“Because I’m happy where I stand,” Phil lied.
“You don’t seem happy,” Hector saw through Phil’s lie.
“Well I am!” Phil shouted, for him a typical reaction to someone’s recognizing his lies.
One day my ship will come in to say the least, Phil thought.
“Hey, you’re not thinking about your ship coming in again? You’re fifty years young.”
“You betcha. And glad I am for that.”
“Aren’t getting any years younger is what I’m saying. Future’s better down there, Phil.”
Down there Remy jostled maracas wildly. He looked more than happy enough.
“But say I’m on my way to big things?”
“Yeah, but you aren’t…”
Remy struck a wall and then laughed idiotically, the effect of a failed cartwheel within the Hole’s narrow confines.
“Not that, Hec. You know me, how’d I be happy without some tits to ogle?”
“Look at Remy. You think he cares about his prick? I’ll tell you definitely: he does not.”
Twirling his neck hair, Hector added, “No castration anxiety, won’t care if judged for twirling my neck hair? A veritable paradise!”
Hector steadied himself on the Hole’s farthest precipice.
“Wait! Hec! Don’t.”
“No, I’m going.”
And so Hector abruptly leapt.
Matt Rowan is an editor and co-founder of this here website, Untoward Magazine. He also blogs at Bob Einstein’s Literary Equations. He also graduated from college, that being DePaul University in Chicago, IL. He loves Vladimir Nabokov quite a lot — but not beyond a mostly platonic level. He hopes you like his stories. He understands if they are not to your taste, however.