“Butts like that are fine thing.”, Mitch mumbled. I was so tired that I couldn’t tell if he meant the girls in front of us, or the cigarettes on the ground. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could lose some weight and I wish Mitch hadn’t hired me to work in his laundromat. All I do all day is restock the detergent and listen to people bitch that $2 is too much for a load of whites. I smell like soap and failure.

The only good thing in my life right now is my book. It’s about the last guy ever to tell a story to a child. I set it in a post-apocalyptic world where what’s left of the human race thinks learning from the past means giving up all creativity. I love the idea of the end of times, when cities are ghost towns and people have no responsibility but survival. It’s the closest thing to escapism I can muster right now.

Mitch just got slapped by the “fine butt” girl. I guess he was referring to the girls’ behinds. Annnd now they’re kissing. All three of them. It’s 2 am and I want a waffle. Sometimes, if I close my eyes long enough, the city shuts up and I’m a character in my book, trying to survive, on waffles alone.

There has to waffles after the rapture. That’s my one rule.