Tripping Benny

There it was, a loose brick over his toe and suddenly Benny’s future became unpredictable again. If he was lucky, he was landing somewhere that had oxygen. If he was unlucky well, he might just see the Earth for that quantum of a fraction of a second. It was hard being this clumsy.

Benny found soft sand and lots of it. He tumbled into the temporary depths of a shifting landscape. Despite being under a mid day sun in an unknown desert, he knew this to be a better than average scenario. If nothing else he could always try just tumbling until he was somewhere else. He was regretting that liter of cola he ingested earlier and was quickly losing every drop of water in him.

Slowly, he pulled his hood over his head and wished the sun was to the west. Every garment he wore was threadbare from the jeans, to socks, to the hoody. The absence of underwear was becoming more and more conspicuous as he found a new but less than pleasant alternative to the bidet.

With a conscious effort to move his mind away from his ass, he looked towards the horizon. His ears scanned for The Man Who Broke The Bank At Monte Carlo but Peter O’Toole must have been busy drinking. Slowly a blocky figure emerged and Benny stood with arms out waving. As the figured came closer, he realized it to be a van. Between the prospect of being ran over and the prospect of being picked up, he was remiss in finding a downside.

The van actually stopped for him. As the door slid open, three men helped him in. It was then that he remembered his cell phone, which amazingly had coverage. Sadly, he had no one to call. For the next three weeks, he lived among the Bedouin and was happy. Then, he missed the step off an old Ford and landed back home, on his face. The brick walkway was deferred but not denied.

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