Smooching in the Bloody Stacks

Chapter One (continued)

While Roger was fixated on his Yahoo billiards game Bob continued to email his wife. The wife he thought loved him as much as he loved her and Roger combined. Not the wife that was plotting his murder at the hands of his boss/boyfriend. Bob paused in his email, he was stuck for a synonym for "ball wash." He had already used the term three times in the email to his wife and Bob was a believer in good writing. If you couldn't be creative, even in an email to the old lady, then why bother writing at all. He said this to Roger. Roger looked up from his Yahoo billiards game, which he was losing horribly, he couldn't goof off as much as he liked now that he was in charge of the monkey house.

"What?" He said.

"I said, if you can't be bothered to write well in an email then why bother writing at all?"

Roger looked at him for a second. "Don't you fucking have something you should be doing?"

"I'm writing an email to the wife."

"Yeah, I know. What number is that today? Five? Six?"

"Seven, but the first one was before we opened."

"We open at nine. You came in at 8:30 and were on the clock while writing that email."

"I love you."

"Leave me alone for a while, OK?"

Bob finished up the email and sent it off to his wife Becky.

Becky was at work also. She opened the recent email from Bob with a sigh. Email number seven was even more explicit than the borderline pornography he had sent earlier. God, she wished for the thousandth time, if only he was as good in the sack as he was in emails, phone calls and leering looks.

Becky was a fallen librarian. She was suspended and had her certification revoked the year before for screaming at a homeless man who wanted a toll free number for a milk bottling plant in British Columbia. In was considered one of the great flip outs in the history of the library system she worked for. Now she was a stripper at the Platinum Pooter on the west side of town.