“Do you know what the worst part about being pansexual is?”
“No, what?”
“There’s no limit to how many people I can disappoint.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”
He sighed. Looking up into the sky as drops of rain splashed against his face. “Am I?”
“A bit.”
“Wanna go to the arcade?”
“I can’t. I have to go to work.”
He wiped his hands on his torn jeans, still staring up into the sky. “I’ll talk to you later then.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They clasped hands for a moment. His eyes drawn to her face, the rain streamed down his cheeks like tears. “Call me when you get off.”
“I’ll try.”
She got in her beater Honda and disappeared into the falling rain as he turned and walked down the sidewalk toward Artie’s Arcade on 5th street.
By the time he arrived his clothing was thoroughly soaked through, but he didn’t seem to notice. The goosebumps on his skin were an afterthought as he pulled open the glass door by its tarnished metal handle. He pulled a soggy five-dollar bill out of his pocket and smoothed it against his jeans. He held it up to the token exchange machine, guiding the end to the slot with his damp fingertips. Zzzpt. The waterlogged bill was slurped into the machine only to be spit back out. He tried again. His shaky hands feeding the machine. Zzzpt. This time it took the whole bill. It vibrated for a minute. He bounced on the balls of his feet, agitation clawing at his skin like pesticide. It had to work. He just wanted to escape the bullshit. The soggy bill spit out of the machine, and he pounded his fist down against it.
“Fuck!” he said. “Just take my goddamn money already.”
He took the bill and spread it out over his jeans, rubbing it back and forth gripping the edges so tight it might rip in half. He held each edge between an index finger and a thumb as he presented it to the slot like a cherished sacrifice. The bill was pulled into the machine once more. His shoulders relaxed as twenty tokens spilled out of the machine’s mouth, tinking into a little metal cup. He scooped them out of the cup and shoved them into his pocket.
Zombie Hunter 2000 was calling his name. His hands rested on the sloped edge of the cabinet. Pictures of zombies being blown away and the scattered remains of their victims were scrawled all over the front and sides of it. He lifted a plastic handgun out of the metal holster tied to the front of the cabinet by a cord that wasn’t quite long enough. He slipped three tokens into its glowing red slot and started blasting away at the infinite hordes of zombies marching toward the screen.
An incessant vibration wriggled and writhed in his back pocket as he put down zombie after zombie. He lifted out his phone as he continued to separate zombie heads from their bodies.
“You don’t disappoint me.” Read the text notification on his screen.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and lifted his head back toward the screen. Digital cracks spider webbed all across it. Large bold letters reading ‘GAME OVER’ floated up the screen as it demanded more tokens to continue. With a thunk he dropped the plastic pistol into its holster and pushed the air out of his lungs.
(This story is a work in progress! Check back later for fresh updates.)