Tossing and turning restlessly in his sleep, Binkedge muttered incoherent nonsense. “The dust, the purple magical dust, it’s taken him, the dust of life.”
Suddenly, a piercing screech jolted him awake. Disoriented, he glanced at the clock, seeing it’s only 4:30 AM. At that moment, there’s a loud knock on his front door. “Who the fuck is knocking at my door this early?” he grumbled, irritated.
Forcefully, he dragged himself out of bed and down the hallway. “There better be a big titty hooker at that door, or I’m going to get so pissed.”
Approaching the front door, he flung it open, only to find nothing there. “What the fuck is going on?”
Before he could shut it, an orange-skinned man sprang out from the side. “Hey Binkedge, what’s up my friend?”
“Jazz, what the hell do you want? Why are you here so early?” Binkedge demanded to know while irritated.
Lowering his head, Jazz’s face became slightly pale. “It was awful, Binkedge. I had a nightmare, five naked buff men were holding me down, rubbing oil all over my weak body. No matter how much I begged them to stop, they wouldn’t. So horrible.” He shuddered.
Bewildered, Binkedge could only stare at him in disbelief. “So you fucking woke me up because you had a bad dream about men touching you?”
“No, there’s more.” Jazz’s voice lowered. “On my way here, I saw the tax collector heading this way: a tall, green, machine-like thing on his back. If I were you, I’d hide. I hear he’s a mean son of a bitch who works for an even crazier one named Inkedge.”
“So you’re worried the tax collector is coming for me?” Binkedge asked flatly.
“You read me like a book, Binkedge,” Jazz says with a grin.
“Yeah, like a stupid children’s book.”
As Jazz laughed, he suddenly cut himself short. “Wait, there was something else I needed to tell you, the reason I came here. But I can’t remember what it was.”
“Look, stupid, can’t it wait until we meet up at the factory later? I’m exhausted, and I want to go back to sleep,” Binkedge replied, stifling a yawn.
Instantly, Jazz’s expression shifted. “Oh, right, I remember now. The factory closed down; we’re all fired.”
“What?!” Binkedge exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”
“No joke buddy. Production was way down this month, so the boss sent out letters saying it would close. Guess you must’ve missed yours.”
Turning, Binkedge glanced at a stack of unopened mail on a nearby table. “Damn, you’re right.” He fixed Jazz with a pointed stare. “Why didn’t you just lead with that news? Farmers Mike closing is way more important than your men fantasy.”
Jazz could only give off a shrug. “Guess I’m a stupid fucking idiot sometimes.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think so too,” Binkedge said, as an uncomfortable silence fell between them. “Anything else fucking stupid you want to share while you’re at it?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m planning on going back to bed, seeing as I’ve got nowhere to be today.”
Jazz paused, then shook his head. “Nope, that’s about it. Oh, but remember what I said, watch out for the tax collector, it’ll help.” Without waiting for Jazz to move out of the way, Binkedge slammed the door in his face. “Ow, my nose!” he cried out from the other side.
“Fuck Jazz’s warning.” Binkedge let out an angry huff. “Time for sleep.” He stomped back to his room, fuming with irritation.
…
