On your last human day, you walked to the diner on the corner of 5th and Mulberry. It smells of fried catfish and moldy gravy, but they bake the best blueberry pie.  The server prances to the booth, requesting your order.  She comes back, winks, and claims, “I cut you the biggest slice,” walking away with a swing. It turns you on. You consider whacking it right here in the booth, but the smell of pie lures you away.

“How sweet,” you mutter. People in the service industry make your skin crawl. You shovel the pie down. The server returns and you beckon her for another slice. She obliges with glee. It goes down quicker than the first slice. When the server goes to the back, you walk out without paying. On the walk back, you witness two squirrels humping on a bench.  “Why can’t we have sex outdoors?” you question, looking into the sky.

Forty-five minutes later, you are sitting upon a smutty mattress at The Winking Lantern. The whore breathes on your neck; she caresses your thigh.  She hands you a warm whiskey. “Don’t worry baby, I’ma professional,” she asserts.

Happier than ever and two hundred dollars shorter, you stroll down to the park with a smirk. Children are frolicking, women are chattering, and you, you are staring at a crusty map questioning if this is the correct rendezvous point.  “Take a left and the oak tree?” you mutter. “Well, shit, there are dozens of oak trees.” The sun blisters above, but you trek onward in hopes that your senses will guide you.

​“This Way” written on an oak tree leads you to your location across an old bridge. You are proud of your great sense of direction. The sun still blisters down. Your scalp is beginning to resemble that of a sun-dried tomato. The clock that they gave you begins to tick. “Tick”… “Tock”… “Tick”… “Tock”…You bite your lip. Blood runs through your veins as lava. The clock grows louder. ZAP!