Just Another Quiet Town

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Not every man is who he seems, unless you live next door to him. A story told only through dialogue!

Submitted: January 07, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 07, 2012






“Morning, Bob!”

“Well howdy there, Bill.”  Pause for exaggerated inhale.  “Ain’t it just the finest day to be an American?”

“You can say that again, Bob, but I got to get to weeding my lawn!”

“I’d be inclined to help you out there, Bill, but I’ve got some chores of my own to set about doing.  We still watching the game this Sunday?”

“You know it, Bob, Linda’s taking the kids to a birthday party and coming back with a case of Coors and some righteous guacamole ingredients.  Hank’ll be bringing the grub, as usual.”

“And I’ll bring the beer and the grub.”  They both laugh heartily.  “I’ll see you Sunday, there, Bill.”

“Alright, go break your leg – again.”  More riotous laughter.




“Good day to wash the car, innit Bill?”

“I’ll say; I may just do the same.”

“Let’s us both work on the same car, get ‘em done sooner.”

“Good thinking, Bob.”




“YEAH, EAT IT YOU PIECE OF SHIT!  Oh, my God, the ball just passed right through his fucking hands, that slimy fucking gook...!”

“Hey Frank, you mind watching your mouth a bit?”

“What-?  Oh, sorry Bob.  Ain’t the kids away?”

“Just the same, Frank.  Linda’s got an important call from the firm, and racist slurs in the background may cause some problems.”

“I’m mighty sorry, Bob.  I just get so riled up when I see that OH YOU HAD THAT PASS, when I see such SHITTY PLAYS, THEY’RE SHIT.”

“Pass me a beer, would ya?”

“Here you go, Bill.  Frank, honestly-“





“Morning Bill.”

“Morning, Bob.  You see the papers?”

“Yeah, such a shame.  How many dead was it?”

“22, total.  I wish I could get my hands on that jackass what did it, I’d teach him right from wrong.  Sort of scary, innit?  Bombings right here, in our own neck of the woods?”

“It’s not scary, it’s downright terrifying.  I might just up and leave if the danger rises.  What’s more was the random target; just a suburban neighborhood.”

“The terrorists are trying to scare us average American folk, trying to incite some mass panic.  It won’t do, not at all.”

“Well, enough of the glum and gloomy.  Got to repaint my gutters.”

“Bye there, Bob.”




“Hey man, Linda’s off on some lawyering work, me and Frank are queuing up the pool table.  You in?”

“I’ll be right over, Bill.  I’ll grab some Jim Bean.”

“Nice thinking, I could use some liquid luck.”

Inside.  “Hey there, Frank.  You get those bastards what upturned your trash can?”

“No, the little fucks got away…  Pisses me off right the hell off to see young people making such jackasses of ‘emselves, they weren’t always like that.”

“I seem to remember you doing some trash spreading yourself in high school, Frank.  You football players were a right rowdy bunch.”

“Can it, Bill, it’s different.  Just shut up and pour me a glass of the good stuff, and let me school you in pool.”




“Hey there, Bob, didn’t see much of you yesterday.”

“Yeah, I had to file some reports for the office, took much longer than I anticipated.”

“Well you missed a good barbecue we had for my wife’s being made partner.  Somebody spiked the punch with vodka, it was a good time.”

Laugh. “Damn, I do wish I’d made it.”

Obligatory responsive chuckle. “You working this Saturday?  Got a few family friends in town, going to be a little get-together.  Maybe we can find you a woman.”

“Yeah, I can make that.  What should I bring?”

“If you got any more Jim Bean, it’d be welcome.  No, no, leave the hunter-gathering to us.  I hope you like tri-tip.”

“Are you kidding?  I hate it.”  Over-zealous laughter. “Okay, see you Saturday, Bill.”





“Hey, now the place is packed, get in here, Bob.”

“I know you said not to, but here.  It’s some good stuff.”

Whistle. “Tequila.  This brings back memories.  If only I could remember them.” Laughs. “Come on, man, everyone’s in the backyard.  Linda, I’d like to formally introduce you to Bob, our neighbor.”

“Hello, nice to meet you.  I’ve heard your voice, now I can finally see your face.”

“Hey there.  Congratulations on making partner, I’m told that’s an excellent position.”

“I used to do missionary, so the change is nice.” Laughter ensues.

“Hey Bob, you meeting anyone?Most of these ladies are single.”

“Oh, I’ve met a few.  That Melissa girl is quite a looker.”

“I wish I could agree with you, but I’m taken.  She certainly is.”

“Where’s Frank, exactly?”

“Oh, he couldn’t make it.  Some car trouble, he mentioned.”

“Well that’s a shame.”  Hours pass.  “Well, Bill, I’ll have to be on my way.  I really enjoyed the invitation, and I got some phone numbers to boot.”

“Way to go, Bob, you tiger.  Good luck with the hangover.”





“Wake up.  I said WAKE THE FUCK UP!”

“Ugh… what the- where are we?  Bob?”  Slap.

“My name’s not Bob. “  Punch.

“Bob, what in the hell is going on?  Why am I tied to this chair?”

“I said my name’s not Bob, you motherFUCKer.”  Another punch.  Kick in the chest.  Pick up the chair.

“Why are you doing this?”

Silence from “Bob.”

“Why are you doing this?  Why are you doing this to me?”

“All of you will die.  All of you should suffer.”

“All of WHO, Bob?”

“You American scum, you make me sick.  I can’t sleep at night, thinking about your vileness.”  Slap.  Slap.  Slap.  Slap.

“Are…” Panting.  “Are you some sort of terrorist, Bob?”

“I was raised in a hidden camp in Iran, amongst the hills.  I was taken from a white couple, vacationing at the time when my mother gave birth to me.  They are dead.  In this camp, as boys, we learned to despise everything the Americans had caused and done, it is a part of me, that hatred.  Yet I look like you, I hate you.  I will kill you, and every American if I could.”

“Bob, you don’t know what you’re sayin-“ Interrupted by a violent punch.

“FUCK you, to tell me what I know and don’t know.  FUCK you, for your wars.  FUCK you, for your outlet malls.  FUCK your 99 cent menus, FUCK your Disneylands, FUCK your plastic surgery, FUCK your Liberals, FUCK your Conservatives, FUCK your universities, FUCK your buffets, FUCK your toll booths, FUCK your melting pot, FUCK your trailer parks, FUCK EVERY ONE OF YOU.”  Each FUCK is punctuated with a blow.

“Why do you hate this country?”

“It is a blemish of indecency and hypocracy on this planet, and must be destroyed.  However it can be done, I will help to do it.”

“I hate to break the news, but America cannot be destroyed.”

Punch.  Punch.  Slap.  Punch.  Punch to the groin.  Punch.  “You fucking shit-swallowing prick.  How dare you defend this fucking…” Pause.  “SHITHOLE?”

“We-“ Coughing.  Spitting. “Have an infrastructure that far surpasses the public knowledge.  It goes deeper than the core of the Earth.”

“How to you presume to know this?”

“I’m an agent within the FBI.  Many civilians are, to ensure the safety of the American people.  You’re fucked, is what I’m basically saying.”

“You lying shit, just like an American.  Just to try and save your own hide.  Selfish cunt.” Punch.

“Believe it or not, but you’re probably in severe danger at this point.  It’s been, what, about six hours since you drugged the glass of water I drank before sleeping, and brought me here?  By now there are more likely than not several agents searching your residence for clues as to where I’ve been taken.  Extremely well-trained agents.  But hell, I could just be lying, just like an American.”

Elbow.  Breaking of nose. “Then I suppose I’ll just kill you.”

“Might as well, your fate’s been sealed since you decided to hate this spectacular country.”  This was responded to with a solid punch to the neck.  “Or may I suggest another alternative.”

“I’m listening.”

“I will help you to escape, with one stipulation.”

“I’m not going to guess what it is.”

“Take me with you.”


“You know what I mean.  I…”

“I should have guessed.  I knew when we watched that silly American pastime together.”

“Then you feel it too.”

“I have been groomed to hate every single member of this God-fearing fuckopolis.  I have been trained to actively execute homosexuals in my own country.  But I can’t say I don’t want you.”

“We aren’t the most likely of lovers.”

“We don’t have to be.  We… don’t have to be.”

“Untie me, we’re cutting it too close.  Do you have a car?”

“A Honda Civic.  You drive, I cannot stand your consummative consumerism.”

“We’ll have to leave everything behind.  Are you willing to do that?”

“I have everything ahead to look forward to.”


© Copyright 2017 Crosby Allison. All rights reserved.

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