I was up to talk to my doctor about Rybelto. I wanted to know what Rybelto did. The guy on the commercial held a bowling ball. Maybe Rybelto improved hand-eye coordination. I wanted better hand-eye coordination so I ate the $50 copay and went to see my doctor. He told me Rybelto wasn’t right for me.
Tropical sun rays glinted off turquoise waters, beckoning her brown skin to a richer shade of chocolate, turning mine from a wintry white to a pale pink that stung slightly, like a lovebite that lands right at the threshold between pleasure and pain. We waltzed in waist-deep lagoons while slurping rummy cocktails out of coconut halves. Sometimes twice in a single day we found ourselves tangled up in clumsily wonderful sex (clumsy because we waited, and wonderful because, well, we waited). Nestled in a hammock strung between two palm trees, massaged by silver moon beams, I wondered if it could possibly get any more clumsy or wonderful.
Doris straightened her jacket and patted her curls. Potential customers filled the plush white armchairs before her, buzzing like curious flies, all lured in by her fancy paper fliers and the promise of free pastries. All that was left was convincing them to subscribe for Spa Today Away’s Spontaneity Vacation.
That woman in the front row with the face tattoo? Doris would seduce her with the concept: vacations so spontaneous they could happen at literally any time.
The morning I am to begin my journey and receive my starter Pokémon from Professor Oak, I wake up sweaty from a dream. In the dream I am a Psyduck holding my head; yellow, dumb, and in pain. The other eleven-year-olds mock me, calling me a runt like they do in real life because I have to stand on tippy toes to reach the Pokéshop counter when I purchase ethers and potions for Mother.
They both cleared some space for the runner to pass by them and looked down the path waiting for them to round a corner of thick forest. But what rounded the corner was no jogger. Or, technically it was, because it was jogging. But it was no human jogger. No, instead it was a 25-foot great white shark. The massive white shark was propelled swiftly down the path on two very toned human legs clad in running shorts and Nike sneakers. Both of their eyes grew wide with terror. Chet’s darkest dreams had come to pass.