Another Day

 

“Long enough for ya,” said the Day.

“Yeah. Pretty long,” I said.

The Day rapped his bony fingers

on the edge of my desk and

sighed heavily; his breath spewing a rancid,

sour milk odor.

 

“Sheesh,” I gasped and pinched

my nose.

“Hm? Oh, sorry, I never brush,” said the Day.

“Why not,” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t ask.

The Day cleared his throat and

started to sing.

 

“No, no, no, no, no, no singing. That’s

just not happening,” I said.

“Why not,” asked The Day.

“It’s just not happening. Don’t you

have anything else to do,” I asked,

now completely out of patience.

 

“You don’t like my singing,” asked the Day.

“Um, no. Not at all, plus the corpse breath

doesn’t help. I’m sorry I asked at all,” I said.

I looked back at my work computer screen

and started to pretend to read.

 

“What are you reading,” asked the Day.

“Work stuff, you wouldn’t get it,” I said.

“Sure, like my job is so easy,” pouted The Day.

The Day snorted and a glob of green goo

spurt from one of his seven nostrils and

onto my office carpet.

 

“Nice. Real nice,” I said, “how am I going to

explain what that is?”

“Seems like a Wednesday problem to me,” said The Day.

“Oh, just because you’re Tuesday, you think it’s

all gravy and milkshakes for the rest of the week.

Well let me tell you, there is no gravy and the

milkshakes aren’t…that…good,” I said.

 

“Yeah, listen I gotta get going, so, real neat

hanging with you, but there’s a mother

in Iowa waiting to pick up her kid from school

but she doesn’t know that he got detention yet

and they were supposed to go to the dentist, so…

yeah,” said The Day.

He vanished into a fart cloud

and my office was quiet.

I tried to focus my attention

back on my work, on the last

few minutes of the work-a-day ticking

clock on the wall.

 

The tick, tick of the clock seemed,

wrong. It sounded like it was coming

from behind me. At the window,

I turned in my chair and looked

outside.

 

There was Wednesday, tapping lightly

on the glass. He looked drunk and

disheveled, squinting against the

sunlight on a cloudy day.

 

I shook my head and turned

back towards my computer.

 

“These guys. I swear, these

fricking guys...,” I mumbled.