Grapefruit Boulevard Chapter 1.2

Grapefruit Boulevard Chapter 1.2

Sergio grabbed the yellow lemonade pitcher containing the yellow lemonade and poured the yellow lemonade into the lemonade glass, which was not yellow. As he handed it off to Bern, Sergio asked, "Don't you have enough money from your online pokering, anyway?"

Bern enjoyed a sip of lemonade. "That's just luck. I can't live on luck alone."

"You've done alright so far that way."

"Gambling is my hobby, not my profession."

"The cash flow seems a little too smooth to just be a hobby."

"I'm willing to bet that--" Bern coughed. Some of the lemonade had gone down the wrong way, perhaps to prevent Bern from making a wager on the non-importance of his gambling and creating an ironic bomb. He sat his glass firmly on the table.

"Whoa," said Sergio, watching the ice cubes rise upwards out of the lemonade glass, "Gnarly."

"...I didn't even say what I was going to-- what?" The ice had landed with the force of a feather on the ceiling.

A chair and a salt shaker fell sideways. Sergio commented, "Dude, this is so trippy."

"What's going on?" wondered Bern as the kitchen table sunk into the ground and the cabinets retreated into the wall.

Sergio wandered over to the window and looked towards the sky. He stared in awe for exactly two and a half seconds, at which point the outdoors turned entirely black.

"I repeat, what is going on?" asked Bern, as if expecting a response from some higher being. "Geez. Does the universe have some vendetta against food poker?"

"I dunno, dude," said Sergio with a tremor of fear in his voice, "But--"

At this point, everything stopped. Like completely stopped. There was a red light at every traffic intersection, huge lines at every supermarket, and waiting lists on every pre-order form. Metaphorically speaking, of course. What was //really// happening was a breakdown of all real numbers, letters, ideas, atoms, and combinations thereof. Basically, some part of the universe decided to deviate from the norm and break the school rules.

Have you ever heard about this thing called suspension of disbelief? It's a fascinating concept. Apparently, some audiences are actually willing to //accept// the fact that not everything in a story might realistically happen. This willingness of the audience allows the author to craft a more compelling fantasy rather than having to drag everything down to the banality of reality. It's very cool. You might want to look into it.

Anyways, shortly after that little existence glitch, Bern snapped out of it and everything (in the kitchen, at least) reverted to normal. You know-- the world hit control+Z.

"...Well," said Bern, "That didn't seem like a good thing."

"Totally," replied Sergio. "It was weird."

"I mean, there could be something seriously wrong with the universe."

"Yeah. Weird."

"It could mean the end of life as we know it."

"Definitely weird."

"...Is that all you have to say? The fabric of reality is ripping apart (or at least getting a really bad red wine stain) and it's just 'weird' to you?"

"...Uh... I guess I finally know what it means to be 'experienced.'"

A punctual knock on the door spared Sergio from further ridicule. Bern sighed, requested Sergio to make him a sandwich, and lumbered over to the door. He then, of course, opened it.

(Warning: Description Paragraph) Behind door number one was a man who appeared to collect annually compounding interest on his street cred. He was an olive-toned beaded lizard, somewhat on the short side, with a tense expression on his face. A burgundy bandanna covered his head and dangled down his neck. His short sleeved denim jacket hung open, showing a plain white undershirt loosely fitted onto his chest. His ordinary khaki pants completed his sleek, stylish, and biodegradable outfit. And, of course, he also worse shoes. Heck, everyone wears shoes. Even I do. See?

But... yeah. This was one guy who needed no introduction. "Yo," he said in an authentically deep voice.

"Oh, hello," replied Bern. "Who might you be?"

"...Man, don'tchu know already? I'm the guy who don't need no introduction." ...Wait, I just said that. Darn it.

"Aha! I see. My mistake." Bern coughed. "So... who's that again?"

The visitor sighed, dropping everything from his shoulders to the tip of his tail. "It's Renzo. Renzo Laminar. My crib's all up the street. Now can't you let a brotha in?"

"Oh!" replied Bern, as if stricken by an enlightening bolt. "Renzo! Yes, yes... You moved in only recently, right? I've heard of you but I don't think I've ever actually seen you before. It's nice to finally meet you." Bern extended a hand, to which Renzo replied with a confused stare.

"...Maybe you don't get it, but this ain't a time for handshakin'."

Bern was shaken by this statement. There was always time for handshakes, wasn't there? It was the same property that ensured there would always be room for dessert. (You know. Shakes of the milk variety.) ...In Bern's case, that was more room than you'd expect. "Well..." he said, "Okay, then. But if you live down the street, why did you come up here? What's the occasion?"

"This's the place with the smart guy, innit it? Numba 45?"

"Um... Sorry. This is number 41. The only people here are myself and my friend Sergio. I doubt I'd be of much use and I know for a fact Sergio isn't this smart one."

"...What?" Renzo pulled out a conveniently sized pocket brochure that looked as though it had been crafted in Microsoft Word, printed on ordinary paper, and assembled in roughly thirty seconds. "So there ain't nobody named Brandon in here?"

"You mean Brenton? No. He's further down the road."

Renzo examined his brochure again, this time with more attention to detail.

"...Ah, man!"