Page 7 of Slurp

The faded but steady sound of a monotone beep distracts my hearing for a moment. When I try to focus on it too hard though, it disappears. Leaving me with my waves once more. Oh shit, when was the last time I charged these babies?

Sighing hard, I pull off the headphones and switch the power off, before taking them to the second bedroom–the one I have claimed for my office–and plug them in to charge.

No rest for the wicked, I suppose.

Since RD is making dinner, I should probably make the kitchen my first focus. I snag a few boxes and plop them on the clean tile floor, before cutting the tape and freeing wrapped plates inside.

In record time I have ten boxes flattened and ready for the recycling bin, and most of my kitchen fully unpacked and ready to use. Oddly enough my dish strainer is missing, but I know it will turn up eventually.

Slipping my shoes on, I shove my keys into my pocket and snatch the pile of cardboard, making my way down to the dumpsters located outside. Even though the dumpsters–both recycling and trash–are in an alley, it's clean. The whole town is clean. I take a big whiff and realize that it evensmellsclean.

Huh. That's weird. But also a bit comforting. I'm so used to being in big cities with smog and air quality alerts. Plus having to keep pepper spray and a taser gun on you to deal with the druggies and creeps that hang around in alleyways and parking lots. I glance all around me and see... no one. It's blissfully empty.

Leaving the clean air and cardboard in its appropriate bin behind me, I make my way back into the building and nearly run right into a woman coming down the stairs.

"Oh, shit. I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention." I offer up the apology out of politeness since really neither of us are at fault. Instead of responding in kind, she simply checks her watch and moves along.

Wow. Bitch.

In fact, there have been far too many people who just ignore me. Last time I checked, I did not in fact have superpowers, so I know I am not invisible. Besides, I'm pretty sure JJ or RD would have pointed that out by now.

So, my conclusion here is that more and more people are just being dicks.

Chapter eight

Dickheads!

I am surrounded by people who are dickheads!

Everything was going fine. I had unloaded all the rest of the boxes into my apartment and didn't even get winded. Then, I got the kitchen mostly unpacked and the recycling taken out. After that, I was nearly trampled by the first dickhead I encountered.

Fine. Whatever.

I definitely am not interested in taking a tumble down some stairs again, but she was obviously in a hurry or something. No harm, no foul.

Next, JJ texted me that she was going to be late because a student she had been having issues with, keyed her car and she was dealing with the police report and all that. That student was the next dickhead.

Then my key broke in my mailbox, and when I called the maintenance guy, he grumbled about how I was 'causing problems already'. Like... how the fuck is thatmyfault?!

Finally, I get back to my floor and head toward my apartment, with a new key, but no mail because duh... I just moved in, only to find some old bitch with her tiny shaking dog, squatting on my welcome mat.

The dog was squatting. Not the woman. Thank fuck.

Still, the damn taco-loving prick takes a dump that is bigger than him right in front of my door. Now, I don't have any pets, but I know that if an animal has to go, it's gonna go. Accidents happen. What isnotsupposed to happen, is the seventy-year-old bag praising the little ankle-biter, and then picking the damn epileptic thing up, and walking away. Leaving a turd snake the size of my shoe behind as a housewarming gift.

Again I say, FUCKING DICKHEADS!

Between my shock and the fast shuffle of her feet, she manages to get away before I can yell at her, which leaves me straddling the raunchy turd while trying to get my door unlocked. But of course, my keys are going to fight me. I fumble around, flipping them this way and that, when they tumble from my hands.

Plop.

I don't look down. I refuse to acknowledge that my ears just clearly heard my fucking keys land in dog shit. No. Just no.

Banging my head on the door once, I glance down and... yep! There they are. Almost all five of the keys I own are sitting in the brown goop.

I think I just became a cat person.

"Having a rough day, Edie?" That deep baritone has me smiling ear to fucking ear.

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