There was ringing in Harold’s ears—
His grandpa died in prison and not from old age. Some black guys tried to jump him in the shower and he ripped-out three of their throats with his teeth, before the fourth jammed a shank into his liver. The strange thing was, it didn’t kill him and his flesh grew back. It took four more of them to hold his body underwater, while giving the shank, until he was a drown dog.
That’s what the autopsy report said, “died from drowning.” It neglected, the twenty or so holes that healed before he was suffocated.
Harold switched to thinking about online dating…
“I tried it five years ago without success,” he mumbled. “Girls get hundreds of messages a day from hungry boys who never leave their basements. It’s not a good way to meet women.”
No—he was content to predict what he could control. There are prefect bandits who steal $100 and there are bandits who murder and steal $100. Then there are intelligent speculators who always make money, but never at the expense of others. There are fools who lose money and cause others to lose money. Lastly, there are helpless schmucks. Harold felt like a schmuck in the dating game. A reasonable strategy, didn’t work with 95% of the online women—who stole your time and promised dates that never happened. There was no consequence for them, so they just kept doing it. It’s like the government printing money and giving it away. It hurts everyone, but they claim it’s the humanitarian thing to do. Girls send messages to guys like inflated money that doesn’t mean anything. They do it for humanitarian reasons… It boiled Harold from the inside.
No—he was keeping away from all people. That way, his time was never wasted. He watched them, talking about nothing. They went out of their way to talk to him, in public… even when, he left the house saying, “I’m never going to talk to anybody again.” This was a comfort and a challenge for him. Many people are lonely, but they never stop to consider, that if they go out, somebody will talk to them, whether they want it, or not. If you want people to talk to you—you will be disappointed. If you don’t want people to talk to you—you will be disappointed. Disappointment, is the rule.
Harold walked up the steps to his house. A blond in a sports bra jogged by. He didn’t even look—okay, maybe he looked, but without any hope. She had on these yoga pants, that revealed more, than if she was running in the nude. She was being pulled by a Huskey-wolf. Harold guessed it was a female. She jogged across the street and went inside. Harold also went inside, but realized, the wall street journal was missing. He still got a newspaper and when he went to the box, it was gone. Then he saw it—in the Husky-wolf’s mouth.
“Give it here! Bitch!” Harold yelled.
And she dropped it, with a smile on her face. Then she rushed him and bit him on the leg.
“Ah! Murder!” He yelled.
The girl in the sports bra came out. “Oh—I’m so sorry!”
Harold looked at her. Was she the one?” No. Just because a girl is hot, doesn’t make her the one. She has to be interesting too.
“Let me put some peroxide on your wound.”
“Okay,” Harold said. He knew it was her way to avoid a lawsuit. And it didn’t matter. Harold was feeling better after the bite, than before it, for some reason.
To be continued…