Enchilada Ed

26

Ed woke up the next morning around ten thirty. The house was empty. Noah was at school; his dad was at work. Ed's iPhone buzzed with notification upon notification. His Twitter followers now numbered 250 thousand. His Instagram followers? 440 thousand. Ed didn't bother to check Snapchat. Instead he went downstairs and fixed himself a piece of avocado toast he promptly drizzled with jalapeno Tabasco sauce. He logged the living room television onto YouTube and listened to a Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson playlist as he ate. After their version of "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" ended, Ed replayed it for a second time, and then again. Sheer boredom led him to draft Audra a text message to thank her for introducing him to his new favorite music, and then for rejecting him so that he experienced just enough heartbreak to truly enjoy it. As soon as he finished typing the draft, he deleted it.

Ed quickly realized that being alone and idle was a dangerous combination.

He put on a shirt, and brushed his teeth. He decided to take his Malibu for a drive, so that he wouldn't be tempted to send off any ill-advised text message or tweet. After twenty minutes of aimless cruising, he ended up on West Fourth. It occurred to Ed that he should stop at El Gringo's and see if Piruz would be willing to let him work the lunchtime shift, even though he wasn't scheduled to come in until three that afternoon. Ed parked at the first available spot he could find, fed the meter, and headed down the sidewalk to El Gringo's. He was careful to avoid the tricky patch of pavement that usually tripped him just a few feet from El Gringo's front door. So careful, he kept his eyes squarely on the uneven sidewalk beneath him. So careful, that he didn't notice the ladder leaning against the storefront.

He saw stars.

"Watch where you're going, you uneducated troglodyte!"

Rubbing his aching forehead, Ed looked up the ladder.

"What's wrong with you?" Farbod barked down at him, "I could have fallen and broken a foot! Imbecile!"

"Farbod," Ed greeted Farbod with a half-hearted smile, "How was the protest?"

"Gahh," Farbod shuddered, "Don't even say that word."

"What," Ed scrunched up his face, "protest?"

"It was a spectacular failure, are you happy?" Farbod snarled, "are you a vulture?"

Ed was the one with an egg probably growing on his forehead, and Farbod was ready to cut a bitch. Ed probably should have expected him to be in a bad mood. He seemed always to be in a bad mood.

"What are you even doing up there?" Ed hoped to divert the conversation to something less likely to raise Farbod's ire.

"The window banners we ordered arrived," Farbod pointed to a couple of mailing canisters on the ground, "I'm supposed to be sticking them onto the glass."

"Do you need help with that?" Ed picked up one of the canisters.

"You really couldn't help me," Farbod yanked the canister out of Ed's hand, pulled out a banner from inside it, and then nearly dropped it back onto Ed's head.

"You're probably right," Ed ducked his head backwards and caught the canister, "I'm not a psychiatrist," he added under his breath.

"What was that?" Farbod crinkled his nose.

"I said, I'm an imbecile," Ed read the ripped label on the canister's lid: CUSTOM PHOTO ENCHIL. The rest of the word was torn off.

"Your self-awareness is refreshing," Farbod unfurled the banner and peeled the wax-paper from its sticky back, "like a self-actualized mint julip."