Goin’ Green

“I don’t know why you hang out with him,” Maureen’s head shook between sips of cooled coffee, “that man is disgusting.”

“He is, he is.” Lorne conceded, but not without the last word. “He’s super green. You know. He’s all about the environment.”

“Why’s it that all these environmentalists are usually the most unclean, scattered people on the planet? Like, can’t you flush anything?”

This was Maureen’s direct jab at Hector, a man with little pride and less shame. His motto, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, let it mound” made him a hit with exactly nobody – except Lorne, but that was friendship mixed with a healthy dose of morbid fascination. Without an answer, Lorne thought of Hector’s many eccentricities. If ‘going commando’ were a lifestyle, and not an excuse come laundry day, Hector’d embody every single jean stain. He was frugal, of course, there’s simply no other way a guy like Hector would survive if he had to spend anything. At home, worms ate his trash and probably carried the rest out to the curb while he slept on a pile of damp blankets strewn about the floor. Without electricity, Hector spent his days wandering streets and silently criticizing pedestrian wardrobes. Lorne knew this because he’d accompanied Hector on some of these walks and listened to his lectures about labor laws in Bangladesh and child miners in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Lorne first wondered how Hector knew what he did about international human rights violations. Second, he wondered how he kept so up-to-date without a laptop made, in part, by tiny hands.

“He flushes sometimes.” Lorne shrugged. There wasn’t much to defend. Dude marched to the beat of his own drum circle. He wasn’t harming anybody with his views or living situation. No paint on fur. No shaky fingers pointed while a stream of obscenities flew from his mouth like cold steel falling in a Dhaka garment factory. He kept his views to himself – or, most times. They only seemed to come out when Lorne was available to listen. In a way, their relationship worked so well: Lorne learned exactly why he would never be as committed to the cause as Hector, and Hector found himself an outlet for his worldly frustrations.

Maureen sipped her coffee, softly sighing over Hector’s very existence. To her point, it was a lot to witness from the outside. To Maureen, Hector was almost a complete stranger. Besides exactly two instances where she smiled, said “Hi, how are you?”, extended her hand and pulled it close, wounded, once Hector stared at it confused, Maureen never encountered him. He was the stuff of legends, almost mythical. But Maureen knew he existed because her stupid boyfriend was his only friend.

“I feel like you two would get along if you’d give him a chance.” Lorne twisted. Together for four years, Lorne knew how to irk the shit out of Maureen.

“You…WHAT?” Maureen sat the heavy mug down hard. “WHAT?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I mean, he doesn’t shave. You…uh…”

He’d gone too far now. Definitely wasn’t getting any tonight.

“Oh? Is that so?” Maureen jousted. “These legs were shaved just this morning honey, just for you. But you can watch them stay closed tonight.”

“Well, I mean, you don’t get any either if you don’t have sex with me.”

“Baby, I got two fingers.” She motioned with her index and middle finger. “Maybe you and Hector can give each other tug jobs. Let him run his dirty fingers through his greasy hair before so he can get nice and lubed up.”

Hector couldn’t help but smirk. It’s why he loved Maureen; she was a sharp edge with needles sticking out.

“Please stop hanging out with him. Please?” From tasteless to tasty, Maureen gave Lorne doe-eyes and ran her foot up his leg.

“I can’t just stop hanging out with the guy, bab–HMPH.” Maureen’s foot found its way between Lorne’s legs, quickly extending and mushing his manhood into a mess of flesh and curly short hairs.

He keeled over, Maureen the obvious victor. “Ok, alright! Jesus! I’ll stop hanging out with Hector.”

“Good.” She tossed Lorne an incredulous look, picked up her mug, and sipped loud.

But it was easier said than done. Once Hector found something to believe in, as he did with Lorne, getting him to forget was damn near impossible…

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Author: antbrov

Fiction | Magical Realism | Introspective Write > Edit > Hate > Learn > Write...

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