Savage Tales

–"
    "Excuse me, I'm quite busy," I said.
    "Oh, sorry."
    The waitress left. I delicately put my book down and placed the bookmark in randomly. I had been distracted. I realized I was surrounded by females. All the staff. The Girl Scout and her mother across the street. And there didn't seem to be any other men in Frank's. Had they all slept in this Saturday?
    The door opened and I looked up a little too eagerly, and an incredibly overweight or morbidly pregnant woman came in.
    "Not her," I said to myself.
    I lifted my cup to my lips and pretended to take a sip. It was empty, as the waitress had seen, and when I looked up I saw that waitress eye me with the cup to my lips and knew what she was thinking: He's pretending to drink. He just doesn't want to order anything .
    And perhaps I didn't. Why was the staff so rude and inquisitive with their words and their thoughts anyway? Why couldn't they leave me alone? Why couldn't they employ cold, hard robots, who didn't ask you about literature and the last time you had eaten? Where the hell was she ?
    It went on that way for a while, and I was starting to have serious doubts about my internal gamble to beat the Girl Scout girl with my internal wager. I couldn't see through my eyes. I was a few feet outside and above myself, looking down on a sweaty man who couldn't do anything with his energy. And the world around him was a sandwich of women with too many questions.
    I think I waited an hour. I would often wonder what time it was and look at my watch, only to forget why I was looking by the time I looked. Finally I could take no more, got up and paid. The waitress got a very small tip.
    Outside I stood on the sidewalk for a while, just in case she decided to show.
    "I just stepped out for some fresh air," I would say. "Oh, you're late? I hadn't noticed. The time just flies here."
    It started to rain. I could see the Girl Scout and her mother conversing, the mother still on the phone and unable to take it away from her ear, her daughter pointing to the boxes getting wet, and picking up a tiny umbrella.
    I watched them like a silent film for a while. Then I crossed and they didn't seem to see me at first. I was the invisible customer.
    "What?" the mother said.
    "I'd like a box," I said. "Samoas. Actually, make it two."
    I took out some money and the mother held out her hand, but I handed it to her daughter.
    "Thanks," said the Girl Scout.
    "It's getting kind of rainy," I said.
    "That's okay," said the girl.
    "That's a good attitude," I said, and picked up my cookies.
    Back at the house I turned on the news and cracked open a box. Something happens when I put them on my lap. I have no means of stopping myself. I only wish I had bought two different varieties. But you have to admit – Samoas are good.

DARKNESS

    I was awakened at the crack of dawn by the sound of a chirping computer whistle harkening me back to those disastrous bygone days in my youth when the Mother Superior Queen Bee would pat me on the back and remind me that although I was the favored one I had a responsibility to not jump too far ahead of my cohorts in establishing a tower of blocks or mixing pancake batter in a hedonistic way for I was not a holy Roman emperor or an emperor in any way and should avoid all pretensions to being as such for such things lead to rebellion in the crowd and signal an arrogant mind which is best avoided and the Mother Superior once caught me napping with my pants down and my pecker inserted in a cookie jar all asplinter with sugary hedonism wrapped up in a tortilla green from the cupboard and this perhaps signaled my early love of Hispanic girls and it would be years but my first love was Maria a young Spaniardita from Spain or Mexico I forget which but her beauty radiated from the sun itself. I can still see her standing over the water fountain pressing it futilely because she had scurvy and it made her weak and I sussed it out I realized what was the matter and one day brought her an orange to cure her but she only threw it away and cursed me saying she hated oranges she hated all fruit and all things that grew of the earth and now that I think of it that's probably why she had scurvy but I digress because she was a mere blip in my emotional background soon forgotten buried underground and I would move on to other girls the next being Cynthia Rodriguez and that might not sound so Hispanic to you but believe you me she was and one day I took her to the far edge of the grass