Bad Date

by

Sandra Deden

Bad date? I'll tell you what a bad date is.
A 1970s apartment, up the open steps.
Stale smells waft in dim light.
Door opens.
P. can't stop talking, moving. Nerves or ADHD?
L. goes along.
P. brandishes his guns.
L. is fascinated by this unknown.
Light refreshments are served: Cheetos and chips.
P. turns too quickly; L. is too close.
A collision, a gash in L's head, a trip to the ER.

You call it a play date. I call it hell.