A cookout, a storm drain, Stabby
Cooked out on April 12, 2026.
The fallout from bedding a swordfish continued this week—continued unabated. Nurdlebutt didn’t try to scratch my corneas out anymore, but Becasue wasn’t nearly as charitable. I needed a new set of corneas four times this week.
Fortunately, they grow on trees ’round these parts, so that was less of a problem than it seems!
My new neighbor had a cookout on Friday. I brought some hotdogs (cold) and some beer (warm) and joined him. No one else joined us, so it was just he and I, gossiping about all the stupid people in town and reminiscing when Bouillabaisse Boulevard was peopled by smarter people. People (the stupid ones) ambled by and gave us dirty looks. Soon it was dusk. My new neighbor pulled a tent from his shopping cart and started setting it up. I then realized he was just some homeless guy. So, I felt like one of the stupid people on my street and I went back home.
The next morning, he was gone. I wondered if the storm drain from which I had expiscated Stabby had swallowed him up. But the shopping cart was gone too. Shopping carts have wheels, so I assume he just wheeled himself off to greener pastures. (All the pastures around here are brown, except the one purple one on Van der Donk Street.)
This morning, he hadn’t returned. But upon the storm drain sat a single uneaten hotdog. So, I knew he had been there. I smiled. Then, I ate it.