Last Stop

One of the advantages of being a student is the discount on public transportation.  Its not free, but its pretty darn close.  I don't think people realize how effective our transit system is in this city either, or more people would take advantage of it.  Almost everyone I know has a car, so the bus and train system is practically empty when I ride.  To be honest I think they are foolish.  Why on earth would you pay for gas, insurance, and sometimes even make a loan payment when the public transportation can take you anywhere you want to go, with free wifi and air conditioning? I think of it as having a chauffeur I have to share with other people.  Sure, it takes a bit longer than driving myself, but if you plan well enough ahead and bring something to stay busy it can be very productive time.  

I carry a tablet instead of a laptop.  The buses and trains all have WiFi so I could carry something small and do anything from watch movies to write papers.  The term paper for my Spanish Lit class was written almost exclusively on the bus to and from my apartment.  My class load is a lot lighter now that I am in my final year.  I am dong an internship downtown at a technology startup and I spend a lot of my transport time looking at news.  The guys I work with are current events junkies, and if you don't know what's going on in the world you can kiss your participation in office conversation goodbye.  

I've gotten in the habit of reading the news on google and I'm starting to see an interesting trend.  It's almost like people are going crazy in the same ways, all over the world.  There was one guy back east who attacked his neighbor in broad daylight.  The news story stated that he had just caught his wife cheating on him but there was an amateur video on YouTube that showed him attacking his neighbor like he was some rabid dog.  You can't find the video now, its been removed, so it was probably a hoax.  

Another guy was one of those shut-in fat guys, you know the type that can't leave the house.  We used to sing "Fatty Fatty two by four, can't fit through the kitchen door" to kids on the playground, but this guy was really that big.  Anyway the official reports say rats ate him alive, but others say the teeth marks were a lot bigger, like a human sized mouth.  

There was also that lady who was attacked and killed by her boyfriend.  They found what was left of her in the kitchen, bleeding all over a tray of fresh rolls.  The guy was gone, I guess he didnt like bread. Then there was that guy who disappeared completely after some board meeting.  Left his phone and laptop and everything, was just gone.  They found a lot of blood at the scene, but no body.  One woman thought she saw him talking to a homeless guy in the parking lot but they haven't found that guy either.  You don't think much of stories like these as you hear them individually, typically just dismissing them as random acts of human desperation, but as they happen more frequently I begin to wonder.  

The train is stuffy today.  There's a guy standing in front of me with his back turned, holding a briefcase.  Who even carries those anymore?  Just hipsters who are trying to be unique but failing.  Anyway this guy's body is putting off a tremendous amount of heat and its driving me crazy.  The lady next to me smells like onions and the kid on my other side is slobbering away on a lollipop as though its his last meal.  

The train pulls to a stop, making all of us lean into each other for a brief moment.  All of us except the dude in front of me.  He grips that rail above us like a vice and you can see he's the only one who doesn't move as we get from stop to stop.  The old lady has been replaced by some punk teenager with a nose ring and the kid on my other side has finished his candy and is now touching everything with his sticky hands.  His mom looks positively frazzled and is wearing a maid outfit under her jacket.  No doubt she's had a hard life.  Wonder why she brought a kid into the world if she can't even take care of herself.  

As we get to the end of the line the train begins to empty.  The kid and his mom a finally gone and the punk tennager is standing next to the door waiting to get off at the next stop.  The seats around me are mostly vacant, but still the dude stands in front of me, back turned.  "You can sit down if you want" I say out loud.  He doesn't even respond, but stands like a statue as the train comes to a halt.  I have two more stops and then I'm off, and I am not spending them jammed behind this dude's rear.  The doors open and everyone gets off except me and the guy.  Every seat is available, yet still he's there in front of me, uncomfortably close.  

I open my tablet and select "Twitter."  I type in a quick message of frustration "stuck on the train with a loser who would rather snuggle me than sit down" and press "Send." The characteristic whistle sounds and I see his head move slightly in reaction, the first sign of movement I've seen since he got on almost an hour ago.  Why is he still in front of me?  I scoot down a few seats and feel the tension in my neck relax.  Being that close to another person in this space is tolerable if there's no other options, but when its just the two of you in an entire train car...  I look down the row through the window at the back.  The other car is empty except for an old lady with a load of groceries.  She sits quietly looking at the floor.  I steal a glance at the man standing a few feet away.  He's still staring out the window, seemingly oblivious to anything else going on.  There's something "off" about him.  Only one more station and I'm out of here.  I tap my screen and pull up a game to pass the last 2 minutes.  

As my game loads itsaccompanied by some annoying sound effects that spur my creepy collegue into action.  He twist and turns, like a giant waking up after a long nap.  His movements are slow, sluggish, and the way he looks around reminds me of a blind person, as though he's depending primarily on his  hearing to find his way.  His face turns my direction and I see his eyes, bright yellow and crusty at the edges.  It immediately reminds me of my baby sister when she had conjunctivitis. I instinctively sat back in my chair, startled at his appearance.  I scramble to put my tablet into my bag and stumble to my feet, moving toward the door.  He hunches low, swaying left and right like an animal.  As quiet as I've been he seems to know I'm here somewhere, and moves in my direction.  I feel the train begin to slow as we approach the final station.  The robotic recording echoes through the empty cabin and he jumps as though it surprised him.  Immediately he lunges toward the speaker, smashing it with a fist.  His hand is now covered in thick blood pouring from lacerations in his knuckles, but he doesn't seem to care.  I dare not make a sound, standing like a statue and holding my breath to stay silent.  The train slows to a stop and the door opens.  I burst out into the empty station. Running as fast as I can I make my way to the escalator, pushing past the old woman with the grocery bags.  As my leg hits one of her plastic shopping bags it bursts and canned food spills across the marble floor, rolling in all directions.  I turn and look apologetically and see the lumbering dark form advancing quickly.  "Look out!" I call out to the woman, pointing behind her.  She turns just in time to see the man envelop her in his arms, surrounding her in his coat.  A sickening crack echoes in the hall as they hit the floor.  She screams and I feel a wave of terror mixed with indecision.  Do I run for help, or try to pull him off? He's easily twice my size and clearly has no concern about getting caught.  He's knawing at her face and using his powerful arms to scratch her.  I turn and run before he does the same to me. 

As I move up the escalator I pull out my phone, dialing the familiar 3 digits and waiting for the line to connect.  As the operator picks up I describe the attack as calmly as I can muster.  As I describe his eyes the line goes dead and I hear a man's voice.  He's asking me to confirm the location.  I repeat the station name and he clears his throat, as though he's growing impatient with me.  "No, I mean, where exactly is the man now?" I turn and look down the escalator.  They are gone, replaced by a red stain and drag marks into the opposite side of the room.  "Gone!" I say, a mixture of confusion and fear.  "I can't see either of them anymore" I said.  They were at the bottom...  I guess they could still be there..." I trail off.  "Are you okay?" He asks "Were you bitten or scratched?" I look down at my arms as though I'm checking for wounds, but I know he never touched me.  "No, I'm okay." I say, trying to calm my racing pulse.  "Find a place to hide." He says calmly.  I look around and see a maintained door.  As I head toward it I realize I am alone in the station.  "Where is everyone?" I ask, starting to feel the oddity of my circumstances.  "Where are the workers?" The ticket booth is empty, and the security guard typically posted at the stairs is gone too.  "Are you safe yet?" The voice asks. And I glance toward the escalator.  A dark shape is approaching me.  "He's here!" I call out in panic.  "He's found me!" The line goes dead and I feel my panic heighten. 

 I turn and run toward the exit, leaping over the turnstile.  As I slide across the tile stairs I glance behind me.  He moves slowly, and I have a commanding lead.  I race up the stairs ahead of me only to find my pathway blocked.  A thick sheet of plastic has filled the entire opening.  I push on it and find it oddly elastic, but am unable to move or permeate it.  Bright yellow figures walk back and forth on the opposite side, and I scream out to them.  "Help! Help!" My panicked voice does not even get a reaction.  I reach in my bag and pull out a pocketknife I was given when I was 12.  Opening it carefully I lunge the sharp point into the plastic, cutting a hole in the soft membrane. I pull downward and create a slit large enough for the top of my body and begin to push myself through. "Hey!" I call out as I get my head through the opening.  I am greeted by faces in HazMat suits.  

Three men grab me and pull me through the opening.  One slips a bag over my head and the last thing I see is someone pulling a large string of duct tape to cover the hole behind me.  I struggle and feel my arms pulled roughly behind me. Something sharp is wrapped around my wrists and my hands lose circulation.  "Help! Help!" I cry out in desperation.  I smell something odd, like flowers mixed with bubble gum, and my head begins to spin.  The voices of the men around me are muffled but as I lose consiousness I can hear their words.  "There he is!" "Get the collar on him" "Be careful, don't let him touch you!"  I hear the sounds of a struggle as my mind spins endlessly out of control...  

The Consultant

There's just not enough hours in the day.  Between working two jobs, volunteering in the community and trying to spend quality time with my family, I just feel stretched thin.  It's not too much, I can totally handle it, but I'm finding that every moment has to be productive.  I simply don't have the time to idle away hours on a video game or reading a book.  When I am done with one task its on to the next. 

Even time traveling to and from my various meetings is used productively.  In the car I return calls I might have missed, conduct interviews with potential business partners and vendors, and dictate text messages into my smartphone using the built in voice recognition software. 

Speaking of phones, I don't know what I'd do without my device.  It's literally the key to mobility in this modern world.  Without it I'd be tied to a desktop computer talking on a landline all day.  With this amazing little device I can be anywhere, do anything, which helps me juggle all the things I need to accomplish.  I conducted a business meeting on the 15th hole of the golf course the other day, closed some important work and was able to get back to quality father son time teaching my 8 year old to swing his new clubs.  Some might not condone such an interruption when you promised to spend time with your children, but I look at it differently.  If I wasn't able to take that call, to stop playing for 10 minutes and resolve that business I would not have been able to go at all.  It's this technology that makes free time like this possible.  

I try not to be so absorbed in my phone that I don't watch where I am going, but sometimes it cannot be helped.  I think that's how I ended up on my back like this, some lunatic tearing at me like a drug crazed psychopath.  I was walking out to my car after a quick business meeting in town and reading a couple e-mails from a consulting job I do on the side.  I must have been too absorbed in typing up my response to see the lumbering stranger in front of me.  He attacked with lightning speed and animalistic ferocity.  My phone was hurled into the air as I felt myself being forced to the ground.  His breath stank of disease and illness, and his clothes were torn and rotten.  He was clearly homeless, based on his attire and the long unkept hair and beard, but there was something else too.  He was having some sort of allergic reaction to something.  His eyes were caked with a thick yellow film that dripped down his face and into his scraggly beard.  His teeth looked rotten, caked with a thick black mucus that seemed to ooze our of the corners of his mouth and pool in his bottom lip before dripping off the front.  

"Stop!" I called out in protest, using my arms to push his snapping jaws away from me, but he didnt not react.  Instead he continually tried to bite my hands, my arms, anything he could get his teeth to.  I called for help but none came, and I began to feel the growing panic of fear welling in my heart.  Looking around for something, anything, that could be used as a weapon I found myself completely at his mercy.  I thought of my children, expectantly waiting at home for the family movie night I had promised them when I left the house this morning.  I imagined their tears as my sweet wife tried to explain what happened to me and I felt tears of my own fogging my vision.  Suddenly the scene changed, and I imagined each of them being attacked in a similar way, with no father there to watch over and protect them.  

A fury I'd never known surged within me, a primal instinct to protect what was mine, and I screamed as I plunged my thumbs into his eyes.  It was soft and disgusting, and the yellow pustules burst and spilled across my face.  A mix of copper and decay filled my mouth as I tasted his thick fluids and I felt a wave of nausea hit me like a truck.  Oddly enough, the monster didn't even react to this relatilation.  I expected a cry of pain, but instead he continued trying to bite the hands now buried in his face.  

"What are you?" I asked in disbelief, and began wrenching his head back and forth in an effort to pull him off me.  His body felt floppy and weak, as though he still had the full strength of a man but has frail, weak joints and bones.  I managed to wiggle out from underneath him and spun onto his back quickly, a move I had perfected during years of varsity wrestling in high school.  I placed one hand under his jaw and another on his forehead, thrusting my knee into the back of his neck.  It was a submission hold that almost got my expelled from school after trying to use it in a match, and one that instantly put anyone caught in it completly under my control.  His hands lashed out at me, awkwardly trying to grab me from my perch of power.  

Without warning, I felt a pop and his neck felt suddenly loose, falling to the side as though his head was no longer connected to his body.  I stood up in shock.  Had I killed him? The guilt and horror filled me with remorse and dread.  What would happen to my family?  How could I explain that it was only self defense?  Would anyone believe me?  

As I stood pondering my situation a hand grabbed my ankle, digging boney fingers into my skin.  As I tried to pull away the head flopping on the pavement began snapping at me again, bobbling horribly on the concrete as the jaw worked back and forth.  A large gash on its forehead exposed its skull, but no blood emerged.  "What are you?" I repeated my question in a whisper. He responded with a gargling choking sound, and I kicked my ankle free.  Taking a step back, a rubbed my forearms and knuckles where he had tried to bite me. Looking around for my phone I saw the glass screen was cracked.  I picked it up and tried to dial a number, but it wouldn't even respond.  I looked back at the building, resolved to go inside and get help when two large black SUVs pulled up, blocking my way.  Men in suits poured out and grabbed both us, putting us each in separate vehicles.  A bag was pulled over my head and I felt the pinch of a needle in my arm before everything went dark.  

Dinner and a movie

I wondered if I'd ever find love. I've taken chances of course, put myself out there, you know, but something always goes wrong. I don't feel like I'm overly picky either. I'd be satisfied with a man who is hardworking, honest, and wants to have a family. He doesn't have to be particularly handsome, though I wouldn't turn down a Brad Pitt if he came my way, but he does need to care about his appearance.  Someone who gets an occasional haircut and takes regular showers. 

Online dating services are a joke. The only people on there are either desperate or not looking for anything serious. Guys must think its like prostitution without pay. I even had one guy ask me "why else would you put your profile online unless you we're looking for a one night stand?" I left him and took a cab home. 

I've tried dating patients, but that's never worked out in the past. I've been an assistant in Dr. Haan's office for nearly three years and every guy that's asked me out is either married or gay, so you can understand my skepticism when Gary asked me on a date. 

I told him I was dating someone, to which he nodded expectantly. "The pretty ones are always taken." He walked out after his cleaning with a polite smile that left me feeling terribly guilty. I remember beating my self up about that all weekend. I was sitting at home by myself flipping through endless Netflix selections and I said to myself "You loser, you could be out on a date right now but instead you're watching re-runs of unsuccessful TV shows!" I shoved a handful of popcorn in my mouth and tried not to cry. 

Imagine my surprise when he showed up on Monday with a bouquet of daisies. "I know you said you were dating someone, but how serious is it?  I've been trying for years to working up the courage to ask you out." It took all of my collective willpower not to leap into his arms right there. 

Our first date was amazing. A relaxing dinner followed by a nice stroll downtown. He walked me to the door and I expected a kiss but he just smiled and wished me goodnight. We've been on several dates since and he's been a perfect gentleman. Tonight I'm making him dinner and we're going to watch old movies together. I'm hoping to get a kiss, but we'll see. 

"Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes" I called out to him. I was wearing a cute little apron over my jeans and sweater, an outfit I took hours to decide on. If you looked in my closet you'd see a pile of discarded choices at least a foot thick. I'd have to re-hang all those items later. I pulled the rolls out of the oven, enjoying the unique and wonderful smell of fresh bread. "That smells great, doesn't it?" I called out.  I dumped the rolls into a basket and wrapped them with a small thin towel, then put them on the table and looked over to the couch. He was obviously absorbed in an episode of The Walking Dead. He told me about the show on our last date and I thought that if he was that enthusiastic about it I should probably watch an episode too. 

On the TV zombies were wandering down the street, following a police officer on a horse. As he evaded them he rounded a corner and almost ran into an entire group. "Ohh!" I squealed, shaken by the sudden appearance of all those decaying faces. If there's one rule of dating its never to be far away from your man during scary scenes. I quickly took off my apron and plopped down on the couch next to him. "This is scary!" I said, snuggling up to him. The officer was now crawling underneath a tank, firing his gun at the encroaching horde. I closed my eyes and buried my face in Gary's bicep, expecting some words of comfort and maybe an arm around my shoulder.  Surprisingly he sat stoically, and a wave of panic filled me. Was I being too fast?  Was I being uncomfortably forward?  I pulled away, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment.  Looking up, I searched his face to discern his emotion. 

His eyes were caked with a thick yellow film. He sat robotically, not moving, not speaking. "Gary?" I called, shaking him. "What's going on, are you okay?" He didn't budge and I moved away cautiously. "What's wrong with your eyes?" Still he didn't answer, didn't react.  I reached for my phone and realized it was over on the counter next to the oven. Standing up I back away carefully, staring at those thick terrifying eyes. The pale yellow substance covered his eyes and seemed to drip down his face, like thick melted wax. 

I scooped my phone up and dialed 9-1-1. "Emergency services, how can I help you?" The female voice was calm yet confident and I struggled to find the words to describe my situation. "I think there's something wrong with my friend."  I looked over at Gary, still sitting like a statue on the couch. "His eyes are covered in some yellow junk and he's not moving." I heard a clicking sound and a man's commanding voice came over the line. "How long has he been like this?" He asked. I looked at the clock and tried to remember when I put the rolls in. "I don't know, like 15- 20 minutes maybe?" The phone line went dead. "Hello?" I called out, a wave of panic rushing through me. "Hello?"  I looked at my phone which said "no service" and I smacked it in frustration. I looked back at the couch and saw Gary stand up. "Gary! Are you okay?" He turned my direction and I saw his face contorted into an animalistic snarl. "Gary?" I whispered quietly and felt tears rolling down my face as he tore across the room toward me.  This wasn't the make out session I had hoped for...

Take out or Delivery

I'm not quite sure where it started. My entire life I remember having the freedom to eat whatever I wanted. I lived with my grandmother, who had to work double shifts at the hospital to support us. As a result I was home by myself a lot. She kept the fridge stocked with velveeta cheese and soda, and I don't ever remember a day when there wasn't at least one package of Oreos in the cabinet. 

I watched a lot of TV.  Since I was home by myself my grandmother didn't want me wandering the streets where I could get into trouble, so I stayed inside. She got me almost every video game system out there and if I wasn't flipping channels for hours on end I was playing something on Nintendo or Xbox. 

Grandma passed away about 10 years ago, leaving me just enough inheritance to keep me indoors. I've never had a job and I've spent more time watching TV than I've spent outside my house. 

These days its almost impossible to leave anyway. I haven't weighed myself in 3 years, and I think I've probably added at least 100 lbs since then. I have my groceries delivered but mostly eat pizza, subs, and occasionally Chinese. When I get hungry I just order it, and its brought right to my couch for me. I don't even bother to lock the door anymore, since its almost impossible to get off the couch.  I don't have anything worth stealing really, and with the exception of a few bratty kids down the hall, most everyone seems to like me.  Shucks, most of the delivery guys even know me by name. 

I'm ashamed of how I've ended up, but I don't have much of a choice these days. I'm always tired and just getting up to use the bathroom will wear me out for hours. Earlier today I had to go and almost didn't make it in time.  I worry about my delivery driver friends. If they find me sitting in a pile

 of my own crap I can't imagine they'll want to come by much any more. Not that their visits were social anyway. 

I don't know how long I'd been sleeping, but when I woke up the TV was off. Reaching for the remote I clicked it with no result. I looked into the bedroom and saw the digital clock on my bedside table was off. Must be a power outage. I reached for my cordless phone and tried to dial a number but it was dead too. No power to the base unit. 

I tossed it on the table in front of me. I hadn't prepared for this. Without power I couldn't watch TV, couldn't play video games, couldn't make phone calls to order dinner. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them the power would be restored. No such luck. 

I reached for the only reading material I had, an eight month old edition of Gamers magazine. I flipped through the pages idly. I'd read all this stuff ages ago, and tried to re-read some of the articles I'd actually been interested in. I felt like I had it memorized, and I threw the magazine across the room, hearing it thump loudly on the shared wall between my unit and the one next door. 

My stomach rumbled. Not a good sign. I began to imagine that some natural disaster had wiped out the entire power grid and a librarian or college professor was now responsible for saving the city. He would, of course, have a confident, attractive young woman by his side, probably a reporter, someone sassy and sexy to accompany him on his epic quest. Oddly enough the hero looked a lot like me. Well, not exactly like me. He had my face, my brain, but hair like Pierce Brosnan and a body like, well, someone who worked out a lot.  The girl was amazing of course. She was Jennifer Anniston, no, Angelina Jolie. I smiled again as I had a mental make out session with her in the corner of a crowded street.  

I was disturbed from my fantasy coma by a slow banging on the front door. Had one of my pals known about the blackout and come to bring me a meal?  I was elated and grateful. "Come in" I called out. "The door is open!" I watched in anticipation for the doorknob to move, but it did not. Instead, as though in response to my calls, the pounding grew in intensity. "I said come in!" I called out again, only louder.  

A second pair of hands joined the first, and it sounded like guns and roses was doing a drum solo on my front door. I watched as the wood began to buckle and felt helplessly immobilized by my size. I attempted to sit up, to move to the end of the couch and get to my feet but my muscles simply didn't have the strength.  Perhaps after a good meal I'd have the energy to stand, but I hadn't eaten in almost 6 hours and my body's energy reserves were completely spent. 

"It's not funny!" I called out, thinking this must be a prank by those punk kids down the hall. "If you break my door I'm gonna be pissed!" I called out, knowing I was helpless to back up my threat. At this the pounding seemed to double in intensity and the sheer violence of the attack began to scare me. How many kids were out there?  They were only like 10 years old, how could they be hitting the door so hard?  I felt the color drain from my face as the wood near the hinge began to split. 

Suddenly a massive crash sounded and the door burst open, twisting sideways on its hinge and falling into my living room. In the doorway stood several people I'd never seen before, their eyes covered in a thick yellow paste, their hair mottled and dank. They sniffed the air like animals, cocking their heads to the side as if they were listening. "Is this some kind of joke?" I asked and watched in horror as their collective attention moved my direction. One let out a deathly moan that chilled my bones and I felt the warm trickle of urine soak the couch cushions beneath me. I was powerless to move and felt tears streak down my face as their teeth clamped onto the folds of skin covering my legs. 

Green thumb, yellow eyes

I'm obsessed with yard work.  I could spend hours outside, carefully trimming my already perfectly manicured grass and pruning my perfectly shaped trees.  There's something about being outside that I absolutely love.  Some people golf, others hike.  Some take jobs digging trenches or working on a freeway crew.  Me?  I'm an accountant with a green thumb.  

My neighbors don't compliment my yard anymore.  When we first moved in they did, but now they give me angry looks, as though how I treat my yard forces them to do work they normally wouldn't have done.  To be honest, I don't care about their yards.  I don't do it for them or to be better than other people. I do it because I enjoy it.  Its good exercise, gives me a feeling of accomplishment, and the end result looks great. 

Our neighborhood isn't huge.  I don't know anyone with a riding lawn mower, we all use push mowers.  Its not uncommon to hear multiple engines going simultaneously on a Saturday morning, so I didn't think anything when I heard the lawn mower running at my neighbors.  Our yards are divided by an 8' privacy fence made of inexpensive wood slats, and if you get close you can see into his back yard.  I normally don't look, but it seemed odd that the engine of his lawn mower had been running for several minutes, but he wasnt moving through the yard.  I stood up from the garden box where I was weeding my carrots and moved to the edge of the fence.  Peeking through the slats I could see him standing there, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle.  His back was to me, so I couldn't see his face, but he seemed as though he was staring off into the yard.  

"Perhaps he's thinking" I thought to myself.  Our argument about edging around the fence line last month left us not speaking, and I didn't feel overly eager to strike up a conversation about his behavior.  I went back to my weeding trying to put his stasis out of my mind.  

I heard the engine sputter as though it was running out of gas.  It had been nearly 20 minutes and he was still standing in the same location.  What was he doing?  I began to worry that he had some sort of stroke, something that caused his body to move into some sort of paralysis mode, and immediately a sinking feeling entered my heart.  I hoped I hadn't caused him permanant brain damage or something.  I walked over to the fence, calling out to him.  "Mike, you okay?" I wasn't sure he could even hear me over the noise of the engine.  "Mike!" I yelled louder.  Still he stood silent, like a great stone golem waiting to be awoken.  

I moved to the fence gate on the edge of the yard, debating whether I should open it and trespass.  If it was a medical emergency he would forgive me, right?  I unhooked the latch and pulled the heavy gate open.  "Mike, I'm coming in" I called out as loud as I dared.  I looked behind me to see the couple across the street watching me.  I gestured toward them to come over, hoping that together we could reason with my habitually grumpy neighbor.  They didnt move, whispering to each other from the safety of their position in the distance. 

The lawn mower sputtered again, and I moved closer.  "Mike, are you okay?" I didn't know much about him other than the fact that he was recently divorced, had joint custody of a single boy about 10 years old, and worked as some sort of mechanic for one of the airlines at the local airport.  His hulking shape intimidated me, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my head raise as I came closer.  The engine sputtered again, this time cutting off.  The silence was almost deafening.  Suddenly, I was keenly aware of the sounds all around me.  Birds chirped in the trees, a car drove by on the street behind me, and my footsteps crunched the grass below my feet as I stepped toward the silent man frozen in place.  

"Mike?" I called out, trying to push the shaking from my voice.  Something had me spooked, and I couldn't figure out why.  I kept my distance from him, moving in a circle to see his face. I gasped as I saw his eyes.  They were covered in a thick yellow puss, like massive cataracts caking his corneas.  A wasp was sitting on his left cheek, chewing on his lower eyelid.  He stood there unmoving, unaware of me, oblivious to everything.  "Mike?" I heard the quiver in my voice.  "What happened to you?"  

I reached for my phone in my back pocket but realized it was sitting back in my house on the charger.    I cursed myself for not being better prepared. Moving back to the fence gate I called out to my neighbors across the street.  "Something's wrong, call an ambulance!" They looked worried and pulled a mobile device from a pocket.  As they dialed a look of horror split across their faces and I turned just in time to see Mike's massive body barreling down on me.  He tackled me to the ground and everything went black.  

Sal's Eats

The small places always have the best food.  Big restaurant chains sacrifice quality for uniformity, adopting recipes that may taste good, but never compare to the originals that made them a success in the first place. If I am traveling to someplace new I always ask the locals for the "best place to eat" making sure its only got a single location.  In my experience. The moment a place does well enough to have more than one building you can kiss the taste goodbye.  

Sal's Eats seemed like the perfect dive.  Stuck in a strip mall built 20 years ago it was built in what was once a record store, the walls were decorated with the sleeves of old vinyl.  Pink Floyd, Europe, and Pat Benetar faded on multicolored thumb tacks, and the graffiti of decades of teenagers decorated their once vibrant covers.   The dining area was a mix of old metal chairs with plastic covers and booths that looked like they were converted from old church pews.  

The smell was instantly familiar, a mix of old wood and fried food.  The few patrons that ate here did so quietly and seemed to distance themselves from each other.  Odd, because in my experience great little places like this often were the gathering place for the locals, passing on town gossip and re-living better days.  Good food seemed to bring people together like that.  

There were, of course, the places that looked like dives because they really were.  Perhaps this place was one of those, held together buy the sheer will of its owner and the few coins gathered from a disheveled clientele. I breathed in deeper, searching for the familiar scent of culinary success.  I could smell onions cooking, and something with garlic.  Peppers mixed with cheese, probably a Philly style steak sandwich, and something else...  Something... Off.  I hesitated, wondering if I had made a mistake. I almost turned to leave when a woman in a dingy apron approached with a notepad.  "Hey sweetheart" she said, smacking a wad of gum in stereotypical waitress style, "Just you?" I nodded, looking down at her heavyset body almost bursting out of a uniform that was meant for someone with not so many pounds and a few less years.  The name "Lucy" was embroidered above her pocket, the threads unraveling after years of washing and gastronomic abuse.  

Lucy directed me to a booth by the window, a space almost exactly the same distance from each of the other customers. I wondered if their distance was unintentional on their part, if perhaps Lucy had placed them as far away from each other on purpose.  Perhaps it reduced the odds of hearing another customer complain about the food.  

The cushion under the vinyl seat cover was almost non-existent, and I found myself sitting on a hard surface not unlike bare wood.  Shifting uncomfortably, I finally removed my wallet and keys from my  back pockets in an effort to improve what little cushion I had.  I picked up the ragged cardstock menu and flipped it open.  The corners were dogeared and soft.  Looking over the sandwiches I caught the odd gait of someone walking past the window outside.  He had a soft limp and seemed to be almost dragging one foot along rather than taking normal steps.  My eyes looked up just as he passed and I saw long strings of hair hanging off a pale head.  I could not see his face, but his clothing was torn and hung loosely on his frame as though they no longer fit.  I craned my neck to see further but he was already gone, moved around the corner and into the alleyway behind. 

Lucy returned with a glass of water and sat it down in front of me.  She looked at me expectantly, smacking that wad of gum even louder as her eyes scolded me for not speaking up as she approached.  "I'll have a BLT" I said calmly.  "I assume that's one of the specialties right?" I pointed to the small icon next to the title and description and watched as Sally stuck the end of her thumb in her mouth.  Pulling out a wad of spittle she wiped the "icon" off the menu and looked back at me smugly.  "One BLT, house speciality, coming up."  She turned her back and yelled toward the kitchen. "Sal, a BLT!"

A friendly face popped up from the window and smiled at me.  "You want avocado too?" He asked, pointing a spatula at me.  "They're perfectly ripe." His smile was thick and sincere, and his broad face showed a genuine enthusiasm for what he did.  I smiled back and called out in reply "sounds great, thanks" and watched as the head disappeared behind the wall.  

Lucy barely had time to walk back to the kitchen when a plate appeared on the shelf.  "Order up!" Sal's jovial voice reverberated through the walls.  Lucy grabbed the plate and walked it over, placing it gently in front of me.  The smell instantly hit my nostrils and I knew how it would taste before it even touched my tongue.  I lifted the sandwich to my lips and took a large bite.  

A million sensations skyrocketed across my palette. It was like being in love for the first time mixed with the excitement of Christmas Day as a child.  The bacon was perfectly crispy, breaking off at precisely the right moment and melting into the soft avocado before sending a tingle of bliss down my tongue.  The tomatoes tasted like they'd come right off a plant only moments ago, and the bread must have been home made.  This was EXACTLY why I went to places like this.  

Polishing every last morsel of my sandwich I stood rapidly.  "I have thank him" I said, pleading to Lucy to allow me access to the kitchen.  She smiled and held the swinging door open for me as I walked through the thick doorway.  The kitchen was empty.  I looked back at Lucy who gestured to the back door.  I quickly walked out and pushed it open.  It swung shut hard and I jumped a bit.  

The alley was dark, and Sal leaned up against the wall, smoking a cigarette.  "Those avocados were perfect, weren't they?" He asked, a hint of humorous wisdom in his voice. I nodded, about to pour out a sonnet of bacon and tomatoes when I stopped short.  The same man from earlier was approaching us.  In the fading light we could not see his face, but I instantly recognized the hobbling gait.  He moved slowly and deliberately, advancing on us with quiet resolve.  Sal, noticing my silence, looked over at the lurching figure and called out.  "Terry, is that you?" He approached the man and stretched his arms out to embrace him.  The man leapt on him like a cat, burying his teeth into the soft bend of his neck.  Sal screamed in pain and struggled to push the man away, but the bony hands sunk deep into his arms, gripping him like a vice.  Forcing him to the ground, the monster began to tear at him, using his bony fingertips to lacerate his flesh.  Sal screamed, calling for help, fruitlessly trying to combat the violent attack.  

Frozen in fear, I stood, watching the horrible scene, unable to act, unable to speak.  Within moments Sal stopped moving and the man stood, drenched in blood, and looked directly at me.  His eyes were caked with a yellow film, and he cocked his head to one side slightly as though he was listening for movement.  HI shifted my weight and he instantly moved my direction with a lumbering gait.  I grabbed the door handle, pulling hard.  It seemed to be locked.  I twisted rapidly, hoping that someone would hear my desperate attempts.  "Lucy!" I called out.  "Lucy please help!"  The man was almost on me, his tattered clothing dripping with Sal's fluids.  A gargle escaped his throat and I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.  

The door flew open and a hand pulled me inside, shutting the door behind us rapidly.  "Where's Sal?" Lucy called out, pulling my shoulders toward her.  I couldn't look her in the eyes, not after what I'd done.  I just stood there, frozen, unable to act.  Could I have saved him?  I don't know.  

The crash of glass echoed though the kitchen and I looked up.  Lucy didn't move, instead backing toward the door behind us.  "Wait, you can't..." I started, stopping when I saw the look of terror in Lucy's eyes.  I looked back toward the dining room and saw shadowy figures gathering outside the windows, their arms raised slowly, banging on the glass.