The buzzer rang jolting Dave out of bed. He was confused, for a second he could have sworn he was in the sea side rest. Then the torn wallpapered walls and plain brown sheets told him the truth. A fucking motel in a fucking random small town, under house arrest by some giant dude.
He looked out the peep hole. That’s what
Big Joe
told him to do. Make sure the cost is clear.
It was a single plastic bag marked only with.
“For D shits dank.”
Another grocery run, this one was Chinese take away. The soy sauce and spices hit Dave in the face.
It had been years since he had Chinese, confined to a restrictive diet avoiding gluten, dairy and fructans for all the effects they have on the body. This effect Dave had stopped caring about shovelling spoons of perfectly cooked noodles and then some fried rice.
He ran to the sink to chug some water. He exhaled, and sat back down in the bed turning on the tv. The only thing he could do.
