Day 23 #SeptWritingchallenge

Boom 23 days of writing 500 words or more. Its going to be a stretch to turn that into 2,000 words a day. I’ve got time.

His shoes clacked on the cracked streets as he walked towards home. The skyline he’d grown to call home smiled over him. Illuminating the signs marking every block and traffic regulation. He pulled out his phone and checked it for the hundredth time since he started his walk home. Almost an hour and nothing. He tried to keep his head up, he had been up since 5:30am coffee was next before he finished the trek. He strolled business casually up to the Super America. It was very hard to imagine that its grungy red white and blue had ever been new and shiny.

The door was propped open with a case of Mountain Dew it had been ripped open and the cans were strewn all over the dirty sidewalk. He never really appreciated clean sidewalks too pristine and unused, clearly people hadn’t or didn’t travel on them. The overweight girl at the counter didn’t acknowledge him as he walked by.

“Well hey yo you to, thanks for the bright and cheery Super America howdy.”

He walked to the coffee corner, and pulled a 20oz cup from its dispenser. There were three pots but only one had a brew time written on it.

“Ugh, this was brewed 9 hours ago?” He called back to the cashier.

She stared.

“Hey, can you brew some more coffee, I’ve had a shit night?”

“Every night is shit”

“Why are you so wise?” He laughed and waited.

“I’m not going to”

“Not going to?”

“Not going to make your ass coffee, get an iced one or something we got a microwave.”

He walked out of the store and stole two of the mountain dews off the sidewalk. He popped a can open and sipped the fizz before it could get on his dress pants. He had to be at work in 5 hours. She was right, this night is shit. He walked slowly and sipped on his soda. He couldn’t get it out of his mind it was stuck on replay. A recursive loop of his bad decisions. He tried to rationalize to himself but he couldn’t. There was nobody to blame. He gave the second can to an old man sleeping on a bus bench.

“There you go bud.”

He took it reluctantly and closed his eyes again.

The man could see his apartment looming in the distance, ninety minutes of mulling it over and he still didn’t know what to do or say. He checked his phone hoping for a hint but no. Its notification bar was blank like it always was. He stuck his hands deep into his suit pockets and sped up towards home. At least he could get a few hours of sleep. His clients always knew when he was tired. He rarely wasn’t they ignored his yawns and the dark rings under his eyes as a professional would.

He checked his phone again. There was one new message. His fingers flew through the unlock pattern to see what it said. He read it, and gave his phone to woman walking by with a 40oz in a bag.

“it just says asshole? Are you calling me an assh– Oh my god no!”

He stepped in front to the bus. This night was shit.


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