cooper goes to jeremiah’s house & opens the refrigerator by Josh Spilker
cooper woke up 2.5-3.5 hours later. it was dark. cooper could no longer see the grass very clearly.
cooper took out his smartphone. cooper looked for a return message. cooper could not find a return message. cooper looked for the name, “simon.” cooper could not find the name “simon.”
cooper looked in his phone. cooper looked for the name “jeremiah.” cooper found the name “jeremwork.” cooper hit the name “jeremwork.”
“what up you’se bizotch,” jeremiah said.
“whatzup,” cooper said.
“do you have any oxy?”
“why? what you need?
“bump of somethin, you know what i mean, what i mean,” cooper laughed. cooper laughed uncomfortably.
“just alcohol,” jeremiah said. “come get some of that?”
“ok,” cooper said.
cooper found his bike outside. cooper rode to jeremiah’s apartment complex. the apartment complex had a swimming pool. cooper saw kids playing in the swimming pool.
“swim ba da bim brim brim,” cooper said.
cooper dropped his bike near a fence. cooper looked for jeremiah’s apartment. “there are peaks in the architecture,” cooper said. cooper walked across the grass. the grass was green. the grass was lush. cooper walked to jeremiah’s door. the door was dirty brown industrial. cooper knocked.
the door opened. cooper looked into jeremiah’s apartment. cooper saw a futon. cooper saw scattered guitar cases. cooper saw cream white sanitized steam cleaned carpet. cooper saw a kitchen. the kitchen had a counter.
“the counter looks cheap,” cooper said.
“formica,” jeremiah said. “sit down wherevs.”
cooper sat down on the floor.
“one sec,” jeremiah said. jeremiah walked down the cream white sanitized carpet towards the back.
cooper sat on the cream white sanitized carpet. cooper looked at the windows. the windows were covered with cheap white blinds. one of the blinds was folded.
“those probably make a crinkle crinkle tinkle sound when you turn them,” cooper said.
cooper looked at the walls. on one wall was a poster of jimi hendrix. on another wall was an “obey” poster. on another wall were the spraypainted words “i hate banksy grey ghost, no i don’t.”
cooper stood up. cooper went into the kitchen. cooper opened the refrigerator. cooper saw vitaminwater. cooper saw mozzarella cheese. cooper saw kale. cooper saw a carton of eggs. cooper did not see any alcohol. cooper opened the carton of eggs. cooper took out three eggs.
cooper walked to the jimi hendrix poster. “stupid stereotype mfers, young people, no imagination, what do i care, random instagram 60s meme, don’t care,” cooper threw an egg.
cooper turned to the “obey” poster. “cool underground marketing co-opted by the man and shepherd fairey simultaneously does care & doesn’t care. stupid confused fairey.” cooper threw the egg.
cooper turned to the scrawled words. “underground, aboveground, neutral ground, hover ground, upside-down, i hate banksy no i don’t, good for him, street art gazillionaire, hooded wristband brit, i hate banksy, no i don’t, ghost face thrilla.” cooper smashed the egg on his head.
“bro, what was that sound? who ya talkin with?” jeremiah said this walking up the hallway. “what the freak,” jeremiah said when he saw the walls. “whatcha got against eggs & chickens, you a vegan puffer?”
“naw, bro, naw right,” cooper said.
silk clear mucus viscous liquid slimed down his face.
“i just took the last joint anyway,” jeremiah said. “i dont have enough.”
cooper hit his fist against the wall under jimi hendrix 2-5 times.
“now yella egg is dripping, covering the carpet and paint, ya egg beater the wall,” jeremiah said.
cooper looked at his knuckles. particles of white clung to his knuckles.
“why didn’t you text me back?” cooper said.
the silky viscous liquid was on the tip of his nose, tickling his pores.
“what text you talkin?” jeremiah said.
“like 4 hours ago,” cooper said.
clear mucus on his chin, he imagined smiling right now, and the mucus filling in his dimples, forever crusty in the folds of his face.
“didn’t get it,” jeremiah said. “what so funny?”
“it said something like: ‘taco truck missin, big deal,’” cooper said. “nothing is funny. there is egg on my face.”
“for reals, your food truck camper gone?” jeremiah walked to the cheap formica counter. he picked up a rag. he handed the rag to cooper.
“yes,” cooper said. cooper grabbed the neckline of his shirt. he dropped the rag beneath his shirt.
“where is it?” jeremiah said.
“i don’t know,” cooper said. “you come let’s look for it. it’s your rag.”
now, jeremiah punched the wall.
“kinda you outta your head,” jeremiah said.
“okay,” cooper said.
cooper opened jeremiah’s apartment door. cooper walked out.
cooper walked to his bike. cooper picked up his bike.
cooper rode his bike. the mucus viscous liquid was smashed by the wind, forcing it along his cheeks. cooper felt the cold rag at the base of his stomach, grimy crumbs being transferred to his stray stomach hair. cooper rode his bike to a ditch by the woods. cooper got off his bike. cooper walked into the woods.
© 2013, Metazen.
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