《Little Beirut》


 Day Off #1

    Walter walked through the door from the garage, brushing pine needles and rain out of his dense fur before he could track a mess all over the floors.  Even with excessive grooming, his winter coat puffed him up to almost twice his size, hiding his lean tanuki build beneath a cloud of dusty brown fur.  His fur filled his t-shirt like an over-stuffed pillow, bursting out from the collar and sleeves like he was about to explode.


    He lived alone high in Portland¡¯s West Hills overlooking the city below.  The winter had been mild, and now at the tail end of the season, the air was filled with a constant drizzly mist that wasn¡¯t quite rain, but was too wet to be anything else.  He quickly ran his paws through the fur on his exposed arms to shake loose as much as he could while he kicked off his shoes, letting them tumble across the floor and lay where they fell.  Only once he was satisfied that he was dry and wouldn¡¯t track mud all through the house, Walter walked across the empty, unfurnished room toward the iron spiral staircase that led upstairs.  At the top of the stairs, Walter plugged his phone into the stereo dock so it could charge, and tossed his keys onto the dining room table, on top of a pile of bills he hadn¡¯t opened, and jackets that never got worn.


    The house was entirely too big for one person.  Downstairs was almost a complete apartment on its own, with an open living area, bedroom, and full bath.  There was a door leading out from the downstairs living room to the front yard, which Walter had never opened, and had never felt a particular need to, mostly owing to the giant prickly pear that had taken over from whatever the house¡¯s previous owners were trying to do with the landscaping.  Before he moved in, Walter had briefly considered having the stupid cactus removed, but it kept people from using the downstairs door.  So it stayed.


    Upstairs, there were two more bedrooms.  His, which had remained largely untouched, had enormous windows which looked over the hills and the city.  At least they would have, had there not been heavy blankets nailed to the wall to black out the bedroom as much as possible.  He had his small bed, messed and unmade shoved against the far wall, and a single dresser topped with the assorted trinkets and pills that got piled up and ignored.  Aside from a Louisville Slugger resting against the wall near the door, Walter had not put any further energy into the room.  The second bedroom, which Walter had turned into his home office, had also borne the brunt of the previous owner¡¯s desires.  It had lost its more typical door, and gained a sliding barn door in its place.  It had a glass sliding door and giant windows that looked out over the narrow strip of property to the side of the house.  His was one of the few West Hills properties to have a pool, leading Walter to suspect that the lunatic previous owner might have been some kind of crocodile or fish.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    His office was the only room in the entire house that bore any hallmark of being used.  Walter didn¡¯t own much, outside of an enormous collection of notes and files from work that he refused to throw out.  He kept neatly stacked in boxes and cabinets, alongside shelves full of small trinkets he¡¯d collected over the years, like trophies from a hunt.  He had no photographs on any of the walls or surfaces, though his desk was cluttered with the tools of his trade.  A desktop computer shared space with a laptop and the latest iPad release and several old phones.  Multiple cameras sat neatly arranged on one side of his desk in a mix of handicams, point and shoots, and several large dSLRs.


    The front room more resembled his bedroom again.  Walter had a stereo that was designed to appear antique, but with all the necessary ports and trappings to interface with modern gadgets.  On the shelf below, he had a substantial vinyl collection.  Beyond that, he owned little else.  A dining table he never used.  A black leather sofa and matching recliner, and the sort of glass and steel coffee table he had been assured was fashionable.  He had nothing hung up on the slate-grey walls, save the speakers from a 9.1 surround system that attached to his stereo.  He could have attached the system to his television hung above the corner fireplace as well, but in the end, he had decided it was entirely too much work when the only thing he ever watched was various news channels.  He kept no rugs on the chestnut-carpeted floors, and sky lights in the high, vaulted ceiling were kept permanently closed with the shades drawn.  All the damn things ever seemed to do was let all the heat escape during the long winters, and focus the full force of the sun¡¯s energy straight onto his head in the summer.  And when they weren¡¯t doing that, they constantly leaked from all the decaying leaves and pine needles eating away at the seal.


    There had been a time when Walter had considered nailing blankets over the floor-to-ceiling windows in the front room, but with the high, vaulted ceilings and a sky that was cloudy more often than not, blocking off the natural light would have required extra effort in buying and plugging in lamps.  His window didn¡¯t face any of the neighbors anyway.  Instead, his property gave him a view of the entire Willamette valley below, with the city stretching off to the east and Mt Hood looming far on the horizon, all framed neatly between two giant Douglas firs on the corners of his property.  But in the haze and gloom of early February, the mountain was hidden in the clouds and mist, completely invisible from the city.

 Day Off #2

    Walter hated the house, but he¡¯d spent too much money on it and put too much work into it to want to sell it so soon. The simpler solution was to throw himself into work instead, and treat the place like an oversized closet for his clothes and his records. It was a place he went to occasionally eat, and relax when he wanted to be left alone.


    Walter¡¯s kitchen was the sole exception to his spartan lifestyle. Brushed steel appliances and polished granite counter tops were all stocked with every manner of gadget a grown man needed to feed himself, and many he didn¡¯t. Walter walked straight to the kitchen and opened the large refrigerator door, peering inside while he figured out what he felt like putting effort into. There was a cut of beef in one of the drawers, and a decent amount of produce in the other, so he pulled everything out. Walter grabbed a steel pan from the rack on the wall and put it on the burner to heat while he cut thin strips of beef. The rest, he threw into a bowl with a quick pawful of sliced Cremini mushrooms from a paper box and a quick marinade of soy sauce and brown sugar. He put the bowl back into the fridge, and then turned back to the stove. While he waited for the beef, Walter began pulling out bowls and knives, to get everything ready for the moment he needed it. By then, the pan was starting to get hot. Walter pulled a single egg from the fridge and separated it into two small bowls, salting the yolk and beating it with a fork. Once the pan was hot enough, he took it off the heat and set it on a thick bamboo mat, and poured the yolk in, spreading it thinly so he got a piece of bright yellow egg paper. It only took a minute or two for the residual heat of the pan to cook the egg through. Walter lifted the egg from the pan and dropped it onto the cutting board. With a knife that was probably a little too big for the job, Walter cut the egg into thin strips. After that, he went onto the produce. Matchsticks from carrots and bell peppers, chopped quickly with the same knife. Once done, he repeated the process for the white of the egg, cooking it into a thin sheet and slicing it into long strips. Sliced onions, enoki mushrooms, and chives, all separated out into their own neat little piles on the cutting board. He quickly blanched some spinach, saving the water from it. Moving quickly, to not lose the heat, Walter tossed a bundle of dry glass noodles into a ceramic bowl and poured the spinach water on top to soak. The spinach, he mixed with soy sauce and sesame oil while the noodles steeped in their bowl, cooking slowly from the countertop.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Walter put the pan the egg had been in back onto the stove to heat up again, and tossed a small squirt of vegetable oil into it. Once the oil was hot, Walter tossed in the onions and chives, adding a bit more salt to them. The oil exploded, crackling and hissing in the pan when the onions were dropped in, immediately searing everything it touched. Walter gave the pan a quick toss to spread everything out, reaching out with his other paw to pluck up one of the mushrooms on the cutting board to nibble on. By the time the onions were done, the noodles were soft in their bowl. The noodles got drained, rinsed, and cut up with some scissors so they weren¡¯t a mile long, and then everything went into the bowl with the spinach to be mixed together and seasoned. Walter washed out the pan again, and repeated the process with the mushrooms, saut¨¦ing them and mixing them in with the rest. And then again with the bell peppers, searing them just enough to heat them through and change their texture, and then once again with the beef and mushrooms from the fridge. Then, he minced a few cloves of garlic and tossed it into the bowl, along with some seasonings and the egg strips.


    The whole thing took less than fifteen minutes to throw together, but by the time Walter was done, he was starving. Once it was all mixed together, he put half of it onto a plate and the rest into a Tupperware container and tossed it into the fridge. Everything else went into the sink to be dealt with later. Finally ready to eat, Walter grabbed a pair of steel chopsticks from the silverware drawer, and pulled a beer from the fridge. He passed right by the dining table and went to his recliner in the living room to eat and watch the news. As he settled, making sure his tail wasn¡¯t going to go all numb from being squished underneath him, Walter made sure his plate was well away from his ash tray on the end table. With the evening news just getting started, Walter settled in for a quiet meal by himself. Every network had their biases, but sometimes those biases just got old. So he ate. He drank his beer. He switched through channels, and eventually pulled a cigarette out from a pack on the end table and lit it. When he was done with his plate, he set it aside on the table until he finished his cigarette. With nothing new having happened between Walter getting off work, and finishing his dinner, he got up to go clean up his mess in the kitchen. For a brief moment, he considered just tossing everything into the dish washer, but even with the amount of bowls and knives he¡¯d used, there wasn¡¯t enough to be worth running the machine. Not wanting to forget about running it later, Walter ran the sink instead and quickly washed everything by paw, stacking it all on the multi-tiered dish rack beside the sink.

 Day Off #3

    Fridays were exhausting.They were the busiest, most mentally-draining day of the week, and by the time Walter was done cleaning up in the kitchen, he was ready to go collapse back into his seat to watch the rest of the endless news cycle.Occasionally, he¡¯d drift off to sleep for a few minutes here or there, but he never stayed asleep for long.A particularly loud commercial break or a neighbor pulling into their driveway was often all it took to rouse him again.Sometimes he¡¯d get up to move around, or scroll through Twitter to see opinions from the masses, but little seemed to hold his attention for long.


    He napped off and on all night, until he¡¯d seen everything the 24 hour news circuit had to offer and the sky started to brighten up as dawn approached.Saturday was the one day off Walter gave himself a week, and he didn¡¯t feel like spending it inside.Getting up, Walter stretched his back and looked out the window at the sky.It looked like it was going to be wet and miserable, just like the day before with the city hidden beneath a layer of early morning mist and fog.Nothing new, then.But a good day for the gym, he decided.Walter went back to his bathroom to brush his teeth and change into something more appropriate for working out, and swapped out his glasses for contacts.By the time he made it back out to the living room, the sun was starting to rise somewhere in the cloud cover over the distant mountain beyond the city, lighting up the room with a grey-blue glow.


    His gym shoes were downstairs by the garage door, along with his DCs he¡¯d kicked off the second he¡¯d stepped inside the previous evening.It took a few minutes to get into his gym shoes and do up the laces, careful not to snap them where they were starting to fray.Walter couldn¡¯t tell if his claws were catching on the insides of his shoes because he needed to trim them, or if the insides of his shoes were just that worn down and gross.He probably needed a new pair.These ones were ancient and bordering on damaging.He thought maybe he¡¯d get a new pair once the stores opened.But everything was closed in the early hours of the morning, so the shoes could wait.One more day in nasty old shoes wouldn¡¯t kill him.


    The 12-cylinder A8 in his garage was one of the few nice things Walter owned and cared about.Black and chrome, too big to be reasonable, and entirely too loud, it was the first new car he had ever bought.More than once on his drive out of the hills, Walter had to slow down to make sure the long car could make the twists and turns.It wasn¡¯t a long drive, but the Audi was not exactly built for hilltop neighborhoods planned by nature.Walter had been avoiding the gym all month, but by this point, he¡¯d learned the timing of these things.Most of the Resolutioners had given up and gone away, leaving the building blessedly quiet.Walter was looking forward to a few weeks of quiet, early morning work outs before spring came along, and all those Resolutioners came back desperately trying to lose 30 pounds before Spring Break.Walter hated going to the gym at the beginning of the year.But he was starting to go stir crazy, and needed to do something a little more productive than picking fights with guys twice his size in mechanic shops.Luckily, by now the crowds had thinned and lot parking was available when Walter pulled up to the building.Walking through the corner door, Walter found the gym empty enough that he had his pick of machines.He briefly thought about using one of the bags, since they were all open, but that wouldn¡¯t do it.He needed to burn off energy in a bigger way, so he found a treadmill instead.He pulled his phone and headphones out of his pocket, found a good playlist, and started running.He wanted to go until he fell over, but he¡¯d done that before, and he always regretted it.Something about having all the skin scraped off his knees and his tail getting stuck in the belt just wasn¡¯t enjoyable.He¡¯d go until he felt like he wanted to fall over.That was his plan, and he stuck to it with single-minded determination.Between the music in his ears, and the sound of the machine, and his own pounding heart and breathing, he was lost to anything happening around him.He might as well have been in his own little world.It wasn¡¯t until a bright orange, one-pound dumbbell barely missed his shoulder and bounced off the wall in front of him that Walter realized suddenly that he wasn¡¯t alone anymore.He barely managed to stay on his feet, and not fall over and scrape all the skin off his knees as he stopped the treadmill and turned around to see what the problem was this time.Seeing the problem, he still wasn¡¯t sure what it was.Some dumb ferret throwing dumbbells for the hell of it, apparently.Walter picked up the one that was thrown at him, and was prepared to throw it back until some pissed off bull tackled the idiot at the racks.He tossed the weight back down to the floor and pulled his phone back out of his pocket to check the time.It was still pretty early, but after all that excitement, Walter decided it was time to go back home for a cup of coffee and to get cleaned up.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Home, he found, was being circled by no fewer than three news choppers and a police helicopter.He pulled the car back into the garage, just to be safe, in case whatever the cops were there for came past his front door.He otherwise ignored the noise and kicked off his shoes toward the wall, and headed upstairs to start the coffee machine.With that going, he headed back to the bathroom to change out of his gym clothes and freshen himself up a bit, taking time to wash his face and clean up.He¡¯d considered taking a proper shower, but he was neither in the mood to spend all day drying naturally, nor to mess around with a blow dryer for forty five minutes.Instead, he poured a generous amount of dry shampoo into his paw and rubbed it deep into his fur.It didn¡¯t make him feel much better, but at least he¡¯d be able to be out in public. Once he was in a pair of jeans, he took the gym clothes down to the washing machine in the garage.The noise and commotion was still going on above him by the time he¡¯d got back up the stairs, and if anything, sounded louder.He stepped outside onto the front porch to get a better look, but the thing worth looking at wasn¡¯t in the sky.A bit further along the hill, just a few houses over, the ground had given out entirely and slid down into one of the houses below.

 Day Off #4

    ¡°Goddamn,¡± Walter muttered at the sight of it.He looked back up at the helicopters, suddenly worried about his own property.He hadn¡¯t been stupid enough to cut down and dig out all of his trees like his neighbor had the previous summer, but who knew how sturdy anything was now.He looked at the Doug Firs on his property with a wary eye, half expecting them to topple over down the hill and take his house with them.


    Trying not to think about it, Walter stepped back inside to finish getting dressed.He snatched up a clean t-shirt from the top of a dresser drawer, and as he pulled it over his head he stopped at the sink to trim down some of his whiskers that were getting out of control.But he stopped short at the sight of his hair - starting to get more grey than black in some places.That was going to have to be taken care of as well.Sighing about it, he decided not to bother doing anything about his hair as a result, and just focused on the rest of his grooming.Once he had his whiskers trimmed, he reached for the electric trimmer to get some of the extra fluff out of his ears.Sometimes he felt like if he let it, it would never stop growing until it reached the floor.Once he was done with that, he fluffed up his cheeks and cleaned out the sink, and went to go pour himself a mediocre cup of coffee.Somehow, even with the automatic machine that did it all for him, it was the one thing he still couldn¡¯t seem to get the hang of, and probably never would.It was bitter, and tasted almost burnt, so he masked it with too much creamer and sugar until it didn¡¯t resemble coffee at all.


    He hung around just long enough to watch the helicopters spin around above the hills while he drank his coffee, before taking the cup to the sink and heading back downstairs.This time, he put on the black skate shoes, which weren¡¯t in danger of having their laces snap apart, because he¡¯d tied them once three years ago and never untied them again.


    Traffic on the roads was starting to pick up, but the salon wasn¡¯t much farther away than the gym, so Walter only had to put up with idiots in Slabtown for about fifteen minutes.There were a few stylists that he liked, and that morning the one that was in was the tall kid who wore too much eyeliner. The young fox would have looked just fine without it, but there were days it almost seemed like he was trying to pass himself off as a bright orange raccoon. He liked to talk too much sometimes, but he knew what to do with hair that wanted to curl, but didn¡¯t quite have the energy to pull it off properly.


    ¡°Back for another touch up?¡± he asked as he signed Walter into the computer.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sick of it,¡± Walter said, wondering how he¡¯d let it get so bad.¡°Make it black again.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The stylist nodded as he entered the order in, before inviting Walter to follow him back to his station.While the kid took a few seconds to just fiddle with Walter¡¯s hair while he figured out what he wanted to do, Walter took off his glasses and leaned back into the seat to pretend he was trying to fall asleep.


    ¡°I want to strip out what we put down last time.It¡¯ll be easier than trying to match the same undertones.¡±He ran his fingers through the shorter hair in back.¡°But your hair looks like it¡¯s a little red underneath anyway.¡±


    ¡°Do what you need to,¡± Walter said.


    The stylist went back to fiddling with the longer hair on top.¡°Do you want to even out the cut then?Make everything look a little smoother?¡±


    ¡°Just make it look nice,¡± Walter said, not really caring what happened as long as he didn¡¯t have to keep coming back every other week.


    The fox worked with his hair, trimming it and fixing the style first before they started messing around with color.Walter mostly tuned him out, assuming the chatter was directed at other stylists in the building.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got really long fur for a raccoon,¡± he said in the middle of whatever conversation he was carrying on.Walter didn¡¯t realize it was directed at him until the fox continued.¡°I¡¯m going to have to trim some up back here to get a clean fade.¡±


    Walter looked at the blurry image of the fox in the mirror.¡°That might be because I¡¯m not a raccoon,¡± he said.


    The fox immediately began to stumble over his own words.¡°Oh.Uh.I¡¯m so sorry,¡± he got out eventually.¡°Uh¡­¡±


    Walter sighed.¡°Do what you need to,¡± he said again.He watched the fox continue to squirm uncomfortably in his own skin, dancing around a question he didn¡¯t seem to know how to ask.¡°Tanuki,¡± Walter answered so he didn¡¯t have to watch the fox keep doing that.¡°We have long fur back there.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± the fox said, nodding.¡°Sorry.¡±


    Walter hummed quietly, not really caring either way.He just wanted to get out of there.He¡¯d hoped this appointment wouldn¡¯t take three hours to get through, and he was almost pleased when it didn¡¯t.Almost.Two hours was less than three, but still longer than he wanted to spend in the salon on his day off.But in the end, his hair was completely black again, and the cut had been somewhat evened out on the back, but not as much as he¡¯d expected.If anything, it almost looked like a slightly more grown-up version of the mohawk he¡¯d had in his 20s.This wasn¡¯t necessarily a bad thing, since he knew what the style looked like when he neglected it and let it grow out, and it wasn¡¯t entirely awful.He paid, leaving the kid a generous tip just like every other time he¡¯d been in, and retreated back to his car to find a good shoe store so he could get a new pair for the gym, before his current pair smashed up his heels or got torn to shreds by his claws.Slabtown was a trendy enough district that he could drive around and find something that suited him easily enough, and by that point, all of the stores had opened for the day.

 Day Off #5

    By then, traffic had also picked up to the consistent level of chaos that would remain for the next twelve hours.Walter hated Portland traffic.He hated traffic anywhere, but he especially hated it in Portland, with its labyrinth of one-way streets barely wide enough for horse-drawn carriages, much less the modern array of sedans and large box trucks trying to navigate the streets.Walter counted himself lucky that at least the damn MAX didn¡¯t wind its way through the area.The streetcar, on the other hand, was a constant bother that would pop up if Walter hadn¡¯t paid enough attention to which street he was on.


    He was thinking about how much he hated traffic in Portland while stopped at a light, when his entire car suddenly lurched forward so harshly, his glasses wound up on the dashboard.He scrambled to find them again and get out of the car to curb stomp whoever had just rear ended him.The bright green Subaru was already trying to reverse out, but with its front axle out of alignment, it didn¡¯t seem to be going very far.But apparently seeing Walter getting out of the car and stomping toward him made the driver figure out what he was doing, because he managed to get away and speed off down the road.With his axle still out of alignment, he still didn¡¯t get very far, and crashed into a cop car on the other side of the intersection about three seconds later.Walter felt like he¡¯d have probably felt better if he¡¯d got to kick the bastard¡¯s face in, but he settled for watching him get his ass chewed out by a couple of cops, before turning around to inspect the damage.The entire rear end of his Audi was fucked.The lights were smashed, and the bumper was cracked and about to fall off.Walter flipped off someone who was honking at him for not going while the light was green, and got back into the car to get away, before someone else decided to rear end him again out of spite.He found an out of the way place to park, and then walked over to the Subaru-driving Skunk.


    ¡°Top means stop,¡± he snarled on his way over.


    One of cops broke away to come talk to Walter.¡°Were you in the black car?¡± the wolf asked.


    Walter nodded.¡°Yeah.It still drives.I just need his insurance.¡±


    The wolf shook his head.¡°The driver that hit you is uninsured.But I can take your information and get you a police report instead.¡±


    Walter tried very hard not to grumble and growl as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket.He pulled a business card and his driver¡¯s license out and handed them over, trading it for the clipboard the cop held.He filled out the paperwork and signed it, all too eager to get out of there.As soon as he was able, Walter walked back to his car, and spent a moment to just stew in his own anger.He took another moment to just breathe, and adjusted his shirt where his fur had bristled up and got caught awkwardly on the fabric.This was not how his day off was supposed to go.After a few long minutes, Walter started the car again and got the hell out of the area.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Once he found a shoe store and found a parking spot, he took a few moments to call his insurance company so he didn¡¯t have to drive around with a smashed up car a second longer than he had to.He thought about taking his phone into the store with him, but didn¡¯t want to be giving a bunch of information to any Tom, Dick or Harry who might have overheard.So instead, he sat in his car on hold for almost twenty minutes, waiting for someone to answer.He knew he could have used the app on his phone, but he didn¡¯t trust anything to be sent through properly, or for the connection to be totally secure.So he waited.And finally when someone did answer, their entire solution was to have him use their app anyway.Walter grumbled and got out of his car to take the pictures and submit the information to a page with dodgy confirmation.Not at all positive it had been taken care of, he headed inside to be greeted by a young mouse dressed up for a soccer match, who hovered about ten feet away from him the entire time he looked at new shoes.When ignoring her didn¡¯t work, Walter waved her off, assuming she¡¯d get the point and go away.She didn¡¯t.All she did was hover a little farther away as she watched him look at new running shoes.He loved his job.He loved what he did.He hated that it meant random people liked to stare at him whenever he left the house.While she was younger than the normal crowd of gawkers, she did seem right around the age of the weirdos on Twitter who liked to get too personal in his comments.


    Walter wasn¡¯t sure what he wanted, and wound up looking at nearly every option available until he settled on something bright blue with neon green and yellow accents and laces.Once he found a pair in a size that fit comfortably, making sure his claws wouldn¡¯t catch the way they did on the old pair, he moved to another section to try to find something to replace the shoes he was wearing, but nothing jumped out at him.His DCs were still in good condition, even if they were getting a bit old and boring.He paid for the running shoes without giving the girl so much as a syllable, eager to get out of there before he found out if he had some crazy stalker fan to worry about.As he stepped back out onto the sidewalk in front of the shop, his phone vibrated with a string of texts.Nichola was the only person who texted him like that, and she was usually pissed off when she did it.With a tremendous sigh, Walter stopped to pull out his phone to see what the hell she wanted now.As he read through another string of complaints about ratings and shared spaces, Walter found himself suddenly on the wrong side of a sucker punch.Before he even properly realized what had happened, he swung a punch of his own, connecting with a stranger¡¯s ribs. As he stepped back, he swung out a kick toward the kid¡¯s knee, and even though he could feel it connect, it wasn¡¯t hard enough to drop him to the ground.There were two of them - a pair of foxes - but which one had thrown the punch, Walter had no idea.Nor did he particularly care.He brought a paw up to his mouth, and after wiping his thumb across the side of his muzzle along his bottom lip, he found blood in his fur and smeared across his thumb pad.

 Day Off #6

    ¡°Fuck, this guy¡¯s not playing!¡± the fox he hadn¡¯t punched said.He was holding onto a new smartphone, pointing it right at Walter.In the matter of a second, he went from surrounded by a handful of morons to watching them run away in separate directions to get away from him.For a moment, he considered chasing after them, but it wasn¡¯t worth it.Instead, he looked back at his phone, and texted Nichola.He¡¯d need to warn her about the possibility of that video surfacing.As if she wasn¡¯t already angry enough.He decided to silence his phone after that, knowing he¡¯d never enjoy lunch with it dinging at him every 20 seconds.


    Once back in his car, Walter opened the center console and pulled out a handful of napkins to take care of his split lip.One of his teeth had cut clean through it, but he wondered if he could get away without having to get stitches.He wrenched the rear view mirror over so he could see himself in it and was unsurprised at what he found.The little fucker had got him good.In addition to being sliced open, he was already starting to bruise under his fur, but luckily his dark undercoat would hide the worst of it.But it was just what he needed after putting so much time into no longer looking like an idiot on national television.He suddenly regretted trimming his fur.One advantage to looking like a scruffy dirtbag was that the scruff tended to hide shit like this.


    He sighed, resigned to the outcome of his day so far, and decided to swap his shoes over so they¡¯d already be broken in by the next time he went to the gym.The bright colors stood out against black jeans and a black shirt a little more than the other pair had, all black with red piping along some of the seams, but that was the last thing he cared about.He was more concerned about not getting massive blisters the next time he stepped on the treadmill.He tossed his other shoes into the passenger seat so he wouldn¡¯t forget them, and then consulted his phone to see what was nearby and acceptable for lunch.There was a hotpot place not too far away, so he told his phone to take him there.Parking was on-street, which meant he was probably going to come back out to his car to find it smashed up or missing the way his day was going, so he grabbed anything he didn¡¯t want to lose and stuffed it into a shopping bag to take with him.The restaurant was quiet and almost empty, but that suited Walter just fine. He found a table along the wall and got settled as the waiter came over to take his order.He got himself the seafood option, and when it arrived, he found it rather larger than he expected.He pulled his chopsticks out of the paper sleeve and snapped them apart while the waiter got the rest of the meal ready, bringing several dishes of sauces and garnishes, along with a pancake and some rice cakes. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    While the waiter cracked open and shucked most of the harder to open creatures in the steaming pot, Walter noticed that one of them was still moving rather vigorously. Some enormous clam-looking thing apparently had other ideas about where it had found itself, but it was soon buried under other clams, and crab legs, and a mountain of shrimp, and presumably stopped trying to escape before too long.


    Once he was left alone, Walter dug into his enormous lunch, taking bits out of the simmering pot and dipping them into separate broths and sauces. The cut in his lip made hot, spicy soup not the best choice, but Walter was hungry enough to ignore it for the most part.Whatever goodies were at the bottom of the pot were going to have to wait until later, when Walter could actually see them.At one point, he found a snail that he had no idea how to get into.His chopsticks couldn¡¯t coax it out, and when he got sick of trying, he glanced around to make sure nobody was looking, and smashed it against the table with his fist.That did the job, and cracked the shell open enough to let him dig the meat out.


    As he got down to the bottom of the mountain of seafood, he found a thick broth filled with assorted vegetables and some long, stringy noodles.He was going to have to get this one more often.He liked it, he decided.He spent way too long enjoying the peace of a quiet restaurant, without arguing over petty nonsense.Tables came and went, and Walter took his time with his enormous lunch, leaving nothing left but a pile of shells in a shallow puddle of broth.When he was done, he threw a pile of cash down onto the table and got up, taking his shopping bag with him.For some reason, he was surprised to find his car still there, with all the windows intact.He got behind the wheel and pulled his phone out, sure enough finding entirely too many texts to be sent from one person.But they were.All from Nichola.Sighing, Walter decided to call her.


    ¡°I swear to god, if that shows up on YouTube,¡± Nichola warned as soon as she answered the call.


    ¡°Have it taken down,¡± Walter said.¡°I¡¯ll call my agent.It¡¯s fine.It¡¯s probably just some new ¡®prank¡¯ going around.¡±


    ¡°Not a very good one,¡± Nichola said.He could hear her frustration down the line.


    Walter shook his head.¡°We¡¯ll spin it into a story.Get me on Cascadia on Monday.I¡¯ll write something up.¡±


    Nichola sighed.¡°All right.Just go home.Don¡¯t get into any more trouble.¡±


    ¡°What, like getting rear-ended?¡± Walter asked.


    ¡°What?You¡¯re kidding?¡± Nichola asked.Her frustration was turning quickly to panic.Maybe telling her hadn¡¯t been the best choice.

 Day Off #7

    ¡°I¡¯m going home, Nick.  Get me that booking.¡±  Walter hung up and sighed.  He was supposed to spend Sundays planning his own show; not writing content for someone else¡¯s.


    Far more tired than he felt like he should have been, Walter started his car and pulled into traffic.  Nasty, nasty Portland afternoon traffic.  He carefully navigated through the maze of narrow, one-way streets before finding one that would take him back up into the hills.  By the time he got home, the helicopters in the sky were gone, and it didn¡¯t seem like any more of the hill had slid away, so maybe the day was looking up.  There didn¡¯t seem to be any warnings about instability to his property, or anything ominous, which Walter took as a sign that he was safe to relax and forget about his neighbor¡¯s woes and impending mountain of bills and fines.


    There was, however, an enormous amount of trash covering the street and leading around to the side of his house.  He pulled into his driveway and carefully got out, not wanting to step in any of the soggy, wet trash that had been spread everywhere.  Suddenly, he was greeted with something crashing to the ground just out of sight around the house, followed immediately by something leaping right over the wooden fence keeping the neighborhood brats out of his swimming pool.  The thing sped right past Walter before he even had time to react, and shot like a bolt out onto the street.


    ¡°Fucking hell,¡± Walter shouted, turning sharply to see what it was.


    It was fast, but as it turned the sharp corner down the road, Walter could make out the shape of a spindly, feral dog.  This wasn¡¯t supposed to be the sort of area that was supposed to have stray dogs.  And yet, Walter found himself spending his day off cleaning up trash in the rain.  It took him nearly an hour to pick up every last scrap of soggy cardboard and loose plastic that had been dragged everywhere, some impossible to pick up at all as the rain poured from the sky.  The food scraps, Walter let stay without even bothering to try.  Cardboard and plastic were disgusting enough, and he knew the feral crows and that one psychotic neighborhood feral peacock would descend upon it as soon as he was out of the way.


    Finally done, Walter trudged back inside, going through the garage so he could strip off everything as soon as he was inside, and toss it all into the washing machine.  His brand new shoes were already filthy, but they couldn¡¯t go into the machine with everything else.  He¡¯d have to wipe those down later, but he was not in the mood to do anything about them at that moment.  Wearing just his underwear, Walter took his phone and his new shoes upstairs and dropped the shoes off in the guest bathroom next to his study, to be dealt with later.  He may have been able to get away with skipping a shower after the gym, but now he was truly gross.  He walked straight to the en suite, locking the door behind him before he shucked his underwear and started the shower.  The water was cold as he stepped beneath it, but he didn¡¯t care.  His thick fur protected him from most of it, and his main priority was getting his fur free of mud and grime.  He spent a few long minutes scrubbing everywhere he could reach before plugging the bath and switching the water to run from the tap instead.  Above everything, Walter needed to just relax.  As the water quickly warmed up and filled the tub, Walter slid down to let himself be slowly submerged.  He picked up his phone from where he¡¯d dropped it on the rug next to his underwear and pulled up a vintage jazz playlist.  Then he dropped his phone back down onto the rug and leaned back against the tub, closing his eyes for a moment.  For the first time all week, Walter felt properly tired, but he knew it wouldn¡¯t last.  The second he stepped out of the water, he would just wake right back up, just like always.  Instead, he sat up to start scrubbing himself clean.  He started first with his footpaws, pulling bits of sock and running shoe from beneath his claws and between his toes.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The pads on the bottoms of his four toes seemed a little more blistered than he¡¯d expected, though he wasn¡¯t sure if it was from the shoes that had been falling apart, or the new ones which got more of a breaking in than he¡¯d intended.  Even the rough patches on his heels felt like they¡¯d taken an extra pounding, but Walter was positive he was imagining things, and his exhaustion had only exaggerated his pain and discomfort.


    His tail was always a pain to clean.  He had to slide down into the water to be able to better reach the base, which he was otherwise sitting on.  His tail was easier to clean while showering, but then he couldn¡¯t see it and always missed something.  Instead, he hunched over low in the bath, scrubbing his claws through the dense fur, which was almost matted in some areas where the heavy fabric from his jeans rubbed against his tail.  He grumbled and growled to himself as he worked carefully to work the tangles free.  The last thing he needed was a big bald patch right on the base of his tail.  For a moment, he thought he might have to cut the matted fur out, but he finally managed to work it apart with enough scrubbing and conditioner.  Finally he was able to scrub the rest of his tail, working through the long fur all the way to the tip.  His tail wasn¡¯t long like some other canids; its tip fell barely below his knees, and with his dense winter coat, was almost completely ball-shaped.  It was a lot of fur to work through, and sometimes when Walter felt like he¡¯d come across another matt or some foreign object buried deep down, he¡¯d lose it almost immediately.


    Rather than relaxing like he¡¯d intended, Walter spent the rest of his bath scrubbing his fur, getting every last speck of dirt and grime out his claws could find, careful to keep the soap out of his freshly-dyed hair.  Once he was done, he scrubbed under his claws to get all the new grime he¡¯d picked up out from under them.  Now with water that was a soapy, furry mess, Walter drained the tub and stood to shower again, this time to rinse everything out.  The drain catch quickly clogged up, but Walter left it there to keep anything from slipping through, focused instead on rinsing his fur clean.  He was exhausted, but by the time he was done, he felt miles better and considerably less disgusting.  Before stepping out of the bath, he bent to pick up his phone from the floor and put it on the toilet.  He dropped a towel down onto the floor, covering the rug and covering up the tile beyond the rug.  Using the other towel from the rack, Walter quickly dried himself as much as possible, still dripping when he stepped out.  With both towels soaked beyond usefulness, Walter plugged in the blow dryer and turned it on its highest setting.  Its loud whir drowned out the music from his phone as he used it first on his hair, careful not to blow the hot air right into his face.  He didn¡¯t dry completely, but moved down his body until he was dry enough to not track water through the house, a task that still felt like it took ages.  Eventually satisfied, Walter put the dryer away and unlocked the bathroom door to his bedroom.  A quick step over to his dresser, Walter pulled open the bottom drawer and quickly grabbed a pair of loose basketball shorts.  Unlike his jeans, the shorts had looser back overlap that wouldn¡¯t ride on his tail as harshly.  He put them on quickly, using one paw to pull them up over his waist, and the other to pull his tail through the overlap.


    Now at least moderately clothed, Walter returned to the bathroom to clean up the towels and fetch his phone.  He mopped up as much water as he could from the floor and took the towels downstairs to the garage, tossing them into the rest of the laundry and starting a quick load.  On his way back up the stairs, he turned off the music on his phone and shoved it into his pocket.  He grabbed another towel from the closet in the guest bathroom upstairs, and draped it over the back of his chair.  Walter almost sat down immediately, but remembered the japchae in the fridge from the night before.  He had worked up a bit of an appetite from cleaning up in the rain, and then cleaning himself up, so he fetched the Tupperware from the fridge, and took it and a pair of chopsticks to his chair to just eat cold.  He collapsed into the chair, debating getting back up to fetch one of the bottles of pills from his dresser.  But he was already down and comfortable, and didn¡¯t trust himself to wake up on time if he drugged himself to sleep.  Instead, he turned the news back on and opened his leftovers.  Sundays were busy days, and he needed to be awake for them.

 Mt Tabor #1

    He stood in front of the pathetic little mirror in his pathetic little dressing room, trying to match ties to shirts.None of the brighter colors he usually liked felt like they¡¯d be a good fit for what he¡¯d be talking about, but he had exactly one shirt on his rack that wasn¡¯t bright and cheery, and it was white and boring.He¡¯d narrowed his choices to a pale pink, and a pale violet shirt, and any tie that might go with either.Which was all of them and none of them at the same time.


    ¡°Purple,¡± Nichola said from behind him suddenly.¡°Open collar.No jacket.¡±


    Despite her heavy black bear build, she was amazing at sneaking up without being heard.Walter turned his head to watch her walk into the room, closing the door behind her.


    ¡°Purple, huh?¡± He pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it onto the sofa.After a moment¡¯s thought, he grabbed a plain white one from the rack and pulled it on, careful not to catch the cut on his lip.It pulled all the fur on his back awkwardly, making him squirm and tug on the fabric to feel right again.


    ¡°They gave us a full two for Friday,¡± Nichola said, putting her coffee down on Walter¡¯s desk before she stepped close to him.She waited until he was done to tilt his face up toward the lights.¡°That is nasty,¡± she said, peering at the bruise under his fur.¡°Too bad the camera won¡¯t see it.¡±


    ¡°I thought about thinning stuff out.¡± But then he¡¯d have to deal with his fur being thinned out and growing back in all awkwardly.He shrugged as he put his shirt on.¡°I look like I¡¯ve got fucking herpes anyway, so let¡¯s keep the camera off that side as much as possible.¡± He finished buttoning his shirt and teased some of the dense fur on his throat and chest out over the collar.It made him look like he was being choked, but it was better than feeling like it.


    ¡°That does look like herpes,¡± Nichola agreed.She picked up her coffee again, and handed Walter the small folder she¡¯d brought in with her.¡°They¡¯ve already got the clip.I sent it over last night.¡±


    Walter quickly flipped through the short list of notes Nichola wanted him to hit on.¡°I didn¡¯t know they agreed to the interview,¡± he said.


    ¡°This morning, yeah,¡± Nichola said.


    Walter hummed quietly to himself as he read over the rest of it, before slapping the folder shut.¡°They¡¯re syndicating this, right?¡± he asked, already stepping toward the door.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been told.¡± Nichola waited for a moment, watching Walter fuss with his cuffs, before continuing.¡°I¡¯ve also been told that the network doesn¡¯t want you pressing charges.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Walter looked up sharply.¡°What? The little fucks are lucky I didn¡¯t kill them,¡± he said.


    Nichola nodded.¡°They are,¡± she agreed.¡°And now they¡¯re going to be lucky that the big, scary brute with the big, scary lawyers is only going drag them through the court of public opinion, and stop there.¡±


    ¡°How is that supposed to be fair?¡± Walter asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s fair because you¡¯re getting paid a lot of money to go talk about what happened, and these kids are in high school, and did stupid high school shit.Be the adult.I know it¡¯s hard.¡±


    Walter rolled his eyes and left the room.His own set overlapped with Good Morning Cascadia¡¯s set to maximize space, giving him a good idea of how exactly he wanted to throw his weight around.The show didn¡¯t go live for another half hour, which gave him just enough time to do a dry run with the host, and then get out of the way for the rest of the calls.He found Brenda Kite, the show¡¯s host, talking to one of her producers in the middle of the set. Some of the younger staff seemed nervous as they rushed to get their jobs done, but whether it was from normal show stress, or his presence during their time slot, Walter wasn¡¯t sure.But at a certain point, stress all looked the same.


    He walked up to Brenda, making sure whatever train of thought she was engaged in seemed to be finished.¡°Brenda,¡± he said, putting on a friendly smile.


    She turned toward him, her own friendly smile seeming genuine.¡°Mister Walter Jung.I finally get to meet you,¡± she said, holding out a paw.


    Walter shook it, looking away to glance around the set.Her lighting was different than his, like it was trying to make those fake windows at the back of the set seem like they were letting in mid-morning sun.He hated it.¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever stepped in this building before noon,¡± he said.It wasn¡¯t exactly the truth, but it wasn¡¯t a total lie either.


    Brenda paused, studying him with sharp green eyes for a moment.¡°You sound different than usual,¡± she said.


    Walter shrugged, choosing not to answer a question that wasn¡¯t directly asked.¡°Shall we?¡± He held up his folder full of notes.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Brenda said quickly.She motioned toward the small breakfast table in the middle of the set, letting herself hang as she deferred to him.


    ¡°Why not the couch?¡± Walter asked, motioning toward the dais at the back of the set.¡°For continuity.¡±


    Brenda glanced over and clapped her paws together.¡°That¡¯s right, this is being syndicated, isn¡¯t it? And you¡¯re the reason I have to keep changing my lights.¡±


    She laughed brightly as she led the way over to the sofa.Walter had never actually sat on it before.His spot was always in the chair, where Brenda had sat down.He looked over at the fake windows, trying to peer up at the backdrop she used, showing the entire city spreading out for miles, with rolling hills far in the distance, and Mt Hood looming over it all from beyond the horizon, like some crispy white sentinel.He tried to figure out where the photo had been taken from.Definitely not from the two-story building in the middle of Kerns.He never liked those backdrops, and always changed them to a brick facade when he used this part of the set in the evenings.

 Mt Tabor #2

    Rehearsals for interviews weren¡¯t like typical rehearsals.Walter handed his notes over to Brenda for her to familiarize herself with them, and talked through his speaking points.She nodded along, writing a few things down for herself, and asking questions as they came to her.Walter had been on this end a few times, but he thought he¡¯d never quite get used to it.They discussed what they could and couldn¡¯t talk about, since his story was still in development, and the 9am time slot had stricter standards.Walter had expected to have to lead her questions for her, but Brenda knew exactly what she was doing, and got to the points before he needed to guide her there.She was wasted in the bored housewife demo, shilling bad science and worse advice.


    As soon as they finished their rehearsal, Walter got up and rushed to get out of the crew¡¯s way.He waited in the wings, watching as everything came together and Brenda took her mark.He was third on the call sheet, giving Brenda enough time to hype him up between segments with a gymnast and a tabby cat with vomit-green protein shakes.Walter watched the whole thing, fascinated at how well she pretended to have any interest in what these people were talking about.And then it was his turn.During a break, he rushed out to the set to take his spot back on the sofa, letting one of the makeup techs fluff him up just right for camera.While Walter endured being needlessly preened, he and Brenda had a few moments to discuss their highlights.Then, everyone rushed off, and it was just the two of them as the producer counted down the commercial break.By the time he was at ¡®one¡¯ Brenda¡¯s entire demeanor had changed back toward slightly vapid and a bit over-excited for everything.


    ¡°Welcome back to Good Morning Cascadia,¡± she started, straight to the camera.¡°Have you ever wondered just what your children might be watching when they go to YouTube, and what trends they might be trying to follow along with their friends? Are you concerned with how these trends might affect the health or safety of not just your kids, but your friends, neighbors, or even yourself? Our next guest was the victim of one of the latest ¡®pranks¡¯ being shared around the internet, and has uncovered a dangerous, and even deadly side to what kids are watching these days.With me today is Walter Jung, from CBN¡¯s own Friday Night with Walter Jung, to talk about a new wave of internet pranks being spread around social media.Thank you for joining us today, Walter.¡±


    Walter nodded.¡°Thank you,¡± he said, forcing himself to sit back and let her guide the interview.He tried to lean into the awkwardness of the whole thing, almost uncomfortable with being in the passenger seat.He slid easily into his TV persona, making his Mid-Atlantic accent just a little thicker and out of place than it already was.¡°I¡¯ve been looking at this couch for three years, and I¡¯ve never sat in it before.¡± Looking at it, he hadn¡¯t realized just how soft it was, and how much he¡¯d sink into it.His chair was hard as a rock, which let them both seem like they were on the same level while still elevating the host above the guest.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Brenda laughed openly.¡°That¡¯s right.We share this set, for people at home who might have thought they were seeing things.But neither of us are here on Saturdays, and that¡¯s when you, I understand, stumbled into this whole thing.¡±


    Walter put on a show of thinking about his answer for a few seconds.¡°That¡¯s one way of putting it, yes,¡± he said, stopping himself from just going forward with his story.It wasn¡¯t his show, and he needed to remember that.


    ¡°So, you were a victim of one of these ¡®internet pranks,¡¯ weren¡¯t you?¡± Brenda asked.¡°Tell us what that means.What actually happened?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Walter said.He shifted and turned in his seat, showing the other side of his face to the camera.¡°I was in Northeast, trying to do some shopping, minding my own business.And I was sucker punched by this kid while his friend filmed it.I didn¡¯t know what was happening, so I fought back.I thought I was being mugged or something.¡± He settled back in his seat, letting the squishy couch try to swallow him whole.¡°I had no idea it was a prank until after I called Nick, my producer.She was going to get the video taken down if it showed up online anywhere, and that¡¯s when we realized what we were looking at.¡±


    ¡°A prank?¡± Brenda said.


    Walter nodded.¡°For lack of a better word.This is a popular one, it turns out.These kids run up and sucker punch random people, and then run away.I¡¯ll be honest, I¡¯ve been watching the videos all week and I¡¯m still not sure what the point is.¡±


    ¡°Now, you were able to get the video, because it was uploaded to YouTube, I understand,¡± Brenda said, leading all of his points perfectly.


    ¡°That¡¯s right.One of the kids uploaded it, we found it, and the police were able to identify both of boys involved,¡± Walter said.¡°And you do have that video, I believe.¡±


    Brenda nodded.¡°We do.And I will warn those of you at home, this video is rather shocking to see.If you have young kids in the room, now would be a good time to send them out.This is the video recorded by one of the attackers on Saturday.Again, this is shocking to see.¡±


    A television above the fake hearth on the other side of the set showed the video, which had been blurred to obscure the boys¡¯ faces, as well as conveniently cut between Walter throwing his punch and the boys starting to run.It wasn¡¯t the clip they¡¯d pulled from YouTube, but the 9am demo was a little more squeamish, and less friendly to even bleeped expletives than the 7pm one.

 Mt Tabor #3

    ¡°My goodness.Well, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay,¡± Brenda said once the video cut.¡°That sort of thing could seriously hurt someone.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Walter said.¡°And we believe it has already.We¡¯re still trying to verify details, but there was a seventy-six year old man who was killed in an attack like this in November.Whether it was filmed or not, we aren¡¯t sure just yet, but it does show how dangerous this kind of thing is.¡±


    ¡°How deep does this go?¡± Brenda asked.¡°What other pranks are going around that makes something like this seem like a fun game to play?¡±


    Walter shook his head.¡°We¡¯ve found clips that I don¡¯t think can be broadcast in this time slot,¡± he said.¡°We¡¯re still trying to figure out if we can air them in ours.¡±


    Brenda¡¯s eyes widened as she leaned in closer.¡°My goodness.Worse than what you¡¯ve already shown us?¡± She was good at making this seem like she hadn¡¯t heard it before.If Walter hadn¡¯t rehearsed it with her, he¡¯d almost believe her.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen kids get stabbed.There was one going around with knives or broken bottles hidden under paper bags, and kids would trick their friends into slapping them to pop ¡®balloons¡¯ hidden inside.¡± He mimicked the slapping motion, slamming his open paw onto an imaginary surface in front of him.¡°About five kids last year died from accidental hangings trying to get their faces to turn blue.At least three kids, that we¡¯ve been able to verify, died while attempting a stunt where their friend would drive their car toward them, and they attempted to jump onto the hood of the car.There¡¯s one boy whose parents we spoke to, and we¡¯ll be talking to them more on Friday.He had both his eardrums ruptured and can¡¯t function with noise even at speaking level, after an air horn was blown between his ears.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t mentioned quite that much during their rehearsal, and this time Brenda¡¯s shock was genuine.¡°And¡ª and they film this, and upload it anyway?¡± she asked.¡°Is that what you¡¯re saying? That you¡¯ve seen these videos?¡±


    Walter nodded.¡°YouTube pulls most of them down, but nothing gets deleted from the internet.The Mike Martin case is an excellent example of how far people will go to preserve videos like this, for good or ill intent.¡±


    Brenda was clearly more accustomed to talking to astrologers and fitness gurus, but Walter patiently let her stammer through her next thoughts.The rehearsal apparently had not been enough to prepare her for this interview.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°My god.¡± She shook her head.¡°So, this¡­ this one that you¡¯ve shown us.Where people just get sucker punched.Are we seeing some kind of progression here? It¡¯s not enough to put yourself in danger for views; now they¡¯re putting others at risk?¡± She grimaced even as she said it, like the words left a sour taste on her tongue.


    ¡°I think so,¡± Walter said.¡°As I said, we¡¯ve found at least one death related to this latest ¡®prank.¡¯ Which, when I was a kid, pranks were filling your friend¡¯s car with shaving cream.Not putting people in ICU.¡± He shrugged, shaking his head again.¡°But I think that¡¯s exactly what it is.Anybody who¡¯s worked on any TV show long enough will tell you how hard it is to keep ratings up from year to year.You have to constantly outdo yourself, and be more outrageous than last time.And the kids making internet videos know this too.At a certain point, tricking your friends into looking stupid isn¡¯t good enough.You start tricking them into hurting themselves.Then you run out of friends, and it¡¯s complete strangers that get it next.If something isn¡¯t changed within the video platforms that allow this content, next we¡¯re going to start seeing kids driving blindfolded, or speeding down the wrong way on the highway.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ll be talking about this more on Friday?¡± Brenda said, leaning back into her seat again.


    Walter nodded.¡°At seven PM, here on CBN.We¡¯ve got a two-hour special lined up for it.It¡¯s a lot bigger than I think any of us realized when we started looking at it.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll definitely be tuning it, like I¡¯m sure a lot of our viewers will.I need to go home and find out what my kids are watching now.Or doing!¡± Brenda absolutely understood how to sell hype.Today, she was selling an entirely different type than usual, and nailing it.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Walter said.


    ¡°Again, you can catch Friday Night with Walter Jung right here on CBN at seven PM this Friday,¡± Brenda said.¡°And thank you, Walter, for taking the time to talk to us today.Coming up next, we¡¯re ending the hour with a look at a few places around the Valley to take your whole family while we wait for that spring weather to finally arrive.We¡¯ll be right back after this break.¡±


    As soon as the cameras cut, Brenda shook her head, and wagged a sharp claw right at Walter.¡°Most people would get rid of that accent for television.Didn¡¯t they teach you that in school?¡±


    Walter shrugged and got up.¡°I ain¡¯t most people,¡± he said, his accent much more natural now that the cameras were off.He shook her paw once more.¡°Thanks for this.I¡¯ll get out of your hair.¡±


    ¡°No, thank you,¡± Brenda insisted.


    As he jogged off-stage, and out of the harsh lights, Walter spotted Nichola watching from behind the cameras.As he neared her, she reached out and brushed something off of his shirt.¡°You didn¡¯t need to fleece her like that,¡± she said.¡°But it was good.They¡¯ll be running it twice on Good Morning America tomorrow, aso that should give us a good ratings bump.¡±


    Walter nodded.¡°This week¡¯s going to be hell,¡± he said.¡°Want to get lunch before we don¡¯t have another chance?¡±


    Nichola nodded.¡°If you¡¯re buying,¡± she said.

 Mt Tabor #4

    Normally when Walter came home from the gym, he¡¯d clean up and change for the studio.But they didn¡¯t have anything to film for the day, which meant it was pointless to get dressed as if he were going to be filmed.He simply traded his gym clothes for a clean pair of jeans and a bright yellow Hawaiian print shirt, and spent enough time in front of the mirror to straighten his glasses and to see that his hair was not even trying to sit right.Detouring only to fetch his coffee from the kitchen, Walter made his way downstairs to put his shoes on as he headed out to the car.Once he was out of the winding maze that was the West Hills, it was a theoretical straight shot down Burnside.But traffic was¡­ traffic.It was never not traffic.It was always going to be traffic, slowing him down and getting his his way.Walter simply connected his phone to his car¡¯s stereo and drowned everything out with Parov Stelar.It didn¡¯t make the drive go any faster, but it almost made it more bearable.


    At the studio, he parked in his spot, remembering at the very last moment that he was driving a rental.If he slammed his door into Ron¡¯s car, like he did every time the local anchor parked over the line, he¡¯d be on the hook for any damage to the rental.Walter wanted his own space more than anything, but the KARP building was currently the best-equipped in town for what he needed, and the thought of living in LA was almost depressing.Walter sighed, ready to put up with local news as he carefully got out of the car, making sure nothing got damaged in the process.


    Instead of heading straight to his dressing room, he had a more pressing matter to deal with.He walked up to the front desk at reception and leaned over it, putting on his best menacingly impassive face.He stayed like this until the slim jackrabbit on the other side finally looked up to see him looming over her.


    ¡°You stood me up,¡± he said plainly, watching Penny run his words through her mind a few times.One of her ears twitched every so often, as if counting each train of thought she explored.


    Penny shook her head, confused.¡°No I didn¡¯t,¡± she said.


    ¡°You stood me up,¡± Walter repeated with a little more force.


    ¡°No, we were¡­¡± She stopped short as a wave of realization washed over her face.She looked up at Walter with wide, shocked eyes and almost choked.¡°I didn¡¯t come in on Monday.I¡¯ve been a day off all week,¡± she said.


    ¡°And you stood me up,¡± Walter repeated for emphasis.


    Penny was laughing now, while the middle-aged chipmunk next to her shot them both a scandalized look.The look Walter shot her in return told her in no unclear terms to mind her own business.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°We can go tonight if you¡¯re not busy,¡± Penny offered, still laughing.


    Walter grumbled and leaned further over her desk.He tore the top page of her daily calendar off, balled it up, and threw it at Penny before heading off to his dressing room.He could hear the women whispering harshly at one another, or perhaps more accurately, the new woman whispering harshly at Penny as he headed down the hall and away from both of them.


    On his way back to his dressing room, Walter stopped by HR, to actually do part of his actual job, and get the information on the two new hires that had come in that week.HR was a small cordoned section in the shared bullpen consisting of a single large desk behind tall cubical walls.The otter behind the desk looked bored and tired, and was creating some sort of modern art sculpture out of a paper cup and every ballpoint pen in the building.The new hire folders had been on her desk all week, where Walter had been ignoring them all week.


    ¡°When do these people start?¡± he asked, looking over the information.He hadn¡¯t interviewed either of them, and had no idea what to expect when they got to the studio.


    ¡°Monday,¡± the bored HR otter said.¡°And the network¡¯s called again.They¡¯ve stopped asking and started demanding.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to deal with no fucking interns,¡± Walter snapped.


    ¡°They¡¯re pulling your funding.¡±


    Walter dropped the new hire folders back onto her desk.¡°Then what the hell was the point of this?¡± he muttered, walking away as he flapped a paw at the stack of papers.Two untrained, untested people on set was going to be bad enough.Now he had to deal with interns as well.Interns sucked.They hated being there, and nobody wanted them there, and it was just a terrible experience for everybody.Walter would have rather kept getting by understaffed.It wasn¡¯t like Billy ever complained about pulling triple duty as a camera operator, show runner, and personal assistant.


    Actually, he did.A lot.But Walter chose to ignore it because he knew Billy wasn¡¯t going anywhere else.


    By the time Walter got back to his dressing room, he was already trying to figure out how he could leave.His dressing room wasn¡¯t a proper dressing room.It was barely an office, but the network put him at the KARP building, and he needed his own area to be able to run his show.There wasn¡¯t a single window in the entire building, making the cream-painted room feel like a cave.Or maybe a prison cell.Walter had managed to fix that with vintage marquee frames over old movie posters he¡¯d found at the mall.A threadbare sofa took up half the room, while Walter¡¯s flat pack desk took up the other half.With about five feet of space between them, it was a cramped, awful little hellhole, but it was his, and KARP couldn¡¯t touch it.He twisted his way behind the desk, getting comfortable as he finalized the script for the next day¡¯s shoot.It was mostly solid, but he wanted to make sure every question possible made it on.The interview was going to be the toughest part of the whole shoot on Friday, and he wanted nothing left to chance.

 Mt Tabor #5

    There were no segments being filmed that day, and Billy could handle anything else that came up, so Walter lingered in his dressing room just long enough to finish his script and send it to the printer before leaving.Headway on Mandy¡¯s story wasn¡¯t going to be made until Kevin had been playing his role for a few weeks, and everything else that was going was all such small change, that the junior reporters could have handled them on their own.But the universe had other ideas.That, or Nichola was psychic, which Walter was seriously starting to believe, because she barged into his dressing room seconds before he managed to slip out and escape.


    ¡°If you say the word ¡®intern¡¯ I¡¯m busting through that wall to get out,¡± Walter threatened.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to see that, actually,¡± Nichola said as she closed the door and stepped over to Walter¡¯s desk to drop a stack of folders on top of it.¡°I won¡¯t mention the I-word, only because I have other things to talk about.¡±


    Walter wasn¡¯t going to escape this, and he knew it.Rolling his eyes, he sat heavily on the sofa and dropped his feet onto the coffee table.¡°How come you never just come to visit anymore?¡±


    ¡°Because someone decided to make me his producer,¡± Nichola reminded him.¡°Which means when the network¡¯s pissed off with you, they complain to me.¡±


    Walter suddenly knew what this was about.He was sick of hearing about this as well.


    ¡°You¡¯d think a network that¡¯s been around for seventy years would know that everybody¡¯s ratings are dropping right now,¡± he said.¡°They knew what they were getting when they signed us on.Did you tell them that? They¡¯re giving us two hours tomorrow.How concerned can they be?¡±


    Nichola was not even remotely moved by his comments.¡°Oh, it¡¯s not just the ratings anymore.It¡¯s your demo as well.¡±


    This was not a conversation Walter wanted to be having.He threw his paws into the air in despair, and seriously thought about making a break for the door.Nichola was far enough away that she probably wouldn¡¯t be able to catch him.But she could probably drive one of those two-inch heels into his ankle if she got close enough.It was best to not risk it.


    ¡°My fucking demo?¡± he said, incredulous.¡°We¡¯re a goddamn news show.Nobody under 30 watches TV news.They get it from Twitter and Reddit.That¡¯s why we have a social media department.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t even have a showing in the eighteen to twenty-five,¡± Nichola said, apparently taking the network¡¯s side on this stupid, pointless argument that was going to go on forever.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Sighing, Walter started checking his pockets and searching around the cushions of the sofa.¡°Where are they? I can¡¯t find them,¡± he said.¡°I¡¯ve lost all the fucks I ever had to give about this.Look at that; they¡¯re gone.¡± He threw his empty paws at her.


    Nichola sighed right along with him.¡°Walter,¡± she said tiredly.¡°Just, for three seconds, could you try not to be an absolute ass? It was cute when you were just some punk kid in the website room, but you wanted your own show, and this is what comes with it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I brought you with me; so you could take care of this crap, so I don¡¯t have to deal with it,¡± Walter said.


    ¡°I am taking care of it.And now I¡¯m telling you, the executive producer and senior reporter, what needs to be done.¡± She turned back toward the desk and picked the stack of folders back up.For one glorious moment, Walter thought she was going to take them with her.Instead, Nichola crushed all of his hopes and dreams by dropping the whole thing quite literally in his lap.¡°And if I get one more phone call about interns, I am coming after you with a knife.A dull one.For bread.¡±


    Leaving Walter with that image in mind, Nichola turned and walked out of the room.Walter took one look at the stack of applications and letters of recommendations he¡¯d had dropped on him, and immediately dropped them all to the floor.He¡¯d hoped everything would spill out and get so mixed up that going through them would be an impossible nightmare, but apparently after twelve years of working alongside one another, Nichola knew him too well, and had stapled everything together.Damn.Still not wanting to deal with it, Walter left the mess where it fell and made a break for the door before anybody else could corner him with another boring, pointless argument he didn¡¯t want to have.


    The day was lined up to be easy, but packed.Last minute ADR, a conference with some higher ups who still labored under the impression Walter was local news ¡ª and who eventually got told to go fuck themselves accordingly ¡ª a surprise meeting with a guest.She was someone for Kevin¡¯s segment the following week, which meant she was nobody Walter cared about, so he got her out the studio as quickly as possible.Days like this were easy days, but long.Last-minute prep for the recording the day after, random changes, shifts in the schedule.Walter watched over his own segment from Good Morning Cascadia earlier that week, comparing it to what he had planned for Friday.The story had grown much, much bigger than expected, giving them more content than they could even fit into the two-hour special slot devoted to dangerous internet pranks going around with the youth.The Cascadia segment had allowed him to stir up enough discourse to get some extra promos running during prime time.Walter already knew it was going to be his best episode of the season.He also thought it might kill him.It was nearly 8pm by the time Walter finally got out of there, satisfied with how the show had shaped up.


    Penny had already gone, along with the chipmunk who probably wouldn¡¯t last another week the way she didn¡¯t seem to approve of anything.In their place was the security guard who ran the place at night.Instead of watching the building, he was watching feral cat videos on Penny¡¯s computer.

 Mt Tabor #6

    ¡°Night, sir!¡± he called out as Walter left the building, the door automatically locking heavily behind them.


    The ride home was quiet, and by then Burnside traffic had begun to sort itself out.Walter enjoyed the silence, not even turning on his music as he drove home.A quiet drive was a needed break from the noise around the station as they got everything ready for the final shoot the next day.


    Walter was surprised to pull into his driveway and find a little red two-seater parked outside.He had half a mind to just go inside and let her idle in the driveway all night, but he sighed instead and pulled up alongside Penny and got out of his car.


    ¡°You think it¡¯s this easy to make it up to me?¡± he asked, leaning through the open passenger window.


    ¡°You¡¯ve made your point.Get in,¡± Penny said.


    ¡°Have I?¡± Walter didn¡¯t think he had, but she was right about one thing: he had absolutely nothing planned for the night.With a great show of rolling his eyes and looking deeply inconvenienced, Walter pulled open the door and fell into the low seat, having to adjust his tail underneath him to keep from stepping on it.He hated Penny¡¯s car.It sat so low to the ground, it damn near broke his spine at every speed bump and pothole, and sitting it in made him feel like he was trying to eat his own knees.In no other place on the planet did his heels wind up so close to his ass that he was constantly stepping on and getting tangled up in his own tail.


    ¡°Just because I got in doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ve forgiven you yet,¡± Walter said, popping open the glove box to see what she had.


    ¡°Yes it does,¡± Penny argued as she backed out of his driveway, careful to avoid hitting the gate that hadn¡¯t bothered to install itself yet.


    Walter couldn¡¯t find anything worth taking from her glove box, so he slapped it shut and connected his phone to her stereo instead, overriding the talk radio she liked to listen to with some actual music.He didn¡¯t miss the sour look on her face, nor did he care.They rode in a comfortable silence otherwise, winding through the same hilltop streets that had just brought Walter home, and eventually down into civilization.It was rare that Walter got to be the passenger in the car, and he took the opportunity to enjoy the novelty as they got onto the highway.Once they were out of surface congestion, Penny opened up and starting cruising toward the East Side.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Too bad Bigby¡¯s sentencing is tomorrow.It¡¯ll probably be too late to cover it on the show,¡± Penny said suddenly.


    ¡°He¡¯s old news anyway,¡± Walter said.


    ¡°I guess,¡± Penny agreed.¡°Have you ever followed up on a story?¡±


    ¡°Wendigo,¡± Walter said as he lit a cigarette.¡°I milked that story for every second it was worth.¡± It got his name out there.That was the important part.


    Penny seemed surprised for some reason.¡°That was you?¡±


    ¡°That was me.¡± He wasn¡¯t surprised to see where Penny was taking him.They¡¯d fallen into a routine that involved about three different places, and she was obviously trying to make it up to him for forgetting the previous night.The woman did know what he liked, though.It was going to suck having to find her replacement in a few months.


    She pulled into the parking lot and checked her phone for a few seconds before getting out of the car.


    ¡°You ready to get your ass handed to you, old man?¡± she asked, flashing Walter a sly smile.


    ¡°In your dreams.¡± Walter got out and followed her through the doors to the register.


    ¡°Do you take card?¡± he asked.


    The fox behind the register nodded.¡°There¡¯s a five dollar fee if the total is under ten dollars,¡± she said.¡°And we close in a half hour.¡±


    Walter nodded and pulled his credit card out.¡°Half an hour in the cages then,¡± he said, handing the card over.


    The fox took the card, pausing for a moment.¡°The tunnel, or the cages?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Cages,¡± Walter repeated.


    Nodding, the fox rang him up.¡°For both of you?¡± she asked again.


    ¡°I¡¯m paying separate,¡± Penny said.


    Once Walter was rung up, Penny paid for the half hour as well, and they headed further through the maze of gates and fences to the row of batting cages.They both picked their cages, ignored the offered helmets, and took a bat from the pathetic selection available.Walter never brought his own when they came here, mostly because Penny never told him they were coming here before meeting up.


    The bats kind of sucked, but the machines were decent.It took a few swings for Walter to find a setting he liked, but soon he was knocking the balls right back at the machine as fast as it could spit them out at him.


    ¡°What happened to that ass kicking you promised?¡± Walter called over to Penny as she struggled with the settings on her own machine.


    ¡°I¡¯m just warming up,¡± Penny taunted back.


    Before too long, they were calling out numbers in whatever random increment they settled on, in between taunting one another into missing.Penny knew what she was doing.She didn¡¯t miss very often, and when she hit the ball, it went where it was supposed to go.It meant Walter didn¡¯t have to go easy on her, and suck all the fun out of it for himself.Outside of these evenings with Penny, Walter was woefully out of practice.He hadn¡¯t swung a bat in years before she started taking him here, but it hadn¡¯t taken long for his body to remember how it went.He¡¯d never swing like he had when he was younger, but the competition from someone who knew what they were doing pushed him back into a familiar spirit.

 Mt Tabor #7

    That spirit evaporated immediately at a loud crash in Penny¡¯s cage.Walter looked over to see what was wrong, momentarily forgetting about his own machine.When a ball zipped past him, he barely had time to jump out of the way.Before he could figure out what had happened, a buzzer sounded, and the pitching machines all stopped.Without the impending doom of a mechanically-pitched missile, Walter was able to take a better look at Penny¡¯s side of the fence.


    ¡°The hell are you doing?¡± he asked, watching her walk down the lane to fetch her bat.Behind her, the door to her cage opened and a badger in the building¡¯s uniform stepped inside.


    ¡°You¡¯re done,¡± he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Penny said, picking up her bat and hurrying back.¡°I didn¡¯t mean to.¡±


    The badger shook his head.¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.You¡¯re done.¡±


    Penny sighed and looked over at Walter.His attention moved to the badger.He was closer to Penny¡¯s age than to Walter¡¯s, probably young enough to think he had more control than he did, and old enough to be given that control by most people.Walter thought he might be able to throw his own weight around, but it didn¡¯t seem worth the effort to fight over another fifteen minutes.Instead, he shrugged and stepped out of his own cage, handing his bat over to the badger on his way out.


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry anyway,¡± Walter said as he continued toward the door.


    He glanced over his shoulder, watching Penny defeatedly hand her bat over as well as she followed Walter.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t have to kick us out like that,¡± she said once they were out of earshot.


    ¡°He was looking for an excuse to ban us,¡± Walter said.


    Penny glanced back as they walked through the front doors, out to the parking lot.¡°How do you know?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Because he¡¯s a bouncer at a place like this.¡± He opened the door as soon as Penny unlocked it with her fob and got into the tiny front seat.He opened the glove box again, hoping that maybe something interesting would have materialized, but he still only found the car¡¯s user manual and an envelope with ¡°INSURANCE¡± written on the front.He pulled his wallet out of his jeans and carefully looked through all the little pockets and folds in the leather, but he had apparently got carried away the last time.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Penny asked as she pulled out of the parking space and turned the car toward the street.


    ¡°I¡¯m totally cleaned out,¡± he said, sliding his wallet back into his jeans.


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯re broke?¡± Penny asked.


    Walter tried to figure out if she was serious, but it was hard to see her face in the dark car.¡°I ain¡¯t broke.I just need an ATM.¡±


    She laughed and pulled onto the street in a gap in the traffic.¡°I don¡¯t feel like going in anywhere.Drive-thru okay?¡±


    Walter shrugged and nodded.He was hungry enough that he didn¡¯t really care where they ate.¡°Whatever you want,¡± he said.He shifted in his seat and watched closed auto yards and converted houses slide past.He fiddled with the radio, changing stations a few times, but there was nothing playing on any of them that he wanted to hear.He connected his phone to her stereo again and tried a series of playlists, but none of them were what he wanted either.The cages had got him a little too worked up, and now he had nowhere to put that extra energy.


    As they crossed 82nd, Penny started paying more attention to what was going on to the sidewalk outside Walter¡¯s window than what was in front of them.


    ¡°How the hell do you get in?¡± she asked, looking for the entrance to the McDonald¡¯s drive-thru.She found it at the last second, turning abruptly into the parking lot, and finding herself on the wrong end of the lane.¡°God, I hate this one,¡± she complained, looking around for where the drive-thru lane started.


    It was on the opposite end of the parking lot, wrapping around the entire thing in a giant U-shape.As they pulled up to the menu, Walter glanced up at it and realized he didn¡¯t really want anything from McDonald¡¯s at all, now that it was what had been presented to him.He shrugged.¡°Just get me a Big Mac,¡± he said as he turned off the music from his phone.Afterwards, he could go home and have a real burger.


    She was still looking at the menu for herself when a crackly voice on the intercom asked for her order.


    ¡°Yeah, can I get¡­¡± she inhaled through her teeth.¡°Big Mac, no cheese.And a number six,¡± she said slowly.¡°With a large Sprite.¡±


    Walter pulled his wallet out again and handed his bank card over to her.She took it and pulled up to the window while Walter continued to fidget with his phone.He checked his email, but didn¡¯t want to read anything in it.He tried scrolling through some news, but nothing seemed worth exploring beyond the headline.At least when Penny handed his card back, it gave him something to do.He put it back into his wallet, and his wallet back into his pocket as they pulled up to the next window.Penny handed him the bag fresh off the heat lamp, and then her giant soda.Her car had no cup holders, putting him in charge of making sure nothing spilled as she pulled out of the drive-thru lane and back onto Stark.


    ¡°Fry me,¡± she said.


    Walter opened the bag and pulled one out, handing it over.He took one for himself, and closed the bag back up.She drove a few more blocks down Stark, before turning off onto a tiny, barely-lit one-lane side street, past quiet houses with political signs stuck in their windows.