Andrew DrilonHappening
It’s a Tuesday night. The clubs are all dead, the malls are all closed, the coffee shops are filled with yuppies and everyone else is at home. Zor is sitting on the sidewalk outside a Mini Stop, smoking a cigarette. There’s a black CRV parked beside him and the driver’s asleep. The windows are down and the radio’s on so loud it pisses off Zor. Not because it’s loud, but because it’s playing an irritating ballroom song. He can hear the driver snoring to the cha-cha-cha. It’s times like these that Zor wishes he had an iPod. Or a phone that plays mp3s. A Walkman, even. Anything to plug into a better song. There’s nothing worse than having a lonesome cigarette at night with kitschy background music to spoil your mood. Zor is smoking out his cool.
One thing no one knows
