A friend asked me to write a story about John Congleton finding a disgusting penny and buying ice cream with it. So I did. I've made worse decisions.
This is a companion piece of sorts to my latest vlog post, The Crisis of the Omniphobic Horror Writer. I'll have more to say about all that soon, I'm sure.
Little brown circle like a cigarette burn. God knows how filthy, what kind of cancers you’re carrying. I’ve really gone and done it now, gone and picked you up off the ashtray ground. I hope you’re proud of yourself. I can feel your diseases grape-vining inside me now, they’ll wreck my head like the president on your face. Dirty little piece of nothing. Obsolete, that’s what they called you, and if you can’t fight back then how can you prove it’s not what you are?
Goddamn these hands. I let them touch you.
And isn’t it perfect how I need you anyway, to meet the cost of vanilla. Diseased and dirty point-one-oh, you have brought me brain freeze and tooth decay. Thank you very much, pathetic little penny.