Cool House

By the bus stop there's this cool house and every day waiting for the bus I wonder, “who lives in that house?" I imagine a family. The McCoolkids. Interesting people. People striving for a better future for humanity. Every time I see the place I get this little surge of hope. In the daily grind, where everyday is the same, it’s good to have a sense there’s something more out there, no?

One night I’m meeting a guy at a café. He says look for the salmon colored shirt. Turns out the shirt is the most interesting thing about the guy. A little blob of a man with a little blob of a personality. Typical. I eat my meal and watch the salmon shirt flap around and we leave.

We get on the same bus. I’m going to say, "the date's over, dude,” just to make it clear, but I don't.

Then, at my stop, he gets off too. “Goodbye,” I say. He keeps coming. I don't want him knowing where I live. I walk up the front steps of the McCoolkid house, feeling like the porch will protect me. He follows, turning up the walk. The door’s locked, so I jump over the rail and slip out to the back.

As luck would have it, the back door is open. I go in and lock it behind me.

“Well good,” I think to myself, “I finally get to see the real thing.” Then, just as I’m about to take in the coolness of it all, I see the man in the salmon shirt walking toward me. I’m thinking he must have broken in.

“The police won't be liking this at all," I say.

“Then get out of my house."

Since then I catch the bus at a different stop.