Lunch With Red
by Marvin Pinkis
buzzed with characters scurrying about under the
monitors scrutiny. It took little for those
doomed souls to stay in step. A banner suspended
from the ceiling reminded: Myths are made.
Myths can be shattered. No room for
ordeal, moaned a cute moppet sporting a
head of yellow ringlets and plopping into a booth.
yourself, Goldie, said the booths
other occupant, draped in a crimson cloak.
Another bout with your ursine friends?
kiddin. You look done-in yourself. Been
running with, or from, carnivorous lupines?
just stay away from preditors, can we?
replied the cloaked one.
our fate, I guess, retorted the curly-head.
but its not a fate of our making. (Cloak).
noted, Red, youve been at this game
for who knows how long. Dont you ever wish
for a different world?
when I reflect on what I have to deal with. Dense
scary woods. A senile grandmother. An alien
specie in drag. Living in fear of the woodsman
showing up late. Recently, hes made it in
the nick of time and I smelled booze on his
breath. Also, hes intimated that a girl can
more convincingly show her gratitude for saving
her skin besides a scripted glance of relief or a
nosh from Grandmas basket.
think you got it bad?. How about endless breaking
and entering, sipping soup of all temperatures,
destroying chairs, testing mattresses? And, let
me tell you, waking up to the sight of a trio of
hirsute beasts, even after many times, continues
to scare the hell out of me. One time, when I
bolted out of the bed to get away, the biggest
one blocked the door. I got by and complained but
a fat lot of good that did. Who knows what those
crazies are capable of. It isnt human.
What line of work were you in before this?
I was nothing. This is all I know. I
answered the ad in the paper and here Ive
spoke. I know. I feel so one-dimensional.
always has it worse. Look at these unfortunates
around us. Some I dont recognize. Like,
whos the dark-haired broad with looks to
kill? And who are those little guys sticking like
glue to her? Must be a half-dozen. Cant she
make it with guys her size?
a need to feel superior. They do dote on her,
and check the girl over there. Her hair must be
twenty feet long. Bet she lives in a tower
somewhere. And, aint that something, but
theres a little runt with her too.
folks. Well, theres the lunch whistle. Back
to the stuff of which legends are made. Or, at
least, bedtime stories. Here comes the next crew.
Get a load of the girl with no pupils, frizzy
hair and always the same 1930s red dress
with her goofy-looking dog. (Red again).
theres that little Nancy brat. Cant
she do anything with her hair? Lets get
outta here. These people arent for real.
(the other one).