This Morning Couldn't Get Any Worse

“It’s the end of the world and I’m working a clopening. Fuck me, I guess.” I muse to the barista.

She chuckles politely. “Here’s your change and your chocolate cupcake, and I’ll get that triple shot espresso right out to you.”

“Thanks.” I turn and search for an available chair as I narrowly avoid pocketing my cupcake and shoving quarters into my mouth. I choose the plush orange sofa because no one else is sitting there and god damn it, I deserve it today. I softly land on it and it’s exactly as I always daydreamed, like my ass is floating on an afternoon cloud.

I set the bitten cupcake down on the table in front of me. I remove the wrapper and pluck out the tiny decoration nestled in the thick frosting, an American flag on a toothpick, and try not to snicker too loud. Yeah, like America’s going to last much longer.

The trashcan is too far away, so I leave the wrapper and toothpick on the table. I turn it so the flag displays upside down.

I bite again into chocolate heaven as I set my smartphone on the table and start to doom-scroll. It’s the same as it’s been for months: headlines about the ever-increasing spread of the virus, the current death toll, another research team killed by a "contained" zombie so there’s still no cure, the government declared martial law today, blah blah blah… God, I’m so tired of the news. I don’t want these videos about how to hot-wire a car or give yourself a blood transfusion either. I just want some memes. I don’t need to feel any gloomier than I am.

I’m finishing the last bite of cupcake when my drink arrives. I’m only a few sips in when some guy about my age sits next to me. I’d like to be mad, but it’s a good couch.

He looks at me. Woah, his eyes are blue. I’m not the kind of guy to look into another guy's eyes, but they’re bright like an early spring morning from my childhood. Really nice change of pace from all the smog.

I looked too long, he’s smiling at me. “How’s it going… John?”

This is what I get for wearing my name tag before work. “Oh, you know, man. It’s going.”

He adjusts his perfect blonde hair, still grinning. His teeth are whiter than a nun’s bed sheets. “Yeah, it’s pretty intense out there.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sick of it. Sick and fucking tired. Hopefully less tired once I finish this.” I say, raising my cup for emphasis before taking another sip.

His crystal eyes narrow as he nods knowingly. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Dude, I’m not gay.” I say as I ask myself if I might be gay.

He doesn’t waste a second before answering, “Why is talking about your feelings gay?”

Shit, I don’t know how to reply to that. I don’t actually want to stop chatting either, weirdly enough.

“I’m just tired of life and its bullshit like everyone else.” I shrug, trying not to sound too exasperated.

He nods thoughtfully, fiddling with something in his hands. His nails are smooth and sparkling clean, too. Since when do I notice another man’s fingernails, even if they are disco ball reflective?

“What’s weighing you down, other than the obvious? Anything you care to share?” He asks.

I sigh, setting my cup down. “I mean, what is there to share? I’m nineteen, I work at a crappy little theme park, I’m apparently ugly enough that I’m still a virgin, and now the world’s basically ending or whatever, so, you know. Probably dying like that, I guess.”

“You’re not ugly, John! You’ve got a touch of acne, yeah, but you’re growing in the start of a sweet beard, sometimes that just comes with it. It’ll ease off. Besides, you’ve got this look! Your eyes are real intense!” He’s doting like my mom. It’s kind of embarrassing.

I chuckle. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t win friends or lovers.”

“We could hang out.” He didn’t specify as which. He’s also staring me down the way my dog looks at a spoonful of peanut butter.

I have no idea what to say, but I can’t stop staring right back at his stupid perfect face. Is he glancing at my lips? …Do I want him to be?

I reach for my cup, thinking I’d take another sip to break the rising tension that shouldn’t exist. My clumsy ass spills it.

I look away from the renaissance sculpture of a man to reach for the napkin dispenser. In my peripheral, he jerks into motion.

He slams his fist against my hand. I scream-- oddly, it feels like I’ve been stabbed. I check for a wound. There’s a tiny American flag sticking out from the back of my hand.

A half-second later, my eyes are back on the handsome stranger. I only realize his hand is leaving my pocket as he springs away. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

At lightning speed, he hits the door. Is that bastard laughing?

“Fuck you, you fucking judas priest!” I shout after him.

Still running out, he shoots back, “That’s a band, fuckwit!”

“That’s an actual insult, read a fucking dictionary!” I scream his way as he disappears. The door slams shut.

The barista looks at me, wide-eyed. Instantly, she takes out a smartphone, I guess to call the cops like they still have time to deal with people who have never died before. She hasn’t even gotten to finish dialing and it’s already blaring out yet another emergency alert, annoying and loud as hell.

Shit. I just realized my phone's not going off. It's not on the table anymore.

I grit my teeth and rip the flag out of me, then check my pocket with the hand that’s not bleeding. It's just quarters. Wallet and keys, both gone. Son of a bitch.

What the hell even leads a man that attractive to steal?