It is a weekday like most
any other. Fernando has just emerged from the sanctity of his back
room with the object that is to be his evening meal. He returns to
the office and is about to dig in when a car pulls up and the chimes
above the door jingle.
The man who enters sniffs
loudly. “Jeez, Fernie, ya tryn'ta get ridda vampirer sumthin'?”
This gent, a reliable customer who nevertheless only comes into the
store on a bimonthly, at best, basis, is one who speaks quite the
dialect of English, one relatively uncommon in the Saladolsa area (by
dint of its comparative urbanity), but widespread in the fell
hinterland reaches which lay outside the reach of twenty-first
century civilization and about an hour's drive away from any major
highways.
“No, just some pizza.”
“Lotta garlic onnair.”
“What can I say? I like
garlic. How's things?”
“Pretty good. Drivin'
truck. Keepin' busy?”
Fernando looks over his
shoulder at his computer monitor. The Dwarf Fortress wiki glares
back. “Busy enough.”
The gent steps into the
store proper, workboots clomping. “What's a goodun?”
“Depends what you're
looking for I guess. What're you in the mood for?”
The man, whom we'll call
Finland, scratches a stubbly cheek. “Think comedy. Only got time
for one cuz I gotta haulina morning.”
“Have you seen Ted?
That's pretty widely regarded as worth a watch.”
“I seen it. What's
thissun here, Dredd?”
“That's the remake to
Judge Dredd, the one from the '90s with Stallone. Haven't had
a chance to see it yet, but I've heard it's surprisingly good. Not
really a comedy, though.”
“'Sall the same though,
ainit? Can't have a movie what's just the thing what it'spossedta,
gotta put in crap what don't matter.”
While the words used to
express it are a mite dubious in quality, Fernando agrees
wholeheartedly with the message they hamfistedly convey. “Yeah,
yeah, that's true.”
“Fuck it, I'll giv'er.”
Finland yanks the tag to Dredd off the rental case and brings
it to the counter. “Don't owe ya nothin' from last time, right?”
Fernando pauses in his
frantic scribbling. “Nope, you're good.”
“'Kay.” As Ferando
finishes up his side of the transaction, Finland peruses the sales
rack. “Y'still got Final Destination up here?” he asks.
Once upon a time, in a fit of impeccable foresight, Fernando ordered
three copies of Final Destination 5. Not only did the movie
rent for shit, but he couldn't move the used copies for the life of
him. Not copy, copies. All three of them still linger within the
Dominion's walls, mocking Fernando's wretched past judgment.
“Unfortunately. You
want it?”
Finland shakes his head.
“Naw. Save it for somebody else. We square?”
“Indeed so. Have a good
evening.”
“Yep. Enjoy yer pizza.”
Finland steps outside and returns to his vehicle.
Fernando toasts Finland
with the homemade slice of heaven as he walks by.
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