worrying that it probably wasn’t a good idea for a man who only had three natural habitats to hide in one of them, and that was confirmed when Chris suddenly appeared and slid into the booth next to him.
“Hi, Stanley. Please don’t scream again. That would frighten all these nice people.”
Stanley realized he was trapped between Chris and the wall. Why had he picked a booth! Why hadn’t he sat in a chair? Chairs had multiple escape routes! Stanley made a pathetic squeaking noise and started trying to slide beneath the table. Only he was too portly and got awkwardly wedged between the table and the seat.
“Wait. Please, stop sliding down. I’m not here to shoot you.”
Stanley froze, halfway under the table. “You’re not?”
“Not right now.” Despite being hit by a bus and run over, Chris looked perfectly healthy. He had ditched his shredded and bloodstained clothing, and was now dressed to fit in with all the other bar patrons in jeans and a T-shirt. “My orders are to only shoot you between the hours of eight a.m. and six p.m., Monday through Friday.”
“That’s oddly specific. Why?”
“I do not know. But since it is almost seven, you are perfectly safe . . . for now . . . Ooh, what are these?”
Stanley peeked his eyes over the top of the table to see what Chris was marveling at. “You mean my nachos?”
“Naw chows . . . Fascinating.” Chris reached for a chip, then paused. “May I?”
“Sure.” Normally Stanley wasn’t big on sharing, but he made an exception for people who were inclined to murder him. “Go for it.”
“Thanks.” Chris popped a loaded chip into his mouth and chewed. “Oh my gosh. That is literally the best pseudo-cheese byproduct covered carbohydrate I have ever tasted.”
“I know, right?” Stanley wiggled his way up until he was sitting normally. Maybe this psycho was telling the truth, and in whatever crazy delusional fairy tale Chris was living in, Stanley really was safe until regular business hours. “You promise not to shoot me?”
“I promise not to shoot you until tomorrow. I came to speak with you about my mission, in the hopes that you would quit being so difficult. May I have another? They are very good.”
“Knock yourself out. They’re bottomless.”
Chris stared at the plate in disbelief.
“I mean, they are all you can eat. When these are gone they’ll bring out more.”
“Bottomless naw chows . . . amazing.” Chris went to town on Stanley’s dinner. Between bites he managed to say, “It always boggles my mind how in a time and location of such incredible treasures, so many of your people can have such a sour outlook on life.”
“You were on Facebook again, weren’t you?”
“Yes. It’s how I discovered you often come to this establishment to engage in battles of knowledge, in order to establish your intellectual dominance over others.”
Shoot. Stanley hadn’t thought of that. That’s what he got for bragging about his occasionally winning trivia night. Lisa usually won, but that was because she got all the science, history, and art questions. Stanley was good at tech stuff, pop culture, and sports. Not actually participating in sports, mind you, but he had a brain for the stats.
“You come from a curious culture.” Chris continued pontificating, between mouthfuls of nuclear yellow cheese, canned ingredients, and generic tortilla chips. “Though your people are extremely adaptable, and by all historical comparisons most of you are thriving, it seems many of you like to signal your gloominess.”
Stanley was feeling a little defensive about his general gloominess. “The world sucks, Chris. I keep up with the news. There’s global warming, and overpopulation, terrorism, and war, and soil erosion, and straws kill all the turtles, and rising sea levels, and poverty, and disease, and bigotry, and racism, homophobia, transphobia, Islamophobia! Other phobias! And climate change, and the ozone hole, and crime, and global warming—”
“You already said that one.”
“Well, that’s because it’s super bad, Chris! Everything is awful and we’re all going to die.”
Chris had been nodding along listening to Stanley’s litany of tragedies. “That does