Ronald Batzcavich

Cold Sore

I have licked my lips so many times that they are slowly abrading. My once blood-luscious lips have been transformed into a coarse pair of kissers, accompanied by a conspicuous cold sore that lingers on the lop left corner of my mouth. Cold sores or Herpes simplex are most commonly considered remediable, this is true. However, if this common viral infection is not remedied or treated with standard hygiene, it becomes highly invasive and converts its symptoms to those identical to herpetic whitlow, a sickening disease where the virus spreads inter-histogically until it takes up an immense portion of ones epithelial tissue; creating distasteful bumps to sprout up allover. If I want to befriend, kill, and eat Felix, I can't have these despicable sores all over my body. This is why I must go into the city today, to get an antidote for this horrid infection.

Most people are manipulated by advertisements to buy defunct consumer products that claim to alleviate cold sore symptoms quickly. These advertisement claims are only partly true. They do alleviate cold sore symptoms, but not quickly. The most efficient cure for herpes is eicosapentaenoic acid, a common acid found in pretty much any non-tetrapod chordate. This acid is found in fish oils and significantly reduces superficial tissue inflammation. Fish scrap is free at pretty much any fish market whereas typical cold sore remedies are priced anywhere from $6-$30. For parsimonious and intelligent individuals like myself the free choice is far superior. So I have decided to abandon my home temporarily to visit the local market. The one problem with getting fish scrap in this city is that you have to interact with Donald James, the most miserable and bitchy fish sales man ever to touch foot on this God-forsaken earth. But even he is not as annoying as these bloody sirens which have been going off all day, creating a deafening cacophony even I can't ignore. Well off to the market I go.

Jeremiah Taylor

"Hey, wake up."
"Wake up, we are closed yaknow."
I sit bolt upright in my chair and glance around wildly.
"What? Huh? Where am I?" I look up and a once pretty young woman is standing over me.
"Right, right, the Pub." I mutter glancing at my watch, 3:30. "Sorry, I'm really sorry."
I look back up at her and could see she looked a little run down. We suffered from the same thing. This city ran you into the dirt, broke all hope and brightness in your life and left you to wallow in its streets, its gutters.
"I really am sorry," I repeat again, "I've gone and made you stay up late, and after you let me take Kara in here and everything, I really appreciate it." I look down at Kara, dead asleep on my lap, I dread waking her.
The waiter smiled, "Stop apologizing, I was up talking to a friend of mine." She studied me closely. "Do you have a place to stay? If you don't mind my asking that is."
"Kind of," I say, brushing the hair out of Kara's eyes. "Actually, yeah, I think we can go stay with a friend."
"Is there anything else I can do for you two then? Want me to watch her while you call your friend?"
"Yeah, that would be really great, thanks." I slid my legs out from under Kara's head and she sighed in her sleep. "You're really being an angel you know." I said to her as I stood up.
"Its no problem really." She replied looking down at Kara's sleeping form, "I'm happy to help, I don't get out of the pub much so I guess I don't see as much of children as I'd like to..."
She trailed off an I could see she was blushing.
"Kara's a real sweetheart."
I start away and then turn back.
"You know what? I don't know your name."
"It's Tara, and yours?"
"Jeremiah."
"Nice to meet you, Jeremiah."
"You to Tara, and thanks again."
She just smiled and sat down in the booth across from Kara.
The phone at Alex's rang an ungodly number of times before he picked it up.
"Alex?" I said, looking over at Tara.
"Uuh?"
"Is it alright if Me and Kara crash at your place for tonight?"
"Huh? Wait, what?" Alex said, more awake now, "Whats going on."
"I'll tell you when we get up there."
"Okay, yeah sure." He said, "You can come on up."
"Thanks, man. I'll spill once I get up there, I've got alot to tell you, man. I've got a whole lot to tell you."

Thomas Wesley

Im awake i look around; my apartmen; wearing all black?

the television is one the jesus roof man has been arrested and there is a fire downtown; damn arsonists;

i walk to the kitchen to get rootbeer and i stumble over a heavy bag; the money was so plentiful i pinched myself to see if i was dreaming; i went to the beer to get a refrigerator to think more about the money (where did it come from?)

Walt Komanski

Walt's second day continued.

Walt opened the door to the coffee shop, and braced himself expecting to be assaulted by that disgusting rap music they played these days and a bunch of stupid goddamn hippies waving pamphlets bitching about their stupid problems. He walked up to the counter and immediately took a step back, The young man, if you could call him that, had a green mohawk, enough metal in his face to look like a fucking robot and eye-shadow around his stupid fucking eyes. "Jesus H Christ" Walt muttered and looked back up at the worthless waste of air who was about to serve him probably the worst coffee of his life. Walt grabbed the cup from the kid's hand and walked over to a window seat and grabbed a paper as well. Walt looked at his cup of coffee with disgust, he raised it to his lips hesitantly and took the smallest sip. He smiled to himself, it was one of the better cups of coffee he had ever had. Walt worked his way though three more cups and finished the entire paper when he realized there was a man staring at him from across the bar. Walt slowly got up and got a good look at the guy as he put the paper back on the rack.