14

Berphy continued past the grocery store and came to the curb. He decided to rest his legs and sat down next to a dented “No Parking” sign. He could feel the sun on his head and the wind blew gently across his face. When it came to days to get lost, this was a nice one.

He sat and watched the people go by. Some of them waved, some of them didn’t. Some of them he recognized, some of them he didn’t. It didn’t matter. It was something to do.

A man in a suit walked by him and when Berphy waved, the man handed him a dollar and continued into the store. Berphy looked at the dollar in his hand and then at the man.

“I’m not homeless!”

The man in the suit nodded and continued walking. Another dollar fell to Berphy’s feet. This time, from a woman with two children.

“I don’t need your money.”

He tried to give it back, but the woman walked away and gave him a look that let him know not to make a scene in front of her children.

“You’re idiots. Idiots all of you!”

Another man dropped some change at Berphy’s feet.

“What is this? Change? Who just drops change at a person?”

Down the street, Berphy could see the rag man heading his way. Berphy pocketed the money and began to run when he tripped over his own feet and landed on the pavement. He could feel his chin bleeding and his knee was skinned. Someone was picking him up.

“Here,” said the voice.

“Look I don’t need your-“

It was the boy from the window.

“You!” shouted Berphy.

The boy smiled and ran away. He held his hand high as he ran and two dollars flapped between his fingers. Berphy checked his pockets: Empty.

“You son of a bitch!”

And he ran.

13

Berphy walked away from the park; away from the hooting laughter of the idiot children and made his way towards home. As he walked down the street, past the grocery store, he was reminded of the pinch in his ankle, the blood drying on his forehead, the smell of whatever was in those balloons. Berphy was tired. His body ached and he felt faint. The sun beat down on him and he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he had been outside for so long or walked so much. His doctor had told him recently that he needed to drink less coffee and get outside more: “More fresh air,” he was told.

“What a bunch of shit,” said Berphy.

“Excuse me,” said a little girl with a clipboard. She had on a green vest and a plaid skirt. She smiled wide at Berphy and her eyes sparkled.

“Huh?” he said, “What’s the business?”

“No business, sir,” she laughed, “I was just wondering if you’d like to sign a petition to help save my school.”

“I left my wallet at home,” said Berphy.

“That’s okay, sir. I’m not asking for any money, just a show of support. The district is considering closing my school in a few months and if we want to keep it open we need five thousand signatures from the community.”

“Well, I don’t like being on lists. Lists are bad. Do you understand?”

“Sir, I promise you that the information only goes to the district. We just want to learn and the next closest school is really far away.”

Berphy eyed the little girl cautiously.

“What do you want from me?”

“Just a signature, sir,” she smiled again, eyes bright.

“What’s your name?”

“Juniper.”

“That’s a flower.”

“That’s right, sir. I was named after a flower.”

“Do people call you June?”

“Sometimes.”

“How old are you?

“Eleven.”

“Hmmm.”

Berphy stared at her again. For a long while they just stood there. Juniper reached into her vest pocket and retrieved a tissue.

“Here,” she said and began to reach up towards Berphy’s face.

“What are you-“

She gently wiped his forehead and showed it to him.

“Blood,” she said. “All better now.”

Berphy blinked. He let out a long breath and then took in another.

“Where do I sign?”

“Just right here!” she said, her eyes now somewhat larger than Berphy thought eyes could be.

Berphy signed the document and gave it back. The little girl ran towards him and flung her arms around him, knocking him back a bit.

“Thank you so much, Mr…” she looked at the clipboard, “Wayne!”

“It was nothing.”

And she ran away.

12

Berphy took off down the street, but the rag man gave no chase and shortly after, Berphy stopped running; running, he decided, was silly when no one was chasing you.

He looked around and realized that he was at the park just a few blocks from home: Pimple Park. He called it Pimple Park because that was where all of the neighborhood’s gangly, little teenagers hung out and ducked into the trees to make out. Berphy sometimes watched them do this mating dance: A boy would approach a girl, talk for a bit, they’d walk off into the trees, come back and their hair would be a mess - buttons undone. The next day the same boy and girl would go off, but with different people and so on. He was fascinated by how sex had progressed.

When he was a boy, he didn’t understand these things; it took him months to even talk to the first girl he ever wanted to kiss. She was pretty, oh she was. Berphy could not help but stare and stare he did. Her hair was thin and shoulder length - the color of sunlight. On a windy day, the little strands would float in the breeze and sometimes blew away. One day a hair landed on Berphy’s sweater. He considered keeping the hair, but decided that was strange and what would she say if she found it? No, best not to keep anyone’s hair.

Berphy stood near the fence as a group of teenagers gathered around one of the benches throwing straw wrappers at each other and laughing and for a moment he forgot he was over 50.

Then he remembered.

“Stop littering!” he shouted, “It’s rude! The park is for everyone!” and began to walk away.

The children threw the ice from their drinks at him. One piece hit him in the ear.

11

Berphy had no intention of walking up those stairs. What would he do? Sit there and watch Alfred breathe at him all day? Listen to his gurgling choke? These were not ways to spend an afternoon.

Instead he shouted, “I’ll be right there!” and waited for Alfred to move away from the window in anticipation for his arrival before taking off at a leisurely pace down the street. After all, he still hadn’t had his coffee.

As he rounded the nearest street corner he came upon a man wrapped in rags. “Wags,” thought Berphy, “God, he was awful.” Berphy decided that he instantly disliked the rag man.

“Rags,” said Berphy.

“Please, sir. Anything will do. God bless,” said the man.

“Actually,” said Berphy, “I’m a little low. Could you loan me a couple of bucks?”

“What?”

“I’ve donated to charity before. I’ve given you people a lot of money. Now, I left my wallet at home and am asking you to borrow some.”

“Are you seriously asking me to give you money?”

“You were seriously asking me a moment ago. Were you not?”

“Yes, but-“

“What’s the woman always saying?”

“What woman?”

“‘For the price of a cup of coffee.’ Right? That’s what she says, right?”

The rag man stood there dumbfounded.

“Hello? Anyone home? You’re not on drugs are you?”

“No…”

“Good, that settles the addiction question. Now, about that coffee…”

The rag man handed him some money.

“This isn’t enough for a large. What is this?”

The rag man glared at him, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Berphy took the money and angrily smeared it across the rag man’s face. The rag man snarled and bit him. Berphy pulled his hand away, frightened.

“Dogs! All of you!”

10

Berphy walked away from the horrible mess that lay in the street and started heading back towards his apartment. It took him a little while to get his bearings. He recognized the area, but at his age things are always a little familiar and more than a little unfamiliar. The graffiti that said “Funk yeah!” Had he seen that before? What about those kids playing jump rope. Yes, they looked like children he knew.

An explosion of water landed smack on his head. Berphy stood on the sidewalk, soaked and confused. He picked the pieces of pink balloon off of his clothes and then turned to find the rest of the pieces on the ground; Berphy picked them up, held them in his hand, and stared at them for a moment.

“Hey, stupid!” came a voice from above. Berphy looked up. It was Alfred. That’s right, this was Alfred’s neighborhood, thought Berphy.

“You piece of shit!” shouted Berphy.

Alfred was the best friend Berphy had.

“I’m going to come up there and piss in your eye!” he yelled, throwing his fist in the air, clenching the broken balloon pieces. “Right in your eye!”

Alfred coughed a wretched, awful cough and then shouted back, “I’d like to see you try, you twisted rat turd! Does urine still flow from that horrible wrinkle of yours?”

“Open your eyes and find out, you rancid walrus fart!”

Alfred twitched out a dry gurgle - laughing: “Come up here!”

“Make me!”

Berphy was hit with a yellow balloon this time.

Hal Dixon was having some trouble with his wife.

9

Berphy began slowly walking back home when he saw that awful neighborhood mutt, again. They called him “Wags.” They called him that, partially, because he always wagged this little chewed off nub of a tail at anyone who gave him the smallest morsel of food and, partially, because it was baby talk for what he looked like: a pile of dirty rags - it was about 50-50.

Wags barked at Berphy.

“Oh no,” said Berphy, “Not you!”

And Wags was after him.

Berphy tried to run away but quickly twisted his ankle and began to hop and skip down the street to avoid putting pressure on it. His breath was coming in giant heaving breaths, his face was red - both flush and covered in the blood from his forehead. A spray of bloody sweat launched off his face as he quickly shot his head over his shoulder and saw Wags happily barking and nipping at his heels.

He ran faster.

Berphy abandoned favoring the bad ankle and let the pain overtake him until he went numb. He couldn’t feel anything anymore, his legs moved on their own in one fluid cycling motion. He couldn’t have stopped them if he tried - and he didn’t. He ran through a farmers’ market - Wags followed. He darted through some street performers - Wags followed. He bolted across a busy intersection - Wags followed.

The wet sound of exploding innards mixed with the honk of a horn and the screeching of a BMW - a woman screamed.

Berphy skidded to a halt and turned around. There in the street behind him was a BMW covered in bits of matted fur and flea bitten flesh, a very startled teary-eyed woman, and what remained of Wags.

Berphy bent over with his hands on his knees; he could barely get enough breath to get the words out:

“Finally,” wheezed Berphy, “He was awful.”

8

“I think you need to step out of line then, Mr. Merph.”

“Hey! Buddy! Did you here him? Get a move on!” said a young businessman behind Berphy, he wore a large blu-tooth on his ear.

Berphy turned around to face him.

“What do you want from me?”

“What?” said the businessman.

“I’m sorry. Could you not hear me?” and Berphy spit in his face and walked out. Behind him, the businessman was screaming.

“Blehhh! What the fuck was that!?”

He came chasing out after Berphy.

“Hey! Old man! You don’t just spit in people’s faces, okay!?”

Berphy made a fart sound at the businessman.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“I don’t like robots.”

“What?”

Berphy tapped his ear. “Robots,” he said, “You’re inhuman. You’re in society. Take your god damn phone out of your ear and have a conversation with another present living breathing human being.”

“Fuck you! How’s that for conversation?”

“Delightful, you lousy yuppie. No go back inside and order your coffee and get in your yuppie car and go to your yuppie job and go yuppie complain to all your yuppie friends. You yuppie piece of yuppie shit.”

“You’re a horrible excuse for a human being.”

“At least I don’t have spit on my face,” said Berphy and he walked away.

Berphy felt a horrible pain in the back of his head and then a rush of air passed by his body before he slammed into the concrete.

When he woke up the barista was standing over him.

“You shouldn’t spit on people, Mr. Merph…”

“What do you know? What are you twelve?”

“And a half.”

“Don’t be smart with me. Help me up, son.”

The boy helped Berphy up off the ground. As he did, Berphy felt something running down his forehead. It reached his lips: blood.

“Would you like a free coffee?”

“That’s okay. I’ll go get my wallet.”

“Are you going to make it home okay?” the boy asked nervously.

“I’ll be fine,” wheezed Berphy, “Are you going to be okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have a really shitty job.”

7

Berphy buttoned his shirt and headed down the three flights of stairs to the ground floor. He walked out the emergency exit of the building, but the alarm didn’t go off - Berphy was pretty sure some teenagers had disconnected it years ago. He headed out to the street and down to the local coffee shop: Bean Bong.

He stepped inside and the smell overwhelmed him. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Coffee coffee coffee, he thought. Coffee coffee coffee, again. Coffee coffee coffee, over and over. He began to play with the word in his mind: Coffee, coffeE, COF-FEE, COFF-EE. It got more elaborate: CAW-F-EEE, CAWF-FEE, CO-FEE. He tried accents in his brain: CALF-FEE, KAY-FEE. Then he tried words that didn’t even come close: CAT-FEE, CAT-FEED, CAT-PEE, CAST-ING, COP-BEES, POCK-EEE.

“Welcome to Bean Bong. What can I get you?”

FOCK-EE.

“Mr. Merph?”

FOFF-KEY.

“Mr. Merph? Hello?”

CLAW-TREE.

“SIR!”

“COFFEE!” shouted Berphy, snapping out of it.

“What kind of coffee, Mr. Merph…” the barista’s voice was low and tense. Everyone was staring impatiently at Berphy.

“Give me one of those chocolate-y drinks.”

“A hot chocolate?”

“No, the coffee chocolate.”

“A mocha.”

MO-CAW.

“Yes, a mocha.”

“What size?”

“The biggest one.”

“Alright, Mr. Merph. That’ll be five twenty-seven with tax.”

Berphy stared at the barista.

“Mr. Merph?”

“I forgot my wallet.”

COUGH-FEET.

6

Berphy awoke on the floor, staring at a hairy ass. Bumps had crawled into his shirt and had fallen asleep inside. As Berphy rolled over, Bumps dug his claws into Berphy’s chest. Berphy winced, got up, and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, keeping one hand on the kitchen counter to steady himself.

Bumps leapt off Berphy’s chest, overshooting it and landing face-first in the trashcan.

Berphy pulled out the kitchen chair and sat down. He couldn’t for the life of him remember how he had wound up on the floor. He knew he was cleaning up the coffee and then…

There was a smell. It smelled terrible. “What is that?” thought Berphy. He followed it with his nose. He trailed it through his apartment and to his front door. He opened the door and continued to sniff down the hall. He walked past several apartments, nosing the air, but the smell only grew stronger. Stronger and stronger still, the smell was now at its strongest.

4L.

Narwed.

Berphy knocked on Narwed’s door. It opened at his touch.

“Hello?” called Berphy, “Are you home?”

The door jerked open and there stood Jim Narwed. His hair was messy and out of shape like the rest of him. He stood there like a sack of potatoes. His t-shirt read “Wet Paint.”

“Sup?”

“Look here, Narwed. What’s the smell? It’s all over the floor.”

“The smell’s on the floor?”

“It’s… It’s everywhere and it’s horrible. Now, you know what I meant. What’s the smell?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“Nope.”

“You don’t smell that?”

“Smell what?” Narwed sniffed around and then shrugged.

Berphy was annoyed and grumbled, shoving Narwed out of the way.

“Get out of here with that,” he said.

“Hey!” protested Narwed, “You can’t be in my place.”

“Watch me,” said Berphy and he continued sniffing around the apartment. He turned a corner and found a pile of compost in a sunny corner of the room.

“What is that?”

“Compost pile.”

“Are you insane?”

“No.”

Berphy slapped Narwed in the head.

“Get it out of here!”

“You’re not the boss of me!” shouted Narwed, and then, “Button your shirt, Grandpa!”

Berphy didn’t like his attitude, so he grabbed Narwed by the head and pressed his face into his sweaty, grey-haired chest. Narwed waved his arms about, but it was futile. He was stuck. Berphy rubbed Narweds face towards his armpits. Narwed began to dry heave. Berphy tossed him on the floor.

“Get it out of here, you idiot!”

“Fine!” he choked.

Berphy left Narwed’s apartment and began to walk back to his room. Narwed had run to the door.

“You can’t just barge into people’s homes, you fucking intruder!”

Then Berphy remembered: he still hadn’t had any coffee.

5

Berphy’s laughter was cut short when he heard a large crash coming from somewhere in the apartment. He tip toed out of the bathroom, but saw no one. He dropped to the floor - to avoid detection - and crawled on his stomach into his bedroom. When he got there he grabbed the shoes that were sitting under his bed and put them on.

Then he grabbed his baseball bat.

He held it close to his body, ready to jab it at any unwanted intruders. It occurred to Berphy that all intruders were unwanted - that’s why they were intruding. Otherwise they’d just be guests and then they were welcome. And if they were welcome, well, then why would he have to hit them with a bat? He certainly wouldn’t. He decided that maybe “wanted intruders” were people you hoped would barge into your home so that you could hit them with a bat - like Mr. Hepp.

He turned the corner into the kitchen to find the culprit.

His coffee pot, after years of use, had shattered. Coffee had sprayed all over the wall and the counter and pooled on the floor, drifting slowly towards the shattered glass. The newspaper was soaked in it - unreadable.

Bumps sat on the floor happily licking away at the mess. Every once in a while pulling back when he would cut his tongue on some glass before resuming his dangerous drink.

Berphy took the newspaper and dropped it into the trash bin. Then he looked at the coffee on the floor, nudged Bumps away with the bat, and then set the bat to rest on the kitchen counter.

“Well,” said Berphy, “I guess that’s what happens.”

He picked up the plastic handle from the shattered pot and tossed it in the trash as well. He swept up the glass, soaked up the coffee, and washed the wall. He was just about to sit down, when he heard footsteps in the next room.

“Who’s there!?” he shouted, picking up the bat.

“It’s me, the boy from before. You know exactly who I am. I’ve stolen my ball back and now I’m climbing back out your window.”

“Oh no!”

Berphy began to run towards his bedroom when his shoes slipped on the wet kitchen floor. His feet flew up into the air until his body lay horizontal, floating above the ground for a split second, before crashing down.

Bumps licked Berphy’s face as he lay unconscious.

Hal Dixon worked in a tire shop.