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Grapefruit Boulevard Chapter 1.6
Sergio continued, "I mean, Moon Pies are pretty groovy in their own right, but... they aren't really some kind of psychedelic linkage, are they?"
"You'd be surprised," said Bern. "The way I see it, the luscious combination of chocolate and marshmallow symbolizes a world in which the forces of light and darkness work together to form the one true essence of goodliness. The sensory satisfaction enhances this already dominant escapism. To me, at least."
Renzo excitedly slammed his palms on the table. "Man, I am //so// makin' that into a rap."
"You rap? Dude..." Sergio blinked sluggishly.
"Yea-ah! You bet I rap. I betcha I'm the best rappa fo' miles around."
"...Wait," said Bern. "Did you just-- no. I shouldn't make wagers when we're in such dire circumstances."
"Twenty bucks says I'm best in town."
"Deal!" Bern lunged his betting arm forward and shook Renzo's hand. "We'll set it up once we're back home."
"Boy," said Brenton, "I'm glad we have such a penetrating collective of attention deficit disorder. It's almost like we're Congress or something."
"Dude, look over there," said Sergio. "I think I see... like, a nickel on the floor."
"Mine!" Brenton clumsily backflipped out of his seat and dove onto the linoleum, scouring the ground for the elusive change. The others stared with curiosity as the rat scurried around the room, making assorted grunting noises along the way.
Man, doesn't that guy know that all gross things must come down? Onto the floor? On top of that, knowing Bern and Sergio, it probably hadn't been mopped in a good year. Or decade. Or epoch.
After that smattered spattery, Renzo suggested, "Why don't we jus' dig up tha pie?"
"Surprisingly enough, Renzo has a point," noted Brenton. "We're not getting anywhere just talking about it, much less talking about what it isn't."
"Yeah, you two are right..." said Sergio, "But, Brenton, I still think Obi-Wan could beat Indiana Jones in a fight."
"Could not."
"Could too."
"Could not."
"Could too."
"He most certainly could //not//."
"He totally //could//, dude."
"Ey!" shouted Renzo, "I jus' said we'd best not be talkin' 'bout that crap! A'intcha list'nin' to me?"
Meanwhile, Bern had the common decency to grab the box of marshmallow pies. He placed it gently on the table and descended into his seat like a lunar rover ready to drop a basketball into the lower stratosphere. "Okay... Good news and bad news."
"What's the good news?" piped Sergio with somewhat distorted curiosity. Or was it overdriven? I'm not very good at identifying amp filters.
"The good news is right in front of me." He slid a hand over the top of the box. "Good Ol' Melinda's Homemade Marshmallow Pies," it read.
"...And the bad news?" wondered Brenton.
Bern lifted the box and dumped its contents, a single, individually wrapped chocolate marshmallow treat, onto the table.
"...There's only one," observed Sergio. "Why is there only one? Wasn't there supposed to be... like, more than one?"
"Well... You see, I needed a midnight snack last night..."
"Dang," said Renzo. "How'd you get back in bed after all //that// junk?"
"Practice, practice, practice, and determination."
"Dude, I must also add..." began Sergio, "You'd be surprised how hard it is for Bern to do things other than eat and sleep."
"Hey. I deserve a little more credit than that. I can //multitask//."
"So you can eat while you're asleep?" Brenton commented. "Charming. But let's get back to the topic at hand. We've only got one ticket out of here. Can we split it?"
"We can't. If we did, we'd risk the key failing to work at all."
"...It's terribly convenient that it just //happens// to work that way. Nature leads me to be awfully suspicious sometimes. But we've got to decide who gets it then, don't we? Any volunteers?"
The other three shot their arms to the sky immediately. Brenton eyed them surprisedly, and joined them. An exasperated expression conquered his face.
"...'Kay, that didn't do nothin'," said Renzo. (Though, you probably should have been able to tell that by yourself if only because of his dialect.) "We gotta have some kinda competition to see which one of us is most down fo' the job."
"Wow," said Bern, "That's a great idea. Let's have an eating contest. Shall we?"
Brenton snickered. "Trying to pick something tilted in your favor, eh? Real smooth, toadie. Why don't we go with something unbiased, like a nice game of Monopoly?"
"And what's Monopoly got to do with anythang? On toppa that, you probably got some cheat up yo sleeve." Renzo confidently clung to his accusation, if only because of the orange wad of paper he spied in Brenton's back pocket. "How's abut we all go jump outta the top window and see how gets up off tha ground first?"
"Eheh..." Brenton tapped his fingers together. "Wouldn't that hurt? I'd rather keep my bones unbroken and think you'd feel the same."
"So? I could take it. I ain't nevah scared."
"You know," said Sergio, "I don't think some people among us are mellow enough to practice the Zen of feather falling, dude. ...What about Twister?"
And there was //silence//.
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