Regardless #9

Half an hour passed while Malcolm sat on a bus bench not far from the front door of his office. And then five minutes passed. And then another five minutes passed. And another

and Malcolm stood up from the bus bench and walked down the street, away from work. He was done with Ben and he was done with Ben’s bullshit. Malcolm figured he’d rather be completely broke on a couch, comfortable, and happy infinitely more so than barely not-broke, in an office chair, uncomfortable, and unhappy.

“Fuck it!” Malcolm said aloud to none-other than himself. His only surroundings were old brick buildings each between eight and fifteen-or-so stories high, all of which obviously unable to speak or let alone understand the common-tongue. So, “Fuck it!” He said again. It was so relieving to utter the word fuck between the hours of 11:00 AM and 7:00 PM without fear of consequence.


After an hour of wandering City’s symmetrical streets and realizing everything looked the same, he sat down. That certainly would be a different experience than walking.

The bench Malcolm sat on was nothing spectacular, as no bench really is. But, Malcom did give this bench the benefit of the doubt and considered it as spectacular as it could’ve been. His generosity made him feel pretty good. He hoped the bench felt the same.

Into his pockets he dug, in search of anything, which there wasn’t, because there was nothing. He removed his hands from his pockets brushed hair overtop either ear, because there was something: hair.

And then he closed his, relishing in his freedom and doing his best to ignore the shitty smell of an urban center–

When an even shittier smell entered his nose. It was actually the smell of shit; feces; crap; POOP.

Malcolm attempted to ignore it, but couldn’t, because whatever reeked of actual shit kicked the tip of his shoe.

Malcolm opened his eyes–

and there stood an extremely short man–maybe four and a half feet tall. The beard coming from underneath the hood covering his head possessed more size than the man’s face it hung from. Really, the beard was a perfect square, well-groomed, and stopped at about the top of his breasts. He really smelt like shit.

White teeth gleamed from cracked lips and he cockily noted, “You look like a man who could use a few billion dollars.”

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