MIKE COSTANZO
Bunt
DELIVERING DOMINOES PIZZA IN A RUSTED TOYOTA CELICA WITH A BUSTED HEATER DENNIS WONDERED EXACTLY WHERE LIFE STOPPED WORKING FOR HIM.
IT WAS NINE O'CLOCK NEW YEARS EVE, AND SOON DRUNKS WOULD BE EVERYWHERE. RUNNING OUT FOR ANOTHER CASE OF WEAK BEER AT THE SUPERMARKET, FORGETTING TO TURN ON THEIR HEADLIGHTS, STUPID SHIT LIKE THAT. EVERYBODY HAD SOMEPLACE TO BE TONIGHT IT SEEMED, WITH SOMEONE WHO WAS HAPPY THAT THEY WERE THERE, AND IT PISSED HIM OFF.
SITTING AT A RED LIGHT, SOME FAT, BALDING GUY BEHIND HIM IN A MINI VAN WAS SWAYING AND SINGING OUT LOUD TO A SONG ON THE RADIO. DENNIS RAN THE RED SWIZZEL STICK THROUGH THE FM BAR UNTIL HE FIXED THE GUYS MOUTH TO A STATION. DIDN'T PEOPLE REALIZE WHAT DICKS THEY LOOKED LIKE, SINGING AND SWAYING ALL BY THEMSELVES IN A CAR STUCK IN TRAFFIC? THE GUY WAS SINGING TO A MADONNA SONG, WHICH MADE THINGS WORSE. ESPECIALLY IN A MINI VAN. HE'D OBVIOUSLY BEEN NEUTERED. HE PROBABLY ATTENDED P.T.A. MEETINGS. HIS BEST FRIEND WAS PROBABLY A WOMAN. AND WHAT THE HELL WAS HE PAYING ON THAT THING EVERY MONTH FOR THE NEXT 60 MONTHS? IT WAS GETTING TO BE TOO MUCH. THANK GOD THE LIGHT TURNED GREEN.
SOMEONE HAD ORDERED A PIZZA WITH THE WORKS FOR 137 LARSEN. ONLY 137 LARSEN WASN'T THERE. ONLY A POURED SIDEWALK, STILL IN THE FORMS, AND POSTED BUILDING PERMITS NAILED TO A TELEPHONE POLE. THE NIGHT MANAGER SAID TTIEY SOUNDED KOREAN OR S0METHING, S0 THAT COULD MEAN THEY WERE REALLY TRYING TO SAY SOMETHING LIKE 137 RAWSTON. ANYWAY, IT WAS OUT OF HIS DISTRICT, SO HE NOW HAD A FREE PIE. THE FUCKIN'GUY WHO OWNED DOMINOES HAD A MUSEUM FULL OF FURNITURE DESIGNED BY FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT. AND IF THE BASTARD COULD SPEND $35,000 ON A DINING ROOM TABLE, HE WOULDN'T MISS A PIZZA.
DENNIS KNEW ALL ABOUT SHIT LIKE FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT. HE'S READ LOTS OF BOOKS, MAYBE TOO MANY. BOOKS LIKE ATLAS SHRUGGED, ON THE ROAD, AND CATCHER IN TTIE RYE. CLASSICS OF LITERATURE. HE COULD ALSO EXPLAIN EINSTEIN'S THEORY OF RELATIVITY TO AN EIGHT YEAR OLD WAITING AT A BUS STOP. HE LISTENED TO BACH, PHILLIP GLASS, CHARLIE PARKER. AND HE WAS DELIVERING PIZZA IN A TOYOTA.
HE JUST FIGURED THE GODS WERE HAVING SOME FUN WITH HIM. IT MADE LIFE GO BY EASIER. ONE MORNING ZEUS WOULD WAKE UP SOBER, LOOK DOWN AT HIM, AND TELL PLUTO THE JOKE HAD GONE ON TOO LONG. THEN HE WOULD MAKE THINGS RIGHT BY ALLOWING DENNIS TO WIN THE ILLINOIS STATE LOTTERY OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. IN THE LAP OF THE GODS. YEAH.
HE DROVE PAST THE GUTTED BRICK DISCO'S OF HIS YOUTH, THAT HAD BEEN RETROFITTED BACK INTO MEAT WAREHOUSES AGAIN. HE HAD OUTLIVED THE STREETS. BUT THERE WAS NO VICTORY DANCE, NO TROPHY WHORES. ONLY SCARS.
CHRISTMAS WAS STALE AND BLOATED BY NOW. PILES OF WET SOGGY TRASH AND CARDBOARD LINED THE CURBS. BRITTLE DISCARDED EVERGREENS, FLECKED WITH STRAY STRANDS OF TINSEL, WARPED IN THE FREEZING COLD AND SMELLED OF CAT PISS. BENEATH ALL THE MERRIMENT, IT WAS AN UNFORGIVING SEASON.
ON HIS NEXT DELIVERY, A BIG ASSED WOMAN IN RED POLYESTER SLACKS ANSWERED THE DOOR TALKING ON A CELL PHONE. CHRIST, HOW HE HATED CELL PHONES. THEY WERE SOMETHING HE SWORE HE'D NEVER OWN, LIKE A JET-SKI. THEY MADE SLOBS THINK THEY WERE DOCTORS OR LAWYERS. BUT YOU KNEW THEY WEREN'T, BECAUSE DOCTORS AND LAWYERS DIDN'T WEAR RIPPED JEANS, EAT AT WAFFLE HOUSE, OR DRIVE TEN YEAR OLD HONDA'S WITH PUTTY FENDERS. THEY ALSO DIDN'T TRY TO FIT INTO RED POLYESTER SLACKS WHEN THEY WERE 40 POUNDS OVERWEIGHT.
DESPITE THE HOLIDAY ATMOSPHERE, TIPS BLEW AS USUAL. IN A RESTUARANT, YOU'RE HELD HOSTAGE BY THE WAITER. YOU CAN'T EVEN LEA VE UNTIL HE DECIDES TO COME AROUND WITH THE CHECK. BUT WITH THE DELIVERY MAN, THERE'S ALWAYS THE DOOR TO SLAM IN YOUR FACE.
DELIVERY SERVICE ENDED AT 11:30, AND HE GOT HOME FIFTEEN M[INUTES TO MIDNIGHT. DICK CLARK WAS IN TIMES SQUARE AS USUAL. THAT BASTARD WAS GOING TO SIT ON THAT JOB UNTIL HE DIES. THEN EVERYBODY WOULD MISS HIM, LIKE BING CROSBY. BRILLIANT.
WHEN THE BALL FINALLY DROPPED, HE WAS ON HIS SECOND BEER, AND CAREFULLY PICKING THE BLACK OLIVES OFF THE COLD PIZZA. WHERE WAS EVERYONE HE EVER KNEW OR LOVED TONIGHT? EITHER LOST, FORGOTTEN, OR DEAD IN THE FROZEN EARTH. LIFE JUST THREW SO MUCH SAND IN WITH THE WINE IT SEEMED.
THE MILLENNIUM. HE COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. 0UTSIDE, IT WAS PISSING RAIN AND FIRECRACKERS WERE HOWLING LIKE HORNY BANSHEES, YET NOTHING SEEMED DIFFERENT.
AFTER ABOUT TEN MINUTES EVERYONE WENT I BACK INSIDE. DICK CLARK SIGNED OFF, AND THE MOB IN TIMES SQUARE STARTED BREAKING UP, BENEATH THE SOMBER GAZE OF COPS ON TRIPLE/HOLIDAY OVERTIME, RIDING HORSEBACK WITH NIGHTSTICKS. THEN, THE TELEVISION WAS HANDED BACK OVER TO THE LATE NIGHT TELEVANGELISTS AND THIRTY MINUTE INFOMMERCIALS.
IT HAD BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE A WOMAN HAD CALLED HIM DENNY, HE THOUGHT. BE DIALED THE NUMBER OUT OF THE MAGAZINE, AND READ THE OPERATOR HIS CREDIT CARD.