Lenny burst through the glass doors of the corner paper store, panting heavily. The air conditioning hit him along with a fresh, minty scent, but he didn't care. His vision was tunneling.
Shit, I'm late. He checked his watch. If that bald, soulless demon of a boss hadn't kept me back for 'team building,' I'd have been here an hour ago!
Dressed in a wrinkled white t-shirt tucked haphazardly into black office trousers, his heavy work bag slapping against his thigh, Lenny broke into a desperate power-walk. He bypassed the comics. He ignored the newspapers. His eyes were locked on the familiar shelf at the far end of the store.
Today was release dey. The one day a month that gave his miserable corporate life meaning.
He spotted the shelf. His heart leaped into his throat. There's only one copy left! I made it!
He reached his hand out, his fingers trembling with anticipation. But before he could grasp his holy grail, a thick, meaty hand swooped in and snatched it right off the rack.
Lenny froze. "Heeh?"
He turned his head slowly. Standing next to him was a chubby dude in brown cargo shorts and a graphic tee that proudly read: Hot Boys Love Riza Perkins. Lenny's eyes dropped to the glossy cover in the chubby guy's hands.
There she was. Riza Perkins. Wearing a ridiculously soft pink bikini, posing flawlessly on a bed of white roses, her vibrant orange hair fanning out like a halo. She was blushing, looking right at the camera. Because the publishers were sadists who refused to release digital copies, this physical magazine was the only way to see it.
And this guy just took the last one.
"Hey," Lenny said, his voice cracking. "I saw that copy first."
The chubby dude sneered, hugging the magazine to his chest. "No, dude. I touched it first. It Sucks to suck." He turned on his heel and waddled toward the register.
Lenny stood paralyzed. The spark in his eyes died. The color drained from his world. He gripped his head, his fingers digging into his hair.
This cannot be happening, he thought, dropping to his knees internally. A month with no Riza... No way.
"Hey, Lenny."
Lenny blinked, turning his head toward the voice. It was Peter, the store clerk, leaning over the counter. He had a smug grin on his face.
Peter reached beneath the register and pulled out a pristine, glossy magazine. He tapped his fingernail against Riza Perkins' perfectly photographed face.
"I saw you didn't rush in at your usual time," Peter said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And the shelf was getting cleared out fast. So... I stashed one."
Lenny stared at the magazine. A literal beam of holy light seemed to shine down from the fluorescent ceiling panels, illuminating Peter's slightly acne-scarred face.
"It's a miracle," Lenny breathed.
Then, completely forgetting where he was, he threw his hands in the air. "IT'S A MIRACLE!" he yelled.
Half the store stopped and turned to stare at him. Lenny didn't care. He practically vaulted over to the counter, grabbing Peter by the shoulders and shaking him. "Thank you, bro! How can I ever repay you?! You saved my life!"
Peter grimaced, pushing Lenny's face away. "Don't blush too hard, weirdo. You're going to have to pay me an extra five bucks for the stash fee."
Lenny slammed his wallet onto the counter, his eyes already locked on the pink bikini. "That is absolutely no problem."
He snatched the magazine, hugged it to his chest like a winning lottery ticket, and power-walked out past the staring customers. Let them stare. They didn't have Riza.
♦♦♦
Lenny practically sprinted the five blocks back to his apartment.
He slammed his front door shut, locked the deadbolt, and drew the blinds. His apartment was a disaster zone of instant noodle cups, scattered laundry, and empty energy drink cans, but right now, it was his sacred sanctuary.
He tossed his heavy work bag onto the couch and carefully, reverently, placed the magazine on his cheap, glass-topped coffee table.
Finally. Inner peace.
Lenny prepped his station. He grabbed a box of tissues, unbuckled his belt, and pulled out his phone, tossing it onto the table next to the magazine so he could have some background music.
He opened the cover. The glossy pages rustled. There she was. The centerfold. Riza Perkins in all her soft-pink, white-rose glory. Lenny sighed, a tear of genuine joy prickling the corner of his eye. He got to work.
A few minutes later, he was in the zone. The world had melted away. There was only him, the tissues, and Riza.
BZZZ. BZZZ.
His phone vibreted violently against the glass table, the screen lighting up. Lenny ignored it. Not now. I am busy communicating with the divine.
BZZZ. BZZZ.
BZZZ. BZZZ.
It wouldn't stop. Annoyed, and right at the crucial moment, Lenny opened one eye and glanced at the bright screen. It was a breaking news push notification.
[BREAKING NEWS: TRAGEDY STRIKES. Beloved Gravure Idol Riza Perkins Found Dead in Her Apartment. Foul Play Suspected...]
Lenny froze.
His brain short-circuited. The words burned into his retinas. Dead? Riza? No. No, that's impossible. I'm looking right at her!
A massive wave of shock hit his chest like a freight train. In a blind panic, Lenny scrambled backward, trying to stand up to grab his phone and read the rest of the article.
But his legs were tangled in his trousers.
And his foot stepped squarely into a fresh, slippery puddle of his own making.
"Whoa—!"
Friction ceased to exist. Lenny's foot shot out from under him like he'd stepped on a banana peel coated in motor oil. He flailed wildly, his arms windmilling in the air.
CRACK.
His temple slammed directly into the sharp metal corner of the coffee table.
The world instantly went white, then faded into a ringing, fuzzy gray. Lenny collapsed onto the cheap carpet, completely paralyzed. A warm, dark pool of blood began to drip from the side of his head, soaking into the fibers of the rug, inches away from the crumpled tissue box.
His vision began to tunnel. His last remaining brain cells processed the scene. His pants around his ankles. The magazine on the table. The slippery mess on the floor.
Are you kidding me? Lenny thought, his consciousness slipping.This is it for me.
The darkness closed in completely.
Slipped on my own jizz and died. Wow. So this is how I die.
♦♦♦
There was nothing. Just darkness.
Then he felt pain.
Sharp, burning pain in his stomach.
Lenny's eyes fluttered open.
The first thing he saw was Riza Perkins.
No — not the magazine. A girl with vibrant orange hair, soft pink bikini, blushing on a bed of white roses.
Holy shit! It's Riza
Wait. No. That was impossible.
He blinked.
The image blurred, shifted. Pink hair — real pink hair — fell over his face like a curtain. Warm tears dripped onto his cheeks. Someone was holding him tightly, rocking gently, sobbing.
He took a weak side glance.
A girl's face — beautiful, tear-streaked, pink hair framing worried purple eyes. Her large breasts pressed against his cheek, heartbeat hitting against his ear.
Lenny's throat worked. His voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.
"Where… am I?"