'Ten Minutes Late for Reality' by Lou Morris (c) 1988, 1989, 1991, 2002, 2015. Thirteen:

Thirteen:

   "I am a purely fictional person.  So is Lou."

                                 - Lou Morris; simply a      
                                  coincidence.


   Stupid kids, Lou thought to himself as a bunch of preteen
boys gaggled in front of his car.
   They leered in his general direction, giggling, laughing
and pointing... mostly at his car.  "Piece of shit," one of
the boys sneered.
   What?!  You bunch of little virgin punks! Lou thought,
trying to mentally strangle them.  "Let me run 'em over a few
times, Lou."
   I definitely remember a certain little kid making fun of
his aunt's car.
   "I never made fun of this car!" Lou rebutted.  "At least
not that much..."
   The kids, always looking for something even stupider to
make fun of, now started to laugh at the jerk arguing with
himself in that piece of shit car.
   You called it the "Bat-mobile."
   "Well..."
   You definitely made fun of this car.
   "Until I found out it could do this..."  Lou started the
Rivvie up, put the brake to the floor and shifted into drive.
   The bunch of kids casually, yet interested, glanced at
the running Riviera in front of them.
   Then Lou floored it...
   The kids jumped back a few feet as the Rivvie lurched
forward, dirtying the kids underwear a bit.  The squeaky
breaks strained with effort as white smoke poured from the
rear of the car.  The wheels spun and spun and spun...  It
was a power brake.
   If an Indian who knew smoke signals was present, he could
decipher the Rivvie's smoke message to be, "If you don't
start washing me once in a while, I'm not going to do this
anymore!" but this has nothing to do with the story, so the
Indian was not present and this message was not deciphered.
   Lou abruptly shut his car off.  He got out and coughed on
the smoke; he waved some of it away.
   The kids were in awe; a lot of new cars are faster than a
'71 Riviera, but none of them could spin tires like that.  
Their gaze followed Lou into the 11-7.
   The phrase "to be observant" is misleading.  For example,
some people see everything but understand little, while
others see an overview of their entire surroundings.  Still
others, like Lou, only see what they want to see, mostly
ignoring everything else.
   This is what Lou saw in 11-7:
   Counter person Cindy Very.  More specifically, counter
girl Cindy's slightly open shirt as she bent over to count
something.  Even more specifically, counter girl Cindy's
white bra that shown through her equally white cotton shirt
and peeked from her open neck line.
   This is what Lou didn't see:
   A gunman, dressed entirely in black, pointing a large
shotgun at counter person Cindy and her white bra.
   Lou drooled slightly.  "Shoof," he commented quietly.
   Words mean different things, as everyone knows, and as
such, they tend to cause many problems around the world (and
the universe, too, but let's not get into that yet).  For
example, the word 'shoof' in the Gnomish tongue means, "Hey,
shorty!"  Fortunately, no gnome was present to be offended by
Lou's outburst.
   "Double shoof," Lou added.  To Lou, 'shoof' meant simply
"a really cute girl."  He turned away, lest he be caught, yet
again, staring.  He walked over to the self-serve soda
machine and drew a medium Cherry Coke.
   "Nobody try anything stupid, or she gets it!"  The gunman
poked the tip of his shotgun into her neck.
   Boy, I could give it to her, Lou thought pervertedly.  He
sipped his Cherry Coke.
   Ahem.
   "Oh, that's right!  I didn't finish my little story yet."  
Now where was I? Lou thought.  "Did I get to the part about
getting fired?"
   But--
   "That's right!  I didn't even get to breaking up with
Mary yet."  Lou sipped his soda once again.  "Hmn..."
   "Open that safe!" the gunman screamed, waving the shotgun
around the store, pointing at various freaked people.
   "I'm trying!" Cindy screamed frantically.  She tried.  It
wouldn't open.  She tried again.  Still wouldn't open.
   "She didn't even break up with me in person," Lou
reminisced, totally oblivious to the entire robbery.  "She
had one of her friends come up to me and tell me that she
didn't want to see me anymore.  Said she wanted to see other
guys, 'especially that cutie working in the We-We.'"  Lou
made a stupid face.  "Der," he said.
   Uh, Lou?
   "Okay.  I just paused for a second..."  He sipped his
Cherry Coke.  "I loved her; would've done anything she
wanted.  I cried for almost a hour... but at the end of the
day, I had gotten most of the misery out of my system.  I
almost felt good about myself.  Then, the next day, the
general manager of Death Adventure accused me of stealing
money from one of the stands.  Not even a week and I lost
both my girlfriend and my job... "termination" they called
it.  Bullshit is what I call it!"  Cherry Coke spilled from
his newly crushed cup onto his scruffy white sneakers.  He
frowned, then tossed the cup into the garbage.  "Whatever,"
he mumbled.  "Just for that," Lou sneered, thinking of his
untimely termination less than a week ago, "I hope their
amusement park burns down!"
   "Shut the hell up!" the gunman yelled to Lou, but Lou was
too busy drawing another soda to notice.  "Hurry up with that
safe!"
   "It won't open!" Cindy cried hysterically.
   "Open it!" he screamed, slamming his hand down onto the
counter top, crushing a box of chocolate cherries.  "Or I'll
open you," he added, licking the white creamy cherry juice
from his fingers.
   Lou smiled as his eyes wandered.  Reality usually passes
over his head but that never happens with perversion.  Not
from a person with a fetish for every part of the female
anatomy.  He rolled that last thought through his extremely
perverted mind, imagining how he'd handle it.  Or her as the
case may be.
   Lou!
   "Oh, sorry," Lou thought outloud.  He studied the
situation, now finally taking note of the masked gunman and
his shotgun.  Shotgun?!  No thanks...
   Lou, do something!
   "Are you kidding?  He's got a shotgun and I've got a
medium Cherry Coke!" Lou replied frantically.  "I don't do
death, thank you."
   If you don't do something soon, he'll rape her!
   "So?  I don't think he'll mind if I watch--"
   "Shut up, freak!" the gunman yelled, pointing the
not-so-nice end of his shotgun at Lou.
   Lou smiled quickly.  "Hi!" he said.  "I'll shut up now,"
he added, mimicking a mime doing a zipper-the-mouth-routine.
   The gunman marched right up to where Lou was leaning
casually against one of the glass doors of the back wall
coolers.  "What was that?"  He shoved the tip of his gun into
Lou's gut.  "You scu--"
   "Excuse me, Miss," said a deep male voice.  Very blubbery
and fat sounding, just like the voice's owner.  Imagine
"Weird Al" Yankovic in his "Fat" video.  Then add a few
hundred pounds here and there.  Next, dress him in a red and
yellow super-hero costume straight out of some warped comic
book, with two big M's on his front and cape.  Finally, add a
turbo powered, fuel injected, radioactive, 455 horsepower
appetite with overdrive.
   "Excuse me, Miss?" Mighty Mooch asked again.
   Cindy looked up from her safe opening.  She glanced
nervously over at the preoccupied gunman then back at the
very large person standing at the counter.  "Uh," she
replied, wondering if she should hide someplace.
   "How much is this?" Mighty Mooch asked, taking no note of
the robbery.  He held up an entire rack of candies and
goodies.
   She frowned at the rack of candy.  There was well over a
hundred dollars worth of candy on the rack.  Didn't make much
sense to make him pay for it, though, she thought.  She'd
only have to give the proceeds back to the robber.  "It's
free," she whispered, "Just get the hell out of here and call
the police."
   "Police?" Mighty Mooch mused, rolling his forehead into
wrinkles big enough to lose an old Buick in.  "Why?"
   Why? Cindy thought.  "The robbery!" she blurted.  She
covered her mouth quickly, but it was too late.  The gunman
noticed the outbreak and left Lou to whimper as he strode
back to the counter.
   "Robbery?" Mighty Mooch repeated.  He looked about... "A
robbery!"
   "That's right, fatty!" the gunman replied.  "Now go stand
with the rest of the freaks over there."  He stuck the gun at  
Mighty Mooch's chin (third from the top) and laughed.  "Or
we'll get to see if blubber splatters."  He laughed again.
   Mighty Mooch eyed the shotgun.  His stomach growled--a
pang of hunger struck... He couldn't help himself.
   Bite!  Crunch!
   Splinters of metal and wood fell to the floor as Mighty
Mooch chomped down on the end of the shotgun.  He chewed
noisily, making a big show of it.
   Wide eyed, the gunman forgot to pull the trigger.  He'd
never seen anyone eat a shotgun before.
   Munch!  Munch!
   A few more bites and the gun was nothing more than a bad
memory.
   The gunman turned to run, mouth wide open, but met Lou
and a can of aerosol deodorant instead.
   Spritz!  Spray--!
   "Aaa--" the gunman replied, his voice dry and raspy and
pine smelling.  He turned again, screamed, "--" and ran out
of the store.
   "He's getting away!" someone yelled.
   "Don't worry," Mighty Mooch replied, "I can catch him on
foot."
   "Not in a Corvette, you can't!" someone yelled.
   "My Corvette!!" someone else yelled.
   Screech!
   "I'll get him!  Mighty Mooch to the rescue!" he said,
getting into his favorite unpublished comic book persona.  He
took his rack of candy and waddled slowly towards the doors.
   Lou smiled at Cindy, hoping to impress her with his show
of bravery.  "And they say Cassville is a boring place to
live."
   Cindy didn't reply.  She was too busy thinking of seeking
employment elsewhere.
   Mighty Mooch, after finally squeezing through the front
double doors, asked a bunch of kids hanging about, "What's
the fastest car out here?"  After a unanimous vote, Mighty
Mooch thanked them and then squeezed himself into the large
car.  Luckily, the keys were in the ignition.
   Screech!
   He tore away after the renegade Corvette.
   "What's the matter?" Lou asked Cindy, sipping a gulp of
another Cherry Coke, not noticing the departure of something
he loved very much.
   Cindy frowned back at Lou.  I could've been raped and
killed and this idiot is hitting on me!
   "Hey, thanks man!"  The Corvette owner clapped his hairy
hand upon Lou's back.
   "Thanks?" Lou asked.  "For what?"
   "For loaning that fat guy your beat-up clunker so he
could go and get my beautiful Corvette back."
   "What?!" Lou screamed.  He ran to the big window and
glared at the spot where his car should have been, but wasn't
anymore.
   "What?!" he screamed again.  He ran outside to the exact
spot where his car was, but not was.  A puddle of oil was the
only thing that remained.
   He pounded the ground carefully, being extra careful not
to get his clothes dirty as well.  "My Rivvie!  It's been
car-napped!"  Why me? he thought.  "First my girl, then my
job!  Now I've lost my car!  Next thing you know, someone
will steal my socks!"  He frowned, remembering things he
shouldn't.  "Oh, that's right; Roy already stole my socks!"
   Sorry, Lou.  You can't know that yet.
   "Oh," Lou said, slightly disappointed.  "But it did sound
good though."
   Yep.
   "My car!" Lou resumed.  "What do I do now?"
   You're the main character, you think of something.  Me,
I'm going to go and get a soda.  All your drinking made me
thirsty.  Bye.
   "I hate you!" Lou yelled  "Stupid book," he muttered.  He
walked over to the pay phone and dialed...
   Clunk.  Buzz... Beep--Beap--Bep--Boop--Boop--Boop--Boop.
   A second later...
   Bring... Bring... Ring... Click.
   "Hello, Cassville police.  What ya want?" asked a voice
that sounded like someone was speaking through a mouthful of
powdered doughnuts.
   "Uh, hi.  I'd like to report a stolen car," Lou said,
sobbing slightly.
   "What kind of car would it be?" asked the doughnut voice.
   "A 1971 Buick Riviera.  It's gold with a brown door.  A
long boat; you can't miss it."  I loved that car, Lou
thought.  A tear rolled down his cheek.
   "Licence plate number?"
   "AGX-14M"  How I remembered my license plate number, Lou
thought, I'll never know.
   "Okay...  It'll be about an hour for someone to get out
there--"
   "An hour!  Why so long?"
   "These things take time... where are you now?"
   "11-7, but--"
   "Oh, you're at 11-7!  We'll be right over!"
   Click.
   Ten seconds later, the 11-7 parking lot was filled with
police cars, vans and cruisers--sirens blaring away.
   Lou hung up the phone and walked up to the chief of
police who was asking Cindy about the attempted robbery.
   "He really didn't do anything..." Cindy mused, "the only
thing that was stolen was an entire rack of candy--and that
fat guy took it."
   The cop sipped his complimentary coffee and munched on
his free doughnut.  He sighed.  "We'll get on it."
   "What about my car?" Lou interjected.
   "We'll get to that, too."


   One of the cops was nice enough to drive Lou home,
although they stopped at a half a dozen donut shops on the
way.
   "Bleck!" Lou remarked as he opened his front door, noting
that his parents still didn't get home from vacation yet.  
The video cassette recorder clock read "5:00" but his brain
read "sleep."  So he did.