The Cake

I work all night hustling Fruit Loops and Corn Poops, he said. Coffee Saturday morning? He had a job, so it was a no-brainer. Bonus: free tiny cereals! We we met at Coffee Time in Parkdale. He’s kind of a big deal there. He looked like a walrus in coveralls. And he brought a cake he made the day before, featuring Jason Voorhees as a snowman. Loved that. Hated this: he went, Say now, Chubs. OK if I tell the cute waitress you’re my aunt? I’ve had my eye on her bubble-butt for months. Would your aunt do This!? I said and kissed him, using lots of meaty, muscular tongue. Yes, he said, his face crumpling with sorrow. I gave the waitress twenty bucks for an improvised lap dance. Yeah go Bahnee, she said, while texting and grinding. Barney cummed in one minute as I gnawed on a day-old Hawaiin donut. Feel better?, I said, staring at my tired, old eyes in the greasy window; at ugly people walking their rats on string and holding hands; at the bastard moon, still stuck to the sky. I feel fantastic, he said. Tell me about your job. You’re ah, a prostitute? Professor, I said. I used to be, that is. And now you’re just an old donut pig! he said and laughed and I laughed too until we were both crying and the whole place joined in. The tiny man in the green elf suit said, It’s too terrible, like one of them Ex rides where you go Stop the ride but— But the carnie ignores you so you puke and it flies back into your mouth! I said and we were all plunged into revery, stock-still and bowed inside the frightful glare like trays of donuts glittering, Choose me. Won’t someone choose me.

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