Low Life by Ryan David Jahn Read Free Book Online Page A

said.
    Simon sat down across from them, shrugged.
    ‘I’m good. Did you guys order already?’
    ‘Yeah, it’s on the way,’ Chris said. ‘Did you watch that UFO special last night?’
    ‘What UFO special?’
    ‘The one about UFOs.’
    ‘No,’ Simon said. ‘I had company. Was it any good?’
    ‘Was it any good? Are you fucking kidding me? It was about UFOs. Of course it was good. Those fuckers’ll get you, man. I told you to watch it. I can’t believe you
forgot.’
    ‘You never mentioned it.’
    ‘When we talked on the phone the other night. Man, you got a memory like a cheesecloth.’
    ‘When we talked on the phone the other night?’
    ‘When you called me.’
    ‘I didn’t call you.’
    ‘’Course you called me.’
    ‘You had company?’ Robert said.
    ‘Well – not company exactly. Someone broke into my apartment.’
    ‘God damn , man,’ Chris said. ‘I told you you should move outta that dump and into a proper apartment. Were you home?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Simon said. ‘I was in bed.’
    ‘Are those bruises on your neck?’ Robert said. ‘What happened?’
    ‘He broke in through the front door.’
    ‘After that.’
    Simon opened his mouth but nothing came out.
    Babette arrived carrying a brown tray and gnawing on her gum like a horse on cud. She put chipped white plates with sandwiches and fries in front of Robert and Chris, and then put Simon’s
7-Up on the table in front of him.
    ‘Hi, Simon,’ she said, smiling.
    Babette was almost pretty. She was in her mid-thirties, and her face was a smooth oval framed by boyishly short brunette hair. Her lips were thick and red and looked very soft. She had a large
backside and a narrow waist, where her body bent forward like an elbow, maybe from the weight of her breasts, which were sizable. Somehow, she reminded Simon of a rather sexy ostrich.
    ‘Hi, Babette,’ he said, smiling back. ‘I like your lipstick.’
    ‘Aw, you’re too sweet. Thank you.’
    ‘Sure.’
    Then she pivoted on a dirty white sneaker and bounced away like a beach ball.
    Simon took the paper off the top of his straw and drew in a swallow of 7-Up. There was something black floating on the surface of the liquid. Simon thought it was a piece of ground
pepper. He dipped a finger in, got whatever it was on the tip of it, and then wiped it off on his pants. If he didn’t like Babette he might complain. But he did like her.
    He unpacked his lunch, laid it out in front of him, and began to work on a sandwich.
    Chris smiled at him. ‘I think Babette’s sweet on you.’
    ‘No,’ Simon said. ‘She’s just working for tips.’
    ‘But what happened with the break-in?’ Robert said.
    Simon licked his lips, swallowed, looked toward the wall where ketchup was splattered, a dried chunk of it hanging between two wood panels like a bloody booger.
    ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
    ‘There was this one guy,’ Chris said, ‘UFO took him for a month, but it only felt like a couple of hours to him, though, right? So he gets home and he’s lost his job and
his wife is banging some neighbor and his dog ran off. Sounds like a country song, huh? Except for the UFO bit. But it’s true. It happens more than you think. Aliens are all around us, and
the only way you can identify ’em is by their eyes. They got crazy eyes. They look like—’
    ‘Would you shut up?’ Robert said.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I don’t want to hear about UFOs.’
    ‘But they’re interesting.’
    ‘Not to me, they aren’t.’
    ‘Well, that’s ’cause you only like boring shit. Probably wanna talk about Dustonsky or some other German writer.’
    ‘Dostoevsky. And he was Russian.’
    ‘Whatever, man. He’s still dead.’
    Simon got to his feet after only a few bites of sandwich. He decided he wasn’t feeling hungry.
    ‘Where you going?’ Robert said.
    ‘I don’t feel so hot.’
    ‘You sick?’
    Simon shook his head.
    ‘No, I’m just—’
    He let it end there, then walked toward the front door. As