Paranoïa

“It’s like everybody’s out to get me.”

“How does that make you feel?”
“Well, kinda helpless. And depressed. Even my best friends seem to be avoiding me. Heh, I must be imagining things.”

“Even if you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”

Psychoanalyst: Satan’s new hobby.

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Noir, part 2

The window behind me shatters, and I duck, narrowly avoiding a pavement stone.

Third time this month.  I’m not surprised.  With my phone disconnected, it’s the second best way to send me a message.

The dame didn’t react quickly enough, though.  Now she’s got a blackeye.

“Duck,” I say, smiling.

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Down to Earth

Blogger’s note: apologies for missing yesterday.  In an attempt to redeem myself, there will be two stories today.

He wasn’t interested in fantasy, anymore. Reality had to be his focus.

He had no patience for allegory anymore. Satire? Might as well waste everybody’s time by avoiding the point.

No.

What he would say next, he would mean. No more dicking around.

He opened his mouth and said, “I…”

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