Bob And Dahlia Become Adventure Friends

{Read “Dahlia Eats Dasies” & “Bob Mud” for deeper context but not necessary}

(Bob calls Dahlia, they had met previously at a pizza parlor. Bob is the founder of Freeland, a new humanized version of America minus large government and corrupt political system controlled by elitism money moguls. Dahlia got a phone finally, pay as you go, not an iPhone or anything normal, yeah pay as you go phones, they’re weird. Dahlia has also dyed her hair, it’s blue now, and she wants to convey that she is a different person now. Nothing has really changed though, except her hair is now blue. Changing your hair is as much change as some are capable of. It did look fabulous. Killin it Dahlia.) Bob calls Dahlia.
Bob: “Hello?”
Dahlia: “Hello?”
Bob: “Hey Dahlia, this is Bob.”
Dahlia: “Bob? Bob who?”
Bob: “…We met getting pizza a while back and got into talking about Sasquatch because the hat some guy was wearing.”
Dahlia: “Oh. Oh yeah. …Hey, Hi Bob.”
Bob: “Hi. …Well I was just calling because I thought you seemed like a pretty cool person …and I just wanted to see if you might want to go on a Friend-venture?”
Dahlia: “A what?”
Bob: “A friend-venture.”
Dahlia: “A friend-venture huh. What did you have in mind exactly with that?”
Bob: “Well we could get coffee and pastries or something.”
Dahlia: “I’m on a diet and I get anxiety when I drink too much caffeine and I’m already having anxiety and adventures give me anxiety too, but I do like them if I know what’s going on ahead of time and can have some control over them. Like total control mostly.”
Bob: “Well, we could go there and you could maybe get hot cocoa or de-café tea or maybe the barista can recommend something else good. It would be good for me to get out the house. I have one of those tiny homes and I get a bit cooped up in here sometimes you know.”
Dahlia: “Ok, I’m down. When and where were you thinking?”
Bob: “Well, are you busy tonight say around seven?”
Dahlia: “Let me check my schedule real quick. Five O’ clock, …feel like shit. …Six, ugly cry. …Seven. Wide open. Where did you have in mind?”
Bob: “I’m not sure, I can text you a place that looks good, that sound good?”
Dahlia: “Yeah that sounds good. Hey, this isn’t some weird idea of a date or anything like that because if it is I’m not going.”
Bob: “No, not at all. It’s seriously just a friend-venture. Two people meeting for platonic fun and maybe some adventures. I mean hopefully some adventures.”
Dahlia: “Are you Sure? You’re sure that’s all it is?”
Bob: “Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it is.”
Dahlia: “So you don’t find me attractive then?”
Bob: “Huh? Uh, no, …you’re uh, …very attractive.”
Dahlia: “So why aren’t you taking me out on a date then Bob? Are you insecure or something?”
Bob: “Uh, I thought it would just be nice to be friends. I was just looking for friends and having a good time.”
Dahlia: “Is that you’re pick up line or something? Are you a polygamist?”
Bob: “Um, no.”
Dahlia: “Are you a serial-monogamist because it’s basically the same thing you know?”
Bob: “No.”
Dahlia: “Why were you telling me I’m attractive then? Do you just want to sleep with me or something? Is that what you do with your “friends?” Bob. You sleep with them all or something?”
Bob: “I was just saying you were attractive because you were asking me. No I am not trying to sleep with you. I just want a friend-venture. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.”
Dahlia: “Bob, you know I’m fucking with you right? You’re totally weird with this friend-venture shit but I like it. I was just fishing for compliments because I’m feeling so god damn depressed at the moment.”
Bob: “Oh, I…”
Dahlia: “Hey wait, You’re not part of a cult or anything are you?”
Bob: “No.”
Dahlia: “That’s what they all say. Are you sure? You may be and you don’t even know it. Do you belong to any groups or anything?”
Bob: “No. Lone-wolf here. In the words of Groucho Marx, “I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member.””
Dahlia: “Ok Bob. The friend-venture has begun. Hey wait. You’re not going to kill me or anything right? Or like rape me and tie me up and stab me a whole bunch of times and take polaroid’s and leave me bound and gagged as I lay screaming for help through my duck-taped mouth till exhaustion and lay dying because I make poor decisions with guys who may be friend-venture serial killers or something right and end up existing only as a few pages and photos of a victim in a true-crime book section so large no one will ever even get to my story probably are you?”
Bob: “No.”
Dahlia: “Ok I believe you. Sort of. You know all serial killers would deny it any way right? I’m trained in Jiu Jitsu just so you know. So you don’t get any funny ideas or whatever. I’m a black belt but I wear a blue one. It matches my hair and then people think I’m weaker than what I actually am. The strong person feigns weakness Bob. Never give yourself away bob. If I had to attack someone they would think they were getting gang jumped by an angry pile of Smurfs on meth Bob. I also have my own combined styles from movies and videogames. Shaq-fu, Clayfighter, Mortal Kombat, Jackie Chan movies, Bloodsport, kill bill one and two, all the eighties’ action movies, I carry on hamster style in honor of Joe Young and other styles that are proprietary knowledge. There is no defense for it Bob. It doesn’t even have a name, …yet.”
Bob: “Oh wow, that’s very impressive. I prefer flight myself.”
Dahlia: “Lol. …Ok. Just shoot me a text and I’ll meet you there.”
Bob: “Ok.”
Dahlia: “Ok. I’m looking forward to it a bit then, ok Bye,”
Bob: “Yes me too, see you then, …Bye.”
(Later that night, Bob and Dahlia meet. Greeting is awkward a bit as usual but otherwise performed pretty well. Bob has googled a coffee house with average reviews. They have greeted, ordered drinks and are just now sitting and beginning to talk.)
Dahlia: “So you have a tiny house huh? Tell me a little about that. I’ve always thought those were so friggin cool. I would love to have one of my own!”
Bob: “Yeah its ok. I like to live as a minimalist. It doesn’t make sense at all because I have three ten by twenty storage units with all my stuff in them and am always having to go over there to get things. I tried to downsize but that’s the best I could do. People need stuff. I guess it’s not so important to me to actually be a minimalist, as much as in keeping with the idea that I’m one. One thing people won’t tell you about if you are buying a used tiny home someone already built, is that sometimes they get this “smell” in them. No matter what you do you just can’t get it out. …It’s flatulence. That’s a word for farts you know? I understand buying one pre-made and everything, not everyone can be a do-it-yourself-er you know. But if you’re ever going to buy one and you’re viewing it and it smells real nice. They’re most likely covering up that saturated-fart smell they can’t get out. That type of space wasn’t ever designed for the amount of combined gasses the human body expels. When people eat they take in oxygen and nitrogen and then hydrogen and carbon dioxide and methane are made when food is broken-down in the digestive system and large intestine. All these gasses have to escape and become roommates in the tiny house. It’s usually too cold to leave the window down in winter and the summer it’s so hot the windows are usually shut and the AC’s running. What that equates to is zero air-filtration and one-hundred square feet give or take of pure saturated flatus floating around with no escape. Naturally it does have to find a place to go. Most of it will de-nature. What doesn’t de-nature vibrates loose until it re-combines to become the existing matter that’s there, say part of the house structure, the wood beams, drywall, microwave, TV, clothes, whatever you have in there. It’s worse if they have a dog. And you should ask if they’re lactose intolerant. And if they are ask them how much they eat of dairy still. They’ll probably lie to you. Check their fridge and see if they have milk and cheese and ice-cream and yogurt and milk. Never buy a tiny house from a lactose-intolerant individual with a dog. Once you do. And they leave. The smell will appear. And you’ll say to yourself. What in the god’s name is that smell? And you’ll try to pin-point it, and that will take several days and weeks perhaps. But you won’t be able to isolate it. Because it’s just the whole house. The whole house is a god damn fart bottle and now you’re stuck in it like one of those ships in a bottle and you paid more than you should have and you don’t have a way out and you just have to adapt. I mean adapt as best as anyone can I mean. Which is not at all really. In experiments when mice are punished and they have no way to escape the punishment variable, they just give up. It’s a bit like that. Well it’s like that totally actually. That and buying lots of incents or candles or essential oils or plug-ins to buy yourself some peace of mind till they burn out you know. It’s a giant vibrator covered in fart.
Dahlia: “Wow, that was quite the response I was not expecting Bob. How did you become so knowledgeable about all that if I might ask?.”
Bob: “Because I bought someone’s overpriced fart box Dahlia. From a god damn lactose-intolerant person with a dog. And now I’m stuck living in the god damn fucking thing! Not only that but you also want to get a black light and go over everything. Those things can be worse than the inside of a jerk booth at an adult-video-store. No one will tell you this kind of stuff but it’s a bit less fantastic than the dream or the Insta photos. But after you cover the fart smell up and clean all everyone’s old sex fluids off everything. They can be pretty nice. I like mine. I’d recommend getting a few storage unit’s close by too. You can’t fit anything inside one of those things. And if you do it will all get ruined by your own god-damn farts. Sometimes you see on the news of a tiny house going up in flames. If people have a gas stove and the pilot light turns when the methane build up is concentrated, KABOOM! I saw this guy once blow his up. His was across the street from mine. I was playing an old NES and the explosion was enough to reset the power button from all the way across on the other side of the street. I ran outside and about fifteen-seconds later he comes running out and he’s on fire and he stopped-dropped and rolled. Then he was yelling how he was ok. I think he was concussed or something because he was definitely not-ok. Then a few minutes later the fire engine got there and then an ambulance and they took him away. And it was a real shame because I was pretty far on my game too. You can’t usually save on the old Nintendo’s you know. I felt real bad for the guy and everything. If you ever go see burn victims it’s one of the saddest things you’ll ever see. The only thing sadder than that is knowing that 40 percent or so are the result of tiny home methane explosions. It’s a bit less than the dream and it’s a god damn travesty. If you ever do volunteer work at one of those places, don’t mention anything about tiny homes Dahlia.”
Dahlia: “That is some seriously messed up stuff Bob. You know I totally still want to go see your tiny house though right?”
Bob: “Oh yeah you can come see it if you want sometime.”
Dahlia: “How about like right now. This ..IS a friend-venture right?”
Bob: “Uh. Sure. This is a friend-venture. You’re absolutely right about that.”
Dahlia: “Do you have a dog Bob or any pets or anything?
Bob: “Yeah I have a dog.”
Dahlia: “Oh, what kind?”
Bob: “A Shar Pei.”
Dahlia: “Boy or girl?”
Bob: “Girl.”
Dahlia: “What’s her name?
Bob: “Squid.”
Dahlia: “That’s an interesting name. Why the name?”
Bob: “I don’t know. That was her name when I got her at the shelter. There weren’t any notes on it or anything. I thought it would make sense eventually but it’s hasn’t. Maybe it takes a little longer to figure out. I don’t know.
Dahlia: “How long have you had her?”
Bob: “Two years.”
Dahlia: “I don’t know if you’re going to find out Bob.”
Bob: “Yeah I know. It really bothers me. I even did some research on squids and everything to try and find out. They’re really good swimmers but she’s afraid of the water. Won’t even go near it. Deep water squids have the greatest known penis length relative to body size of all mobile animals in the entire animal kingdom, second only to certain barnacles. I don’t know what that would have to do with her though. The closest thing that made sense to me is that squid’s skin is covered in chromoatophores and that makes them change color to blend in to their surroundings and Squid is the color of most people’s carpets. So there’s that. The largest squid was forty-three feet though claims have been made for near seventy feet. I’m not sure if that’s counting penis length which would double the size. They call the Squid penis gladius which means sword and later they changed that, started using the word penis which means little tail when the sexual oppression started in the dark ages which we’re still in apparently. The vagina means sheath or scabbard. There is still lots we don’t know about deep sea creatures. If you ask me when people die in the ocean all the time and they say it’s undertow or whatever. Not likely. It’s more like squid rape. Seventy feet of sword taking them down to Davy Jones Locker to do who knows what Pulp Fiction Pawn shop stuff to them. James Cameron, the director of Terminator. He went down in the deep sea challenger and that’s pretty impressive for a director to do because he was only the second person to ever do that or something. Like Twenty-seven thousand feet below or something too. Now he won’t go on or record or anything. But if you ask him personally. He’s seen one of those squid with someone. Pulling them down and doing all kinds of ungodly things. Then if you look at all the movies he directed after that, you’ll see the squid rape had an inspiration effect or something on all them pretty much. You like calamari? They’re not supposed to but half of it’s more likely than not squid penis.
Dahlia: “Wow those are some VERY fun facts!” Dahlia replies facetiously.
Bob: “Oh I’m full of them. How about you, any pets?”
Dahlia: “I don’t have any pets myself. I am kind of moving around a lot and it’s too hard to try and take a pet everywhere with me. I have this friend. And his dog disappeared for a few days. Then it came back and its butt was shaved. No lie.”
Bob: “What?”
Dahlia: “Yeah. Fucking sick right. Like was it a sick joke or did that dog get raped? We will never know.”
Bob: “That is seriously messed up.”
Dahlia: “Yeah I know right. Then this one time I was looking in one of those free little libraries and there was this book called, “Inside of a dog” and I was going to take a pic and send it to him as a joke but I didn’t because that was just too messed up. It was still kind of funny to me though. But also sad. Sometimes you have to laugh at the sad things or you’ll just be sad and crying the whole entire time, I swear to god you will.”
Bob: “Yeah that was probably good you didn’t send that. It’s hard to know how people will take things.”
Dahlia: “Then I have this other friend. And she leaves her huge dildos in those free-little-libraries. She thinks it’s pretty funny or something. I think they’re probably used ones too. Friggin disgusting! Can you imagine a little kid and mom going to one of those things and opening it up and there’s a ginormous-rubber-skin-toned-flesh-monkey staring back at them with its fixated Sauron eye. “Mom, what’s this strange toy?” … That’s quite the early sex-education class if you ask me.”
Bob: “Oh wow. I don’t even have a response for that.”
Dahlia: “Yeah, there’s a reward for catching the person. It’s a little link on their website. They don’t want to make it too known or anything.”
Bob: “Man, what kind of messed up person would do something like that?”
Dahlia: “…Well actually it’s me that’s been doing it. I was hoping the reward would go up a bit higher and then I could narc on some old lady and I could just really use the money actually. Some of those old ladies are total perv-dogs you know. Plus I don’t like to keep old dildos around too long. That’s gross. I mean some people. They’re like collectors of those things and have sex rooms and stuff. For me they’re kind of like dating people. It’s fun for a bit but then time to move on and a get a new clean slate. It could be some type of dildo shame I’m experiencing and dropping them in the boxes is some weird pathological cathartic thing I have to do to feel clean from the sin. I grew up in church and they made you feel dirty about sex and masturbating and all that super awesome stuff. Now personally I feel that’s all total bullshit and those people are some of the most judgmental perverted freak-cunts you’ll ever meet. But I think deep down all that child-hood indoctrination stuff really stuck a bit. Took root before I really had a chance you know. To develop in a healthy way. Adults are supposed to protect us as kids you know. I’m mean like seriously what the fuck right? And some-times maybe they think they are helping us while at the same exact time they’re seriously fucking us up. So I guess you could probably say the church is responsible for putting the dildos in the free-little-libraries if you want to be more accurate. Which sounds weird but everyone knows it more likely true than not really. ”
Bob: “The god damn church!”
Dahlia: “Yeah. The god damn Church!”
Bob: “Sometimes I go to the old-folks homes and steal or take pieces off those walkers everyone’s got. I’m really just doing them a favor. They pass those things out like candy at Halloween. They usually name them Empower-walkers or some idiosyncratic name like that. Once people start using that it’s all aboard on the hospice Titanic. I’m trying to save them. They don’t know what’s good for them. No one hardly does. And that’s a problem. People’s lives are fucked up and they wonder why. No one knows what’s good for themselves. We’re all lost as shit looking for someone to tell us what’s good for us. And that’s the problem. We think someone knows but nobody knows. Nobody god damn knows. Besides the walker service I provide. Sometimes if I see a garden or something I’ll go ahead and do the people a favor and plants some peppers in there. I’ve got a giant one-gallon container of ghost peppers and those are one of the hottest peppers ever. The first pepper to scientifically test over one million scoville heat units in fact. Since people don’t know what they like and all, maybe those come up and they’ll not know what they are and give them a try. I do a lot of things like that. Just little nice things here and there for people. I don’t need any thanks or recognition or whatever. It’s just nice to do nice things you know. It makes me feel good and that’s the real reward. And maybe those people, they’ll be so happy because they got a pepper plant from where they don’t really know. They’ll probably think a bird dropped it or something. And they’ll eat the peppers and be happy. They’ll say, what a good pepper. Thanks universe. And secretly I’ll know it was me. And that makes me happy. Even if it’s just something small like that.
Everyone is left to their own devices and everything they do is an attempt to change a feeling. A prolonged feeling that is their emotional life. Life is largely an inescapable feeling and every action people do is a self-defense mechanism to escape. To escape the inescapable. Unless they kill themselves. Which really doesn’t solve anything. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. Suicide is a temporary solution to a permeant problem. All the suicides come right back as something else, and it’s probably worse off than they were. I say tough it out and see it through. Some people really do need assisted-suicide. That’s a service I have done a few times, under the table just between friends of course. You have to make it look like an accident or something so you don’t get in trouble. You shouldn’t tell them how you’re going to do it. It should be natural. Taking them on hike is a good way. You can get to the edge of a real steep cliff and then tell them they have to see the view from the edge. Tell them how amazing it is you know. Really sell it. From there they are probably so sick they hardly made the hike and don’t have anything left and are dizzy from the reduced amount of oxygen in the air which creates a feeling of confusion and relaxation. It makes them extra docile and unable to think too well. From there it’s just a gentle push on the back. More like a pat really. Like a friend would give sometimes for doing something good. Just make sure you aren’t wearing a loose shirt or they may grab you last minute and take you with them. Which is not what you want. That would be a very bad day. If they’re in a wheel chair or something. You can just push them up there which will be hard. And then just push them to the edge and yell like you’re losing your grip or something while you kind of nudge it right off. The wheelchair idea is a lot worse though because you need a stronger alibi. Like they were dying and they wanted to see the great outdoors once more and you got tired pushing them up hill and saw them roll off the edge and you thought maybe it was a suicide. That sure would be a sight to see. People don’t know what they want. So often I’ll just do it as a solid. They don’t even have to ask. I can just tell they need it you know.”
Dahlia: “You’re pretty messed up Bob. I mean, you may be like, more messed up than me. I like it. I like it a lot. We might become friends after all. I’ve never met anyone like you. I’m enjoying this friend-venture. I still don’t want to sleep with you or anything. Do pricks look bigger on tiny-beds. Nevermind. You didn’t really kill anyone did you? Hey, you got a tv?”
Bob: “No I didn’t kill anyone. I was just trying to impress you. Yeah I got a tv.”
Dahlia: “Is it a tiny one Bob?”
Bob: “It’s normal size. Maybe a bit bigger.”
Dahlia: “Good. Usually girls only care about big mattresses and guys care about big TV’s but I’m the other way around. I like big TV’s. It doesn’t matter really too much though really. It’s like everyone’s trying to compensate for something you know.”
Bob: “Yeah. They are. For their pathetic box-lives. We’re all compensating for something at the end of the day.”
Dahlia: “Ain’t that the truth. Shit.”
Bob: “Yeah. And the truth ain’t pretty.”
Dahlia: “Life is a city and we’re all condemned buildings.”
(Dahlia follows Bob and they arrive at the tiny home a few minutes later)
Dahlia: “Have you ever been in love Bob?”
Bob: “No.”
Dahlia: “I have. I have been in love a million times. Everyday. Everyway with everyone and thing. In love with it all. The shit and the joy. And it’s amazing. Everyday. It’s amazing.”
Bob: “You must go through a lot of lubricant. Do you have bi-polar or something? I don’t know how someone could live like that. But it sounds nice, I guess. I wish I could know what that’s like. Usually I just go through life lonely and alone and sad. It doesn’t feel very amazing. I’m not in love with it. I just never can attract a lover. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. Or what’s wrong. I just really don’t know and feel pretty hopeless really. I gave up a long time ago really. They say you find someone when you’re not looking. I don’t think that’s true. I think you find someone when you’ve become the experimental mouse that can no longer escape the punishment. You have to be completely broken and desperate for love to take root. And often times what you thinks a flower growing turns out to be some type of invasive vine or a Venus fly trap, strangling what little hope you reignited and eating what’s left of you. Kind of like Little Shop Of Horrors of something. I mean that’s just one view. Mine I guess.
Dahlia: “How old are you Bob?”
Bob: “39.”
Dahlia: “MMM. Books. Looks like you’re into psychology, serial killers, war, philosophy, your self-help section is pretty impressive, or sad, not sure. Hmm, you have a lot of interesting books. You read all these?”
Bob: “No, my interest far exceeds my abilities but I’ve read a lot of them.”
Dahlia: “Well Good. If you’d read all those I would have felt real dumb or something you know. I’ve read a few books. I think people are like books and I can read them right away. People are like walking books to me. Have you ever been with a girl Bob?”
Bob: “What do you mean? Like sleep with a girl?”
Dahlia: “Yeah! You sleep with a girl before?”
Bob: “Um. I don’t really feel all that comfortable talking about that kind of stuff. I prefer to keep that stuff kind of private you know.”
Dahlia: “Oh, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. If you haven’t though and you want to grab my tits and kiss me deeply I’d let you you know. You could feel me up under my clothes anytime you wanted. You know. If you wanted. It would be hot Bob. It would make me wet if someone did something like that.”
Bob: “Ok. Noted. Are you always like this?”
Dahlia: “Like what?”
Bob: “You know, so forward?”
Dahlia: “You don’t know the half of it Bob. I have some dildos in my car and you can use them on me if you want. They are in my trunk and I can go get them right now. I just don’t want to have sex still right now though, you know.”
Bob: “That’s a bit too fast for me I think. I don’t really know you. I want to meet a nice girl. I haven’t really ever you know…”
Dahlia: “Wait. Have you never kissed a girl?”
(Bob turns red)
Dahlia: “Oh my fucking God! You have never kissed a fucking girl. SERIOUSLY. How in the fuck have you never even kissed someone? Wait? Have you kissed a guy? Are you gay or something?
Bob: “No. I’m not gay. But if I was would there be a problem with that?”
Dahlia: “No. Well I mean we probably wouldn’t have a chance to mess around. Which doesn’t really matter. I mean even if you were gay or bi or whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. The church might tell you to go burn in hell forever, since that’s their love language or something, but I figure since you have a tiny home you may be burning soon anyway even for doing nothing than buying one of those fire-traps. Church people. They might say if you were gay and your house burnt and you became a burn victim or died, that that was just god’s wrath because you’re a sinner. Church people’s beliefs can be so ugly. They’re the fucking sinners with their judgement and ugly thinking. But I don’t care Bob. If you’re gay or something. It’s all wonderful to me. I love you however you are. Everyone just is what they are Bob. People try to shame us for being that. Judging makes haters of us all. I’m a slut Bob. And I fucking love my slut-self more than any slut probably ever has in the history of slutiness. Now if someone called me a slut. I’d tell them to go fuck themselves. It’s not their place to judge. But self-ascribed. I love sex. With lots of different people and all the time. And there’s nothing wrong with that for me. And the world tells us how to judge Bob. We are all perfectly made I think. Perfectly made shitshow’s. Or self-ascribed sluts. Or whatever we are. And that’s alright. And even if people have to put us down, that’s means we were up in the first place and they were just trying to take us down to their level. Fuck them down at their level.”
Bob: “You want something to drink?”
Dahlia: “Actually you have something to snack on. Something small or easy or something?”
Bob: “Yeah. You like cheese?”
Dahlia: “What kind?”
Bob: “Smoked Gouda and sharp cheddar.”
Dahlia: “Are you lactose-intolerant Bob?”
Bob: “As a matter of fact, I am.”
Dahlia: “God dammit Bob. Now I don’t know if the fart smell, which by the way I can’t smell yet, is going to be from you or some story you made up.”
Bob: “And I must admit that’s quite the predicament too.”
Dahlia: “Well I think I got to get going now. I’m feeling a bit tired.”
Bob: “Well thanks for coming over. I had a fun time. It’s been a bit of a friend-venture.”
Dahlia: “Yeah. Yeah it has been that. If you want to hang out again sometime. I’d like that perhaps.”
Bob: “You sure? You don’t have to say that to be kind or anything. You can run away or something. If you don’t the Stockholm syndrome might set in and then there might not be any escape ever again.”
Dahlia: “Yeah you can call me sometime. Or text or whatever.”
Bob: “Ok. And hey Dahlia. Maybe slow down on the dildos in the free-little libraries thing. You know. Maybe.”
Dahlia: “Yeah. I know same as the tiny homes, once one of those things sat in there a bit, you can’t ever get that silicon smell out. If you stick your head in them and smell. You might smell one that smells like silicon and you’ll know. The church has been there doing there missionary work. Ok. I’ll think about it.”
Bob: “You’re right about the old ladies being perv-dogs ya’ know. Sometimes they’ll take out their dentures right in front of me and give a disturbing look or brush up against my parts and apologize but I can tell they’re not really sorry and did it intentionally. It’s hard work saving them. Sometimes I have to rassle those walkers out of their hands. Some of them. They got death grips on those things. I tell them let go if they want to live god dammit. They’re rolling right in their god dam graves and I’m trying to save them. Then I recycle them down at the metal place every once in a while and that gives me money for the pepper seeds. Ok. Have a good night Dahlia. I had a nice friend-venture.”
Dahlia: “Night Bob.”
Bob: “Night Dahlia.”