Tis Better To Be A Duck

“Better to be a duck than an eagle.”

“Why?”

“Ducks have penises, eagles don’t.”

“Ah, I agree in that case.”

Stella was sitting behind the cash register, an innocent bystander in the conversation. Sadly, this wasn’t the first version of this conversation that Stella had heard.  Lester’s public service announcements had been a constant seasoning of the bookstore’s conversation. Stella was well aware that a pig can keep an erection for an hour, she knew that you can cure a yeast infection with garlic cloves and yogurt, and she even knew when pi day was. The last one seemed obvious in retrospect but retrospect was something she avoided.

If she was to look in the figurative rear view mirror, she would find four years of her life and her life’s savings sunk into a bookstore in a land of video. Two years ago she had help. She was opulent back then, giving her employees five cents more than minimum wage and their pick of unsellable children’s detective serials. The salad days were gone and she was left alone with Lester. He was tall man with slight paunch and long skinny legs. He was fun enough if she overlooked the fact that he hung out in the same bookstore all day.

Happily, he had herself a separate business and that kept her solvent. She sold bibles mostly. Half her stock was Gideon, onion paper and all. The rest was strictly buy and sell from patrons. Lester being a third of the patrons participating and he had made his reading habits apparent. It was mainly Asimov and Hammet but every once in a blue moon he read Chuck Palahniuk.

He was sadly suggestible but luckily quite a slow reader, he had yet to read Invisible Monsters. The transsexual suicidal side of Lester was not something Stella was looking forward to. She was still getting innundated with all those little tidbits from Fight Club that could get her on a terrorist watchlist. Luckily, today’s lesson was on the reproductive peculiarities of waterfowl.

As the man in the deer stalker left bible in hand, Lester began to talk about the habits of gay necrophiliacs within the waterfowl community to no one in particular. He was specifically sighting an ignoble award winning study on the subject, a study that Stella in her terrible judgment shown him. Most annoying of all, he was repeating his same spiel from earlier in the day. Stella began flipping through her bible, licking her thumb with every turn.

Somewhere in the middle of Corinthians she realized that she had been thinking about having awkward sex with a duck for thirty minutes. The scene was so complete and so batshit insane that it startled her. She had been naked in a marsh on a September evening. The drake with the green head was flapping furiously but she wouldn’t let it get away. She had to be fulfilled and she had the patience of a saint, although not much else in common with one.

At 7:45 on the dot she came back to the world, just as Lester was leaving and the store should have been closing. She looked horrified at the black smudge on her thumb, it was twice her normal dose. She saw what condition her condition was in and quickly locked up and met Lester at his car, she couldn’t afford another DUI.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Natalie
    Feb 09, 2011 @ 09:11:41

    Visualizing awkward sex with a duck while eating eggs- this is a first for me.

    Reply

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