The God whose first commandment isn’t kindness or empathy, but THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GOD BEFORE ME. The God of sick jokes.