"Jared, did you see that new chick down in Sector 10?" Edgar had asked his best friend with an almost palpable enthusiasm. I shook my head and imagined my eyes going for a nice liesurely roll. "Oh god dammit, here we go again," I stopped short of thinking aloud. "Yeah man, you know the one I'm talking about. she's just a few inches shorter than me, short brunette hair and one hell of an amazing ass. When she wears that black little number it puts my mind through a loop. Not to mention that I almost got offed during the last raid I was so caught up in thinking about her...you think that might be why they don't let the blue recruits come out with us?"
"A stunning revelation" I mused. There really wasn't a better way of responding, Edgar usually just rants about the new recruits until he's out of breath and just short of excusing himself to the bathroom. But that's how it was with Edgar; always craning his neck to get a good look at the newest additions to "the team" as it is so quaintly referred to. He never stopped running his mouth, even though it's understood that fraternizing with the fairer sex only ended up with you in a bloody heap at the end of a hallway. We've all seen it happen: Guy meets girl, guy and girl flirt, guy and girl have sex, guy can't get girl out of his head and next thing you know, we're on a mission to kidnap the daughter of some dignitary from who-gives-a-fuck and his brains paint the wall that nice dried brick color (it's the brains which really add to the effect).
So here we are, I'm sitting in an uncomfortable steel chair, the fold up kind you've seen bashed into the faces of countless braindead wrestlers. Nothing fancy about it, some rusty hinges, missing the back left foot so it constantly wobbles, impossible to unfold and painted that cumbersome grey. Nobody likes grey, I don't know why they bother. Edgar is posed, looking rather pensive and staring off into space. A passerby might look in and note that perhaps he's thought of something worth sharing, but really he's staring at pencil marks in the ceiling tile and wondering how he can get the new girl to relinquish her panties to him. His right knee is precariously balanced on a stool which is seemingly falling apart faster than your child's first shop project.You reminisce, your child coming home with a dinner tray consisting of more hot glue than actual wood. You smile, and thank him, but you know it's horrible and you're going to throw it out before year's end. Yes, that's just how nice this stool was. At any moment his foot was destined to break the support and send him crashing to the ground, but alas, today was not my day.
Just before he talks, his left nostril flares, hinting to me that a barrage of verbal diahrea is about to be spewed my way. "So, do you think I could get her? You know, like GET HER." he asked with a dreamy glint in his eye, though that could have been the flourescent lights above. "No, I don't" I responded dryly "And furthermore, could you for even one second think about something other than a girl with short hair and a black get-up? I mean really, THEY ALL wear the same clothes and they ALL thave the same haircut. It's standard procedure, moron." He really is difficult sometimes. What can I say though, he's my best friend, which doesn't really count for much around here, at least, not for anything more than consistent company which (though expendable) manages to not die. I guess when you work as a foot soldier (a "Blitzer" as we're known) in what may be the world's foremost evil organization, you tend to lighten up and accept company as it is.
"Do you think she'd give up anal? White chicks love that!" Edgar spewed out in what seemed an all too brief epiphany.
"Probably. You should ask."
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