Virtuality

Stacks of newspapers and magazines filled the small apartment. In some rooms, the piles were so tall they appeared to be jaggedly rectangular columns supporting the low ceiling. The kitchen was the only space without some form of newsprint, there being no room to begin a pile without disturbing the multiple ancient monuments of dishes, dirty clothes and old spaghetti sauce.

A table in the living room hosted the only exposed flat surface in the entire house; its centerpiece was a large squat computer screen.

The LCD threw an eerie green glow on the bulbous face of Patrick Malpin; his huge frame wedged into place between piles of trash; a large box of donuts balanced on a nearby pile for easy access. His fat fingers, covered with donut powder and drool, plodded across the keyboard.

Mable hurriedly hung up her sweater on the hook near the door. It had been a long day at the diner. It had started with a hangover and got worse as the hours unfolded. Payday was still two days away and she was already out of cigarettes. Consideration had been given to taking some from behind the counter but she couldn’t seem to get free of her supervisor’s suspicious hoverings.

Pouring herself a quick drink, Mable looked at the note on the refrigerator. Her son was staying at a friend’s again tonight. That suited her just fine. He could be very needy when he was home.

Downing half her drink, she sat down in front of her computer and read, “Vanessa, are you there yet?”

She typed in “Yes Derrick. I just got back from the office. How are you today? We closed the Anderson deal!”

Patrick typed back, “Congratulations. I just got back from the gym.”

They both sat back and smiled contentedly.

Word count 299