Daniel’s entrance was a simple succumbing to the necessities of a working class man. The next step in his grand plan: food preparation.
“First, he grabbed a pan,” is what I’d love to say. It would be happier to pretend that things were that simple. Shuffling through cookware, he sent vessels clanging, spilling haphazardly from their dwelling places. “Furiously, Daniel shoved them back in place,” is what I wish I could write, but in truth, his force only exacerbated their onslaught. In a sea of metal, he clutched the pan by its handle, smacking it on the counter with a defiant, “Fuck you!”
That’s when he noticed Jill standing by the front door.
“Fu— fancy seeing you here, Jilly,” Daniel boomed.
Who the hell is Jilly?
He hoped she made nothing of it.
“Hey… uh… brought some cookies… everything okay?”
Faaaaaaaaaauuuuk, why haven’t I shot my neighbors yet?
“I’ll be okay, thanks,” Daniel said, before promptly, and somewhat impressively surfing a slippery pan across the floor.
“Okay, I’ll just leave ‘em up here, then,” she said, tossing the basket on the kitchen island and turning to run at full speed.
“Alright, b-bye now.” Daniel exaggerated his smile.
Storming back to the battlefield, Daniel delicately arranged the fallen vessels in with the rest of them and when he was sure they were stable, he rammed the door shut in a last, vain show of dominance. The kitchenware couldn’t control him. He was Daniel! He successfully held down a medium-salary programming position. He had four-thousand dollars in his savings account.
“Damn right,” he cursed, under his breath.
Minutes later, he limped to the couch with his creation, the remnants of his burnt shirt warm against his skin. A silent bite of blackened sludge reminded him why he rarely came home before bed.
Thank God for Carl’s Jr.
Roy Editing and Critique 