Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

The man steps forward, grumbling something that sounds an awful like that motherfucker is going to owe me as he reaches a shaky hand for the pen on the counter. I watch as he scratches in all caps, skipping entire sections, marking other ones with NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS.

“Nice to meet you, Clyde. I appreciate your honesty and openness. It’s one of the most important components of a solid practice.” He stares at me with a blank expression. “Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you then,” he grumbles,

“Gwen, if you get all sappy on me, I’m leaving. All this universe and energy yoga shit is already toeing the line for me.”

All I know is that the first thing that comes to mind is, If I live, I’m coming after you.

“Well, I think being nice has more to do with behaving in a way that’s driven by social expectations. Whereas being kind is behaving in a way that’s driven by a concern for other people’s well-being. And the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive. I’d be rather wary of someone who is nice but not kind.”

I shake my head, wondering how the fuck I got to a place where I’m talking about my feelings with the town conspiracy theorist and the girl I got drunk in an airport with.

When I pull up, the first thing I see is an exhausted-looking Ford Grant stepping into his Mercedes G-Wagon. He has a small plastic box in his hand. I hop out, coffee in hand, squinting to get a better look. I can see a small, gray mouse inside the box.

😂😂