Title: Relish
Word Count: 1,111
“Welp, looks like I just won the lottery, I guess.” Carl breathed while sweatily clutching a crumpled lotto ticket now worth 238 million dollars.
He finished a soggy McMuffin-like thing that he bought for $4.99(plus 44 cents tax, bringing the total to $5.43 and 7 dollars even after tip), and exited the diner. The weekly lottery broadcast nulled out of existence as the door slowly shut behind him, none of the other occupants any wiser to Carl’s bounty. Or his own perceived sexual prowess--none of them knew about that either, except for Ed and Jane, whom both had their suspicions, I think?
Carl pumped his hips forward with every step, flexing his buttocks and giving it a go with an almost imperceptible thrust. Bang! Bang! Bang! I’m gonna fuck this entire world. I’m gonna fuck this whole thing, motherfucker.
Wait a second, then all of a sudden a cat cross Carl’s path as he was walking towards his car, reminding him of his bounty. I wonder what you taste like, little cat. I’m gonna fly to some foreign country that serves fried cat and I’m gonna eat you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’d pay 938 dollars roundtrip for the fuckin’ chance, cat. Carl pulled out a bag of treats from his inner jacket that he kept on him for whenever he had to negotiate with a cat or squirrel. The cat ate readily. “Get the fuck out of here!” he muttered after patting kitty gently on the head. That’s the third time I seen you around here, ain't you got a fuckin’ home cat?
Before heading home he drove to the corner store to pick up some smokes, maybe. Mitchell worked there, but owned the place too. Mitchell wasn't like these other assholes, Mitchell was a boss motherfucker. Cool as ice when the opportunity arose for a little action, probably. “These motherfuckers, I tell ya’ Mitch”.
“Yeah, I know. Don’t make ‘em like they used to. ” Mitchell shot back through a chilly glare.
“You and me, Mitch. Chevrolets. Classics.” Carl yelled from across the room as he made his way around. The walk through the store was always made. The Round was a tradition. “I see Mentos went up 9 cents, Mitch. Whaddaya think you’ll make off that increase, Mitch? 4 dollars a month profit?” No response.
“Nice place you got here, Mitch. Now gimme my smokes. The cheapies.” Mitchell obliged, quickly, with a seemingly conscious effort towards conservation of movement. Mitchell looked at the 5 dollar bill, and then his eyes moved towards Carl’s smug face. “How long are you gonna hold me to that bet, Carl?” Mitchell muttered.
“A-ha! Caught me again Mitch.” Carl said, remembering his lotto win once again, “Yeah I’m gonna take this Heath bar too. By the way,” Carl stated, pulling a hidden candy bar from the inside pocket of his Members Only, “How much do you think I’ve underpaid ya’ in these 8 years, Mitch? I was thinkin’ about that the other day, must be a lot by now.”
“I dunno, Carl. Maybe, a grand. Probably a grand.” Mitchell answered. You’re off by $238.34, Mitch.
“Well, haha, I feel kinda bad, Mitch. I feel like I should start payin’. Maybe even pay you back that grand, huh, pal? Hell, I’ll do you one better than that, Mitch. I’ll give you a grand times a grand for suffering that bet all these years. But uhh…can I start payin’ next week.”
“Of course, Carl. Next week. If you need the week after that we could do that. Or maybe 3 weeks, that will work too.” Mitch said while rolling his eyes in a predictable, practiced pattern.
“Million dollars, next week, Mitch.” Carl ended. That Mitch, always so understanding.
*****
A draft and the sound of the bell hanging from Carl’s shop door followed Mitch as he started towards his car. Then, like, fucking out of nowhere this sick looking homeless guy rolls out from underneath a bus to confront Carl.
Carl: “The fuck did you come from fucker?”
Sick Looking Homeless Guy: “I came from under this bus where you just saw me come at you from motherfucker! Can I get some change, bitch?”
Carl: “You want some change, you fuck! Fucker I’ll give you a whole heaping helping of change, if you know what I mean.”
SLHG: “I do know! I know exactly what you mean! I want me a piece of that pie, bitch!”
At this point both parties were inches from each other’s faces, screaming and spitting. Their mouths gnashed at air—intake and expulsion—the fast and the furious.
Carl: “This is what I mean, asswipe!”
Carl dashed coins across the earth but was still at the ready. Both men were primed up. SLHG quickly glanced down.
SLHG: “I don’t want no 44 cents, bitch. I want that real money! Give me that real money, bitch!”
Carl: “Oh I got plenty more where that came from. You want 50 large? 50 LARGE, douchebag?”
SLHG: “Bitch, you know I ain’t about those sheckles!”
Carl: “I’m out of here, you stupid, stupid asshole. What I’m gonna do is I’m gonna hand over 500 thousand dollars to you next fucking week. In this parking lot. 7 days.”
SLHG: “And bitch, what I’M about to do, is take your half mil, use 10 dollars of that shit to buy me a motherfuckin’ knife, and I’mma cut all that motherfuckin’ money up. I told you. I Don’t. Need. Them. Sheckles…Bitch.”
Carl: “You’re gonna cut up that cash, fucker?”
SLHG: “I’mma cut that cash, bitch.”
*****
8 days later minus 44 minutes, Carl walked out of Mitch’s store, sans a 5 dollar bill. The Homeless Guy again appeared, this time from around a corner, looking mean as all fucking hell.
Carl: “I really wasn’t expecting yet another meeting. I see you’re still carrying my briefcase. How’s it feel to be a half-millionaire, fucker?”
HG: “Half-millionaire, motherfucker? I don’t half anything!”
The man opened the briefcase. $499,990 remained. Each bill was cut perfectly in half. Perfectly. Carl rifled through each bundle and couldn't find a single flaw in any cut. The money was unusable. 51% of the bill must remain in order to use it. The sublime thought of cuts this exact, this beautiful, caused Carl to fall to his knees, his eyes nearly rolling back, weeping with euphoria. Finally, it felt as if the pavement had absorbed the blood from his head. Fully spent, Carl trained his eyes on the Homeless Guy.
Carl: “Who...who…are you?”
HG: “Just one of us.”
Carl: “You’re just a stranger under the bus…”
HG: “Trying to make his way home.”
