Chapter I: Everyday Strangers
"Y'know, I've always wanted a pet. Always wanted one."
Lips smacking. The smell of artificial barbeque. The kind that actually never smelled like a real barbeque. All fake. As fake as all two hundred and fifty five extra pounds of Bobby Gorge was real.
"I wish I could get one,"mused stubby Bobby Gorge, clutching his books in his sausagey fingers as they walked together along the sidewalk. Bobby Gorge with his slick, greasy mess of chocolate hair. Bobby Gorge with his sweaty face that, despite having already been a decade past puberty, was still covered in that red-speckle curse that haunted so many of the younger generations. Bobby Gorge who didn't have a friend in the world besides his rent-partner. Or maybe he really didn't have a friend in the world.
Now don't get him wrong, no. Einsor really didn't have anything against this rather rotund character (besides the smell sometimes) it was just that he was never really good with people. Not ever. It was only by a stroke of some other force besides luck that he'd found another willing to help him pay the rent that was required for the moderate space just above the mirror shop. The shop with the glass door upon which there was a clear plastic sticker inside that said "Good Luck!"on it in bright blue. Bobby Gorge had been willing to pay half and that was alright. Alright indeed. The space above the mirror store was a cozy one with just enough room for the both of them to comfortably accept each other's company without that horrid claustrophobic paranoia that the other would catch you with your trousers down at the wrong moments. A saying, of course. But Zu'hai no. Not that it hadn't ever happened before, but on those rare occasions they'd just congenially went on with their separate business like nothing had happened at all.
Without commenting on such a repetitive track Bobby had chosen this day like many other days, Einsor pulled out a small set of keys as they set into the quiet alleyway-side of the shop. Bobby was quiet at least right now, the only noise being their synchronized stride and the jangling of the keys. Einsor particularly favored the rubber keyring decoration that boldly advertised "Do Something Amazing! Donate! We Take Blood, Hearts, Eyes!"It was morbid, yes, but made him smile inside every now and then. There was an audible click as the black, wrought-iron gate guarding the moldy stairwell to their loft swung open on ungreased hinges. Bobby Gorge huffed beside him with every step. One foot carefully, slowly on the step, then the other, looking like a humpback camel with his one-strap backpack. Left, right, left. You'll make it, Einsor silently told himself everyday, every time they repeated this simple ritual of getting up the same flight of stairs. Gorge was just a drama queen. So much so that he might just trick himself into a real stroke one day.
Once at the top (see, we made it), Bobby heaped into the main room. By spacious, it was really open. Or would have been if Bobby had not insisted on a couch, yes a full couch, and a TV set complete with the wood display. 'Really, who lives in a house without TV, man,' his roomie had said. Einsor could have answered Mother but had settled on a shrug and in that way had allowed Bobby to lose a few pounds while shopping for the right television screen.
[8]