-1 BR APT, 4TH FL; HEAT, GAS, WATER, ZOMBIE-FREE-
Perfect lodgings for a minor hero.
I suppose things look more desperate from the balcony. Graveyards on the north and west sides, a Russian Tea House on the east. To the south, a middle school. And looming largest on the horizon, the cooling towers of a nuclear power plant.
A few years ago, I would have turned up my nose at this apartment, no matter how many utilities they promised to cover. But ever since the fateful breakfast that became the origin of my powers, I'd only worked half-time, constantly struggling to cope with the great blessing and curse that would eventually find its calling. When, I didn't know, but until then, I needed to save money. Besides, as inapplicable as my abilities were to most life situations, I figured out small ways of using them to dull the harsher aspects of a short-term leasing.
For example:
No pet with fur or feathers is allowed in this building. And yet, I'm taking care of a mink named Philip. How? Well, every time the landlord comes creaking down the hall on his geriatric scooter, I set off a landlord's smoke detector using powers I will explain later. The result is two-fold - the normally friendly Philip hides deep in the closet, and the landlord is stuck for a good hour convincing his wife that he has not started smoking again, he can't imagine why it went off.
I suppose I should explain the powers.
A few years ago, I ran a futile campaign to change the relationship between myself and an uber-platonic girlfriend. One morning she'd passed out on my couch - choosing my couch because I was the type of 'gentleman' who would nurse her with a bucket until the sun came up. In retrospect, I should have lifted a page from the man she married and divorced this year, and simply dumped her on the bathmat facing the toilet. Apparently that made him irresistible.
But at that deluded time, I thought putting together a hearty breakfast for her would get her attention. In a hurry to finish the muffins at the same time as the hollandaise, I crammed four pieces in a two-slot toaster. I thought the slots were wide enough, and I was wrong. Just as I was peeking in and poking around with a butter knife, the burning muffins and a pillar of smoke hit me right in the face. When I woke, she was gone, although I noticed that she had vomited once more, into the eggs benedict.
From that day forward, I learned that I could stream smoke - no fire, just thick bread smoke - from my nostrils, and even mold it to my liking. The trouble is, sometimes it comes out on its own.
I suppose things look more desperate from the balcony. Graveyards on the north and west sides, a Russian Tea House on the east. To the south, a middle school. And looming largest on the horizon, the cooling towers of a nuclear power plant.
A few years ago, I would have turned up my nose at this apartment, no matter how many utilities they promised to cover. But ever since the fateful breakfast that became the origin of my powers, I'd only worked half-time, constantly struggling to cope with the great blessing and curse that would eventually find its calling. When, I didn't know, but until then, I needed to save money. Besides, as inapplicable as my abilities were to most life situations, I figured out small ways of using them to dull the harsher aspects of a short-term leasing.
For example:
No pet with fur or feathers is allowed in this building. And yet, I'm taking care of a mink named Philip. How? Well, every time the landlord comes creaking down the hall on his geriatric scooter, I set off a landlord's smoke detector using powers I will explain later. The result is two-fold - the normally friendly Philip hides deep in the closet, and the landlord is stuck for a good hour convincing his wife that he has not started smoking again, he can't imagine why it went off.
I suppose I should explain the powers.
A few years ago, I ran a futile campaign to change the relationship between myself and an uber-platonic girlfriend. One morning she'd passed out on my couch - choosing my couch because I was the type of 'gentleman' who would nurse her with a bucket until the sun came up. In retrospect, I should have lifted a page from the man she married and divorced this year, and simply dumped her on the bathmat facing the toilet. Apparently that made him irresistible.
But at that deluded time, I thought putting together a hearty breakfast for her would get her attention. In a hurry to finish the muffins at the same time as the hollandaise, I crammed four pieces in a two-slot toaster. I thought the slots were wide enough, and I was wrong. Just as I was peeking in and poking around with a butter knife, the burning muffins and a pillar of smoke hit me right in the face. When I woke, she was gone, although I noticed that she had vomited once more, into the eggs benedict.
From that day forward, I learned that I could stream smoke - no fire, just thick bread smoke - from my nostrils, and even mold it to my liking. The trouble is, sometimes it comes out on its own.
posted by Benedict | 1:43 AM
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