Apocalypticon

by Clayton Smith

A huge advertisement for Chase Bank covered the steps and the escalator rails. Chase had been Patrick’s bank. “Hey, Ben,” he said, easing himself down the stairs. “Remember money?”

Man, Ben thought, people were so unprepared for the apocalypse.

“You know I’m going through this hell-fuck-odyssey because of you. And, frankly, that’s pretty much as good a reason as any. But I do not want to die for this. ‘Cause dying is bullshit.” “Dying is bullshit,” Patrick agreed. Rule Number 22.