Corpse / Small Worlds Chapter Thirty Six

Small Worlds
Chapter Thirty-Six

Zeke sat in the lone chair in his foyer. He was appreciating a quick cup of tangy Hawaiian fruit punch. Though he was not yet sixty-five, he had just received his first pension. The previous Tuesday, Zeke had retired from his position as the proprietor of Fairview Brewery. His position had just been appointed to a young bloke by the name of Rodgers. He took another sip of Hawaiian Punch.

"Boy, what do they spike this punch with?" he grumbled. "Those Hawaiians..." The doorbell rang, and Zeke steadily sprung out of his chair, his scoliosis kicking back in. His clumsiness caused the cup of bright red liquid to spill onto the carpet of the borderline elegant foyer.

The doorbell rang again. Zeke looked out the tiny peephole with his moderately myopic eyes. All he saw were two untrimmed, uncombed beards. One of those Jewish missionaries, thought Zeke, who had not gone to college but instead had entered the job market at eighteen. He opened the door, revealing two stooped figures, both with a multitude of hair.

“No thanks, I’m Epis…” began Zeke in his gurgling snarl.

These were no Jewish missionaries. These were vagrants. Their frostbitten claws were covered in ripped green gloves matching their bare feet, and the unhealthier of the two was grasping a cassette tape marked Rubber Soul. Damn hippies, with their hairy faces, distorted music, and no jobs. Damn homeless hippies, thought Zeke.

“Get off of my property or I’m calling the police!” roared Zeke, whose Hawaiian Punch mess was even visible to the homeless men.

“My name is Joe…” started the other hobo.

“I don’t give a monkey’s stomach what the hell your name is! Get off of my property!"

Well, the hobos ran like a maniac off of Zeke’s third-acre of land. He was actually sprinting, his filthy bare feet being cut like butter on the pavement and asphalt.

“I love bums,” growled the angry Zeke with all the sarcasm he could fit into three monosyllabic words.

He then cleaned up the sticky nonalcoholic mess, and hosed his porch. "Now, when's that Prophetess gonna get here? 'My name is Joe.' Ha!"