Enchilada Ed

10

dedicated to @candivoric, for being the best cheerleader!

"It's a beautiful night, huh?" Mike kicked off his flip flops and stretched his legs across the garbage sofa.

"I think it's supposed to rain," Ed looked up at the starless sky as a gust of April wind ruffled his dark hair. If he had known Mike would insist upon lounging on the garbage sofa well after they brought it outside, Ed would have worn a hoodie under his bomber jacket. He wrapped his arms around his chest for warmth. "Do you think we can go inside now?"

"I'm not ready to say goodbye quite yet," Mike rested his yellow head against an arm of the sofa, "but if you want to, nothing's stopping ya."

"I don't have the keys to your apartment, so that's literally stopping me."

"The city's changed." Mike turned his eyes lazily toward Ed. "We're all so gentrified and spoiled. Back in the day somebody on Craigslist would have snatched this baby right up." He stroked the back of the sofa as if it were his favorite dog.

"Back in what day?" Ed appraised the garbage sofa: the mystery stains on the upholstery, the sagging cushions, the wobbly front left corner leg. "I don't even think 'this baby' would have sold in the Great Depression."

"Hey, hey, hey," Mike held up his hands like a traffic cop, "this was a great piece of furniture. Got me through four years at Temple. Hard to believe I really gotta throw it away."

"Is this actually the way of doing that?" Ed glanced around the alley in which the garbage sofa now sat, "I don't know what your building's sanitation regulations are, but this seems off to me-"

"It's fiiine." Mike ran his fingers along the buttons stitched into the sofa's cushions, "I gave Stan forty to take care of it."

"Who's Stan?"

"One of our regular sanitation workers. He's great. He told me to leave it here"

"You're bribing the garbage men."

"You make it sound so dirty." Mike scrunched up his face, "He's just a friend who's gonna do a little favor for me."

"You sound like you're in the mafia." Ed lifted Mike's feet off the end of garbage sofa and sat down, "a little favor."

"This sofa used to be in Daryl Hall's dorm room." Mike sat up, "I didn't think I would ever throw it away when I found that out."

"What, is Stan gonna put Vinny on ice?" Ed did his best New Jersey accent, "He gonna take you for a drive out on Route 22?"

"Aww would ya shut up for a minute, bro." Mike said, "You're sitting on a piece of Hall and Oates memorabilia."

"Dude, you bought it from IKEA in 2011. Remember? Your mom invited me to come along and try the meatballs." Those were pretty good meatballs, Ed thought. Of course, his expectations hadn't been very high, considering that they were sold at a ready-to-assemble furniture store. Whose idea was that? Confusing-yet-ergonomic-furniture and adequate meatballs seemed like a muddled business model, to be honest.

"This sofa," Mike poked a cushion, "scratched the same floorboards on which Daryl Hall walked. We're talking a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee, here."

"I know," Ed said, "Dad likes him."

"Likes him?" Mike snorted, "Before he split up with my mom back when I was little, we used to listen to Hall and Oates all the time. We went to a concert when I was seven. He's a certified fan girl."

"I don't think Dad could ever be a fan girl of anything."

"In the presence of a legend like Daryl Hall," Mike spoke with reverence, "any grown man would turn into a fan girl."