So much for the bbq / Marsha Bang

After picking up the dry cleaning he had about an hour before he had to go pick up Karl at the airport. His car was parked way the hell over on the corner of Carroll and 4th avenue so factor in a 20 minute walk to be on the safe side. That left only 40 minutes to run to the grocery store and pick up charcoal, a new tablecloth, tomatoes for the burgers, and something to offer for dessert. He should probably pick up some decent beer to offer Karl while he was at at. That prick was liable to poo poo his cases of High Life. What a dick.

On his way to the grocery store it occurred to him that it was his mother's birthday. Son of a bitch. He'd totally forgot it last year and while a phone call the day after, followed with a card the week after that, was appreciated, the despondent edge to her voice lingered months after the belated well wishes. He changed directions now and headed for the card store as he called home. Mom answered and spoke of a nice dinner, ordering the trout, his aunt, someone who had died, someone who had had a baby, and aluminum siding while he perused the aisles for the birthday / mother / religious section and pondered meat thermometers, iTunes playlists, and owning enough plastic chairs.

Walking out of the store he noticed it had suddenly become overcast. He looked up, ready to curse the weatherman who so brazenly chose the sun wearing sunglasses image, only to see no signs of cloud cover. Instead he saw a black dot in the middle of the sun, growing, casting a dark and menacing blanket across his shoes and up past his eyes. Moments later it was pitch black and a sound like television static began to rise from all directions. His eardrums ruptured before he had a chance to cover his head so he could not hear the screams or see the havoc as the world came to its close.

zeroth life lesson: when it all goes to shit pray you're not stuck at the airport like Karl.