After a four mile jog, I was only a few blocks from my home when I watched a blue van drive past me and unexpectedly slam on the breaks. The van stopped dead in the middle of the road, only a few feet in front of me.
My brain immediately told me that this was odd and that continuing to run past the van probably wasn’t a great idea. I slowed my jog down to a walk and stopped when I saw the van shift into reverse and began driving in my direction.
Despite being chained to a mountain of debt, Jess and Lexi set out after college to escape their vapid Jersey hometown in an attempt to find the underbelly of a city where the people are provocative, the environment is stimulating, and the whiskey is cheap.
Lexi always got on Jess about leaving the house with damp hair, arguing that apparently “air-drying your hair by leaving your windows down on the drive to work” was not an acceptable form of hair drying.
It’d been two weeks and three days since Jess heard nothing but radio silence from her flame, Chris James: the same silence that haunted their meals together the last few weeks of their relationship.
But Jess didn’t know it was over, really over until now.
After neurotically analyzing every inch of his profile while twisting in the agony of her unrequited love, Jess finally got her answer. Not from a phone call or a response to her regrettably meek texts asking when she would see him again, but from an updated status confirming Jess’ worst fear.
And now Jess wasn’t preoccupied with his updates anymore- she was consumed with hers.
“Jesus, even in your fantasies you shoot for the floor,” Nick said, holding up the ragged sleeve of Jess’ costume.
“Oh, the stars, that’s right, I’m supposed to aim for the stars,” Jess answered in the least mocking tone she could muster. After five years of marriage, Nick decided it was time to divulge his shameful secret- he loved Renaissance fairs. No, not loved, obsessed, he was obsessed with renaissance fairs. Nothing made him happier, he said, than dressing up in a historically accurate costume, eating a turkey leg in one hand and drinking beer from his chipped bull horn in the other. So that’s how Jess found herself here, dressed in a period-accurate costume as a wench. Something she never thought to put on her own bucket list.
Because that’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? A ginormous game of dodge ball.
The game was on. Jess mentally prepared herself. Physically prepared herself. Then it was time, the clock started when the virus hit her area. Just one case at first. Then two. But Jess was ready, so ready. She had a bottle of hand sanitizer, plenty of meds, a bottle of Wild Turkey, and cans upon cans of food that will probably follow her into retirement.
To say Jess was excited to play the game is an overstatement; but, prepared, resolved to beat this virus- yes.
And like every game of dodge ball that Jess ever played, she was out in round one.
Management Analysts are an unapologetic nerdy sort. Their love for plugging away on their spreadsheets and scrubbing endless data is pure and simple. Or at least that seemed to be the case in the nerd farm Jess was recently hired to work in.
Jess had no idea how she was selected for the analyst position. Had she successfully argued during her interview that her smorgasbord of past jobs actually entailed ‘analyzing data’? Even Jess was surprised when she saw the job offer in her inbox. But after unsuccessfully job hunting for six months, she wasn’t about to question the decision to hire her.
The boss huddles everyone in the office together, and then immediately realizes his error.
He gestures for everyone to move back, and instinctively everyone moves back six feet.
Actually, I don’t know if they moved back six feet. I haven’t really mapped out how far six feet is. My measuring style is more like what people did back in the days before standardized measurements were enforced. I even cook this way. I eyeball a cup of flour, then eyeball a teaspoon of salt. And in this case, I eyeballed six feet, which is six long steps back. Sure, that should do it. Although, I feel like it should be said that I’m not a good cook. Which was fine two weeks ago. Two weeks ago I could be a willy nilly bad cook and it didn’t matter. But now, with the world upside, Darwinism is a thing again, and ‘willy nilly’ is risky business.
The noise sounded like air slowly being released from a balloon– or at least that’s what Elle thought.
When she heard the sound, her whole body was bathing in the warmth of his radiant heat; her arms coiled around his barrel chest, fingers entwined in a thicket of chest hair, breasts flattening with every perfectly in sync inhale. She was in a complete state of ecstasy; high on his virile pheromones and the scent of his musky cologne.
Lieutenant Smarmy was full of glaring contradicts.
But his impish and righteous nature somehow symbiotically worked together.
So, it wasn’t surprising when my fellow officer deceptively gave me a klonopin pill to calm my nerves before a jump. A pill which I gobbled up with many thanks after believing he had given me some knock-off brand Dramamine for my inevitable motion sickness.