I just came in to buy Nyquil. The good kind. The knock-you-on-your-ass kind they lock up because you can cook meth with it. The kind that costs ten bucks a bottle. The taste of social uprising I found in aisle six was free.

I let my mind wander, and it traveled to a distant parking lot with thousands of parked cars, one of which was mine.  But which one? My car was silver, but there were literally hundreds of silver cars.

Every member of this chatroom knows I write extremely graphic (but tasteful) Lord of the Rings erotic fan fiction. What most of you do not know is that, in case my apartment building burns down, I always carry a USB with my life’s work saved on it. And … yesterday … yesterday I lost the USB at a Baskin-Robbins.

I called her,

Lily on 1st April,

Julie on 15th,

Rekha on 3rd May.

She didn’t complain, yell, or punch me in the face.

The verdict on the last featured menu item had been given, (“These maple turkey necks are through the roof and out the chimney”). Moments later, as it had hundreds of thousands of times previously, the iconic ’67 Camaro convertible—driven by the show’s host Guy Fieri—sped into frame.