Random Sequence

We left the pee stations and stood washing our hands at the sink stations. It was Friday, July 2nd, 5 PM.

"Crush barbecues," he mumbled as the faucets roared. "Like a soda can."

"What?" I said.

"I hate them," he said. "Barbecues."

"You have a tasteless tongue?" I said.

He snorted. "More like a frozen mouth. I can't make small talk."

"What about now?" I said, wadding my paper towel. I tossed it toward the receptacle. As always, I missed.

"I'm sick of burgers," he said, more to his face in the mirror than to me. "I'd rather be king of the donuts."

"But isn't it somewhere for you to meet...you know. Maidens."

"Deformed Lolitas?" he spat. "You don't know my circle."

"Too bad," I said.

"Why? You're not missing much."

"No, too bad for you," I said.

He shrugged. "I think I'll just stay home and eat bacon."

"Listen to the lawnmowers," I suggested. "And the M-80s."

He groaned a little as we left. Or was it the hinges? I couldn't tell.

(Not to be continued.)