Living the Flat Life
“You all right, Chris?” Pete asked me as I picked at my dinner. I sighed before I made my answer. “Not really.” “Oh, what’s wrong?” “Life. I got laid off from my job, rent’s coming due, I just feel overwhelmed. I’m just ready to be done with it all.” “Oh, sorry, didn’t know things had gotten so bad.” I put my fork down. “It’s just, I wish I didn’t have to worry about that anymore, you know?” Pete leaned back. “I think I could offer something.” I started. “No, man, I’m not looking for a handout, just gotta get back out there, I’ll be fine.” “I’m just saying, I got space for you here.” I blinked. I knew he only had the one bedroom. What did he mean? Then I remembered a party he’d had once. “You still have that wringer?” I asked. He nodded. The wringer would turn anyone into a flattened version of themselves. Like a cut out, except it wasn’t cardboard. They’d pop back to normal after about twelve hours. At the party, that meant we’d wake up back to normal, in the beds...