A Brave Man in Boxers

Posted: January 6, 2014 by writingsprint in Drama, Weird
Tags: , , , , , ,

Mikey woke up to the sound of people arguing in the street outside. He rolled over. Two o’clock in the morning. Were they kidding? Mikey gave it a minute, then got up and went to the window. On the street corner, he saw two scruffy-looking guys, about his age, dressed casually. Mikey threw open his window. The stifling heat of mid-summer poured into his room. Mikey leaned out the window and screamed, “Hey, assholes, shut up!”

The two guys looked at each other. The one on the right took out a gun and blew a hole in the wall next to my Mikey’s head. Shock of shocks, Mikey didn’t jump, or run crying like a baby back into his apartment. “Never mind,” he said. He went back inside.

Mikey sat down on the edge of his bed, in boxers, socks and a tank top. The air conditioner from the window unit – next to the one he’d opened – blew cool air onto his body. He started to catch a chill. He tried to process what just happened.

Not only hadn’t he panicked, he hadn’t even reacted. He looked at his hand. Steady as a rock. He pinched himself. “Ouch!” Not dreaming. He’d sworn off alcohol and drugs years ago, after two friends under the influence had died in a car accident. Cold sober.

Someone knocked on his door. Mikey opened it, boxers and all. It was the two guys. Mikey reflected that one of them looked like the lead singer of the Foo Fighters, less about twenty pounds, and the other looked like David Bowie in his younger days, less the glam and with dark hair.

“We wanted to apologize for disturbing your evening.”

Son of a bitch. Mr. Bowie really was British, or he did a fantastic fake accent.

He continued, “Mister…?”

“Kaholic. Albert Kaholic.”

Mr. Skinny Fighter handed Mikey his mail, and along with the door of his mailbox. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kaholic. Please let Michael Winters know that his mail wound up in your mailbox.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Aren’t you going to invite us inside?” Mr. Bowie asked.

“I don’t think so. I’m underdressed.”

Both of them laughed. Mr. Fighter said, “I like him.”

Mr. Bowie said, “Cool as a cucumber. I think he’s got potential.”

Mikey yawned. He couldn’t help it. “Look, this has been nice, but I’ve got work in the morning. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Very well. Good night, Mr. Kaholic,” Mr. Bowie said.

“Yeah, well. Whatever. Drive safe.”

“See you in the morning,” Mr. Fighter said.

Mikey knew he wasn’t kidding.


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