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Coffee Shop

            The sun rose over the horizon, casting an orangeish-green light over the blood red dirt. Small, multi-legged creatures stirred and scurried from their slumbers. Cacti and rocks cast long shadows westward and dark clouds reflected sunlight to create an eerily beautiful sunrise. The lights went down in the “booming metropolis of London” (as the British public relations office referred to it) and the morning sun cast it’s polluted, filtered glow over the troubled city. Eli awoke to the sound of an alarm ringing through the city. This alarm woke him and every other resident of London up every day for the past 5 years. Part of the British government’s plan for maximizing efficiency and productivity. He rolled sluggishly out of bed and stumbled toward the shower. The TV clicked itself on on a timer as Eli stripped himself of his pajamas and stepped into the shower. He shampooed his hair and brushed his teeth as the television went on about “local terrorist attacks” and “political kidnappings”. It was all occurring right in his own back yard, but it all seemed so distant and surreal to Eli. None of it had affected him directly. Sure, business had gone down a bit, but it hadn’t gotten bad enough to substantially affect his way of living. Eli wasn’t fearful, he couldn’t comprehend what any terrorist organization would want with the little coffee shop he owned and ran downstairs in the midst of this political revolution. The revolution that was sweeping across Western Europe and North America and which stemmed from the middle-eastern conflict that occurred over 1,000 years ago. The conflict led to drastic measures and the subsequent nuclear strike sanctioned by the U.N. left a majority of the Middle-Eastern countries a barren wasteland. Ever since, descendants of Middle-Eastern survivors and radicals seeking a permanent disarmament of nuclear capabilities have been assembling to create terrorist organizations hell bent on bringing U.N. associated governments crumbling to their knees. Yet, amidst all the chaos, violence and confusion and much to the bewilderment of Eli, life goes on. Elis set his shower to dry and a sudden rush of heat surged up between his toes and up his body and finally through his hair. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed the clothes that he had set out last night. Grey slacks, a white button up shirt, and a red patterned sweater-vest. He put on his favorite scaly cap and went downstairs to open shop. Eli unlocked the doors and set out the paper cups. He flipped the sign at the door to open and waited.

            Several hours later, as business was going about as usual, Sally rushed in through the back door, frantically tying her apron around her waist.

            “You’re late again” remarked Eli

            “I’m sorry sir!” came Sally’s reply. “The baby’s nanny came late today, I couldn’t have just left him alone.”

            Eli glanced at her while washing a dish “You really need to find a man. Isn’t it difficult raising a little one all by yourself?” Sally grabbed a hair tie and fixed her hair up as she nodded. “And this job isn’t going to support you forever, Sally. What with business the way it is”

            “I know, Eli.” Sally’s frown suddenly turned into a grin “Hey! Guess who I saw on my way in!”

            Eli was perplexed and his facial expression must’ve given him away because Sally continued

            “Thomas Wellinger!”

            “You mean the spokesperson for public relations? The face of England?”

            “The very one” Sally said with a wink, “I’ve heard he’s a very gracious tipper too.”

            A man in a long grey coat and shades sat down at the bar, “I’ll have a Grande Macchiato, thank ye’” he grumbled.

            “Be right up” replied Eli, absentmindedly. “Sally, when Wellinger comes in, you take his coat and offer him a place to sit. Be on your best manners, we want to be impressive for such a high profile customer.”

            “Yessir” came Sally’s excited reply

            A heavy-set man entered the coffee shop followed by four men dressed in black suits, wearing dark sunglasses. Eli watched as Sally approached him and took his coat and seated him. He then turned his attention to the man he was serving. “Here’s your macchiato”

            The man accepted it and replied after a sip “Thanks. I really hate to do this.”

            “Huh? What do you mean?” The shaded man smiled and was suddenly replaced by a bright flash of burning light and a din that broke through the hush of the coffee shop. The flames of the explosion flooded the little coffee shop and just as quickly as it had appeared, vanished.

“Officer O’Leary, report to my office immediately!” Crackled a furious Chief MacDougall 
over the stations loud P.A. system. The only word to escape O’Leary’s lips as he slammed his 
paperwork onto his desk was a vulgarity. He passed desk after desk not daring to look any of 
his peers in the eye. He knew exactly what lay in store for him, what the consequences of his 
blunders would be.
            “He’s gonna have your badge for this one O’Leary!” shouted an amused Officer 
Cowan. Cowan and O’Leary had been rivals ever since the academy but O’Leary had always 
come out on top. Cowan took whatever pleasure he could from O’Leary’s pain.
            O’Leary flipped Cowan off and kept walking. There’s another reason for 
MacDougall to throw me off the force, thought O’Leary, antagonizing a fellow police 
officer. That along with the destroyed private property and the personal damage complaints 
composed an impressive amount of paperwork for the precinct. O’Leary went over it all again 
and again in his mind.

            I’m out for sure, MacDougall is probably gonna bust me down to patrol work 
again. He arrived at a door. The nameplate said MacDougall in gold engraving. O’Leary 
grabbed the doorknob, took a long deep breath and opened. Walking into the cluttered office, 
the first thing to hit him was the tobacco smoke. It crept around the room, silently engulfing it. 
O’Leary’s eyes stung. One thing he never got used to was how much MacDougall smoked. 
O’Leary occasionally indulged in a cigarette or two, but MacDougall always had a cigar in his 
mouth and he smoked them like a chimney, always puffing away.

            “Do you know why I called you in here?” asked MacDougall in his gravelly voice.

            “Would it have anything to do with my last bust, sir?”

            “You totaled three cars chasing down that dealer!”

            “But I caught the perp and he lead us to over 100 kilos of coke!”

            MacDougall took a long drag on his cigar, savoring the flavor and slowly exhaled 
“What am I supposed to do with you, O’Leary? You’re the best officer on the force but you’re 
too unpredictable.” He paused as if in thought, “Give me your badge.” He finally managed 
with authority.

            “Wait... what?” O’Leary was shocked, he knew there would be hell to pay but he never 
thought anything this severe would occur.

            “Your badge,” MacDougall continued, “put it on my desk. As of right now you are 
temporarily suspended from the force.”

            “What do you expect me to do all day!?” O’Leary was indignant.

            “I don’t know, go on vacation, clean your house for once, anything. You’re a civilian 
until further notice.”

            O’Leary glared at MacDougall and MacDougall locked into his gaze. O’Leary cursed 
and threw his badge at the chief, which hit him in the chest. O’Leary cursed again as he kicked 
a chair, knocking it over and slammed the door, storming out.

            O’Leary sat in his 69’ Mustang fuming as he turned the ignition. A Billy Joel song 
played as he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal and peeled out of the parking lot. He tried 
to collect his thoughts as he drove but his mind was clouded with anger. He reached for his 
pack of Marlboro Menthol Smoothes. It was all he’d ever smoke now. He hated the taste of 
normal cigarettes. He came to a red light and pulled out a Zippo lighter. He lit it and put the 
flame up to the end of the cigarette and inhaled, enjoying the flavor and the nicotine fix. He felt 
himself calm down as he exhaled the smoke. The light turned green and he accelerated his 
vehicle as he took another drag from his cigarette. He blew the smoke out the window and 
checked his rear view mirror. He squinted as he looked away, something was shining bright in 
the mirror, a concentrated red beam of light. What it was hit him suddenly like a splash of 
water and, drenched in clarity, he quickly swerved his vehicle to the left. His rear window 
shattered and he swerved back to the right, this time his back right window was hit. He 
swerved again to the left and hit the accelerator. He saw a parked car and shifted his foot to 
the brake but it was too late, he slammed head on into the parked car. The air bag failed to 
deploy and O’Leary hit the steering wheel face first. Everything faded to black.

            O’Leary awoke minutes later in a daze. A crowd had already amassed around his 
demolished vehicle. A baby’s crying pierced through the hushed onlookers. O’Leary felt a 
sudden adrenalin rush as he realized that his would-be assassin was still out there.

            A tourist wearing a Hawaiian pattern polo and a fanny-pack stepped forward. “Sir, are 
you okay? You have blood all over your shirt!”

            O’Leary ignored the fact that his tucked in white button up shirt was drenched in his 
own blood. “You have to get down!” he exclaimed frantically.

            The tourist looked perplexed, obviously assuming that O’Leary had hit his head too 
hard. A red dot hovered on the tourist’s polo and traveled up to his neck.

            “ Get down now!”

            A gun shot rang out and the tourists hand instinctively darted to his neck. He fell over, 
blood gushing out with every beat of his heart.

            “Dammit!” O’Leary said as he pulled a gun out of an ankle holster. Onlookers 
screamed, assuming that O’Leary was the killer. He caught a glimpse of a shadow on the roof 
of a two story building only a block down the street and darted towards it. He saw a glimpse 
of sunlight reflect from the figure and dipped left just as another gun shot rang out. O’Leary 
aimed at the figure and shot. The figure ducked away and O’Leary was sure he had hit it. He 
ran to the building and climbed the fire escape. O’Leary reached the roof and drew his gun. He 
moved slowly, gun raised. He looked down at the level roofing and saw a small puddle of 
blood. Oh yeah, I got him, he though. The puddle trailed behind a stairwell. O’Leary 
cautiously walked forward, his heart rate growing faster with each step. He reached the wall 
of the stairwell structure and sidled closer to the corner. He stood there, gun drawn, heart 
racing and with a deep breath, turned the corner and aimed.

            O’Leary was staring straight down the barrel of a gun. He took a step back as he 
realized that the man on the other side of it was one of his co-workers, one of his peers. It was 
Officer Cowan.

            “But… why?” came the barely audible words from O’Leary

            “You’ve been showing me up for too long,” Growled Cowan, wheezing out spats of 
blood, “You’ve stolen promotions out from under my nose.” He groaned in pain. He was 
starting to feel the pain from the bullet that was lodged into his stomach. “But worst of all, no 
matter who I hired, or how dangerous of a situation you were in, you just wouldn’t die.” He 
spat up more blood. “I’m about to changed that..”

            Two gunshots echoed across the city rooftops.

Twenty things that are wrong with Earl, which is me.
1. I have not seen Sound of Music.
2. I feel pretty, oh so pretty. I feel pretty, and witty, and gay!
3. Short asian girls are my fetish currently.
4. I have not set up my own computer yet.
5. I do not want a laptop with wireless internet.
6. For some reason, I befriend compulsive liars.
7. I have a friend whose name is really Phaddius, Faddius -- Fatty-us.
8. I used to mix up Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra.
9. I would put songs from the Rent soundtrack onto my myspace.
10. I have an ex-girlfriend who tells me things that shouldn't really be told to an ex-boyfriend.
11. Besides Earl, my other title is "that guy".
12. At this very moment, I still have not seen Sound of Music.
13. I can sing a Frank Sinatra song to a big guy with glasses in front of a camera.
14. No matter what I'm doing, I end up in a pose.
15. I have gotten stuck in a playground tunnel with three girls but did nothing dirty.
16. I have a fetish with sweaty ears.
17. STILL, I HAVE NOT SEEN THE SOUND OF MUSIC.
18. I put up with clingy, lying friends who mess with my livejournal.
19. I am eager to find out something about the word toothpick. Yes. Toothpick.
20. AGAIN, I HAVE NOT SEEN THE SOUND OF MUSIC.



-- Earl.

Testing, testing, 1-2-3.

This is Earl Girl. I come in peace.

I have come to rescue this journal from extinction and boredom for the owner is some boy who doesn't give a damn.
Okay, maybe he does give a damn. But he is currently unavailable at the moment.


Hmm... That should do. 'Til then,

Earl Girl.