Tuesday 200 — one hundred thirteen
What in the jimmy cricket is a Tuesday 200?
“I need a chainsaw.”
“For whom, Adam?” Unai chuckled. “Supposing you’d got it past TSA?”
“The dick behind us, FaceTiming some CryptoBro, sans headphones.”
Unai twisted towards him. “Abe Lincoln beard? Trenta iced coffee, nearly empty?”
“Correct.”
FaceTimeFucker looked up and Unai raised his finger, shushing him.
FTF flipped him off.
“Charming,” said Unai, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.
“New manicure?”
He jazzed-hands his silvery blue, almost metallic, nails. Left pointer sporting several ovals arranged around one center dot.
“Spirograph?”
“Atom.”
“What?”
“An atom, Adam.” Tsk-tsking me, he motioned left.
FaceTimeFucker heading to the mens’ room.
“Chainsaw.” Unai rose, pulling me with him.
“We’re not … .”
“Shhhh,” as if I were common FaceTimeFelon.
Under flickering fluorescents, FRF leaned towards the urinal, right hand planted overhead.
Gently circling his index finger in, Unai raised his hand, festooned fingernail resting on his thumb.
“Bat … bi …”
He flicked his finger towards FTF. “… hiru.”
No Thanos F/X, just … nothing.
“Unai, what the fu…?”
A toilet flushed. Unai’s hand on my back, guiding me out.
“How … wh … you disappeared him?”
“Noooo,” his finger wiggling. “Merely … atomized. Transported.”
“But where?”
Unai pointed at me.
“Wanna find out?”
113 🙌