The main character of this story stepped outside into the zero degree weather and pulled out a Belmont cigarette. His fingers trembled in the cold, causing them to tense up and squeeze the filter slightly harder than usual. The cigarette now bent to an oval as he touched it to his lips before setting it ablaze to appease his blackened lungs. And now that the business of addiction subsided he began walking to his destination.

The sidewalk was icy and the main character’s footing was complicated by a paperback book he had stuffed in the back pocket of his pants. He had no intention of reading the book while out but thought it would look cool, like he was some sort of romantic. He wasn’t a romantic, but liked to think of himself as one. And that’s why he had this book obstructing his ability to traverse the Kanadian ice. Thankfully he never fell, because if he did he would be embarrassed and turn beet red, which is actually more of a purple. This would have ruined his romantic façade.

He opened the door of his destination to a *chring* and looked around for the other character of this story. He was sitting in the back of the café and raised his head at the sound of the *chring.* This allowed both characters to make eye contact, which is the beginning of the charisma you are about to experience between these two characters.

“Hey man, sorry I’m late there was a car accident on the road and I wanted to see if anyone was hurt.”

“No there wasn’t, you’re lying. And of all the excuses for being late you lied about a car accident where innocent life was on the line.”

“Well at least no one was hurt.”

“Of course no one was hurt, it didn’t happen.”

“So what are you drinking there?”

“London fog.”

“You’re drinking a trench coat?”

“Shut up and sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

The main character sat down and ordered a black coffee. When it arrived he pealed open the thin plastic lid of creamer and squeezed its contents into the coffee. The coffee was made from Robusta beans grown in Vietnam and the cream was from a cow in Burlington.

The other character of this story spoke, “So, how is that book coming along?”

“Great, I finished it on Tuesday in like five hours. In fact I’ve got it right here in my back pocket.”

“Why do you have it in your back pocket if you’ve already finished it?”

“You know …”

“No, I don’t know, why?”

“… So have you heard this new band called Squeeze Bucket?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Yeah I made that name up, but sounds like it could be one of those weird bands nowadays.”

“Sure? Well, speaking of bands, I really like that new song by Feist?”

“You do? Huh, it doesn’t do it for me.”

“Why not?”

“Not enough rhymes.”

The secondary character laughed and replied, “Not enough rhymes? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know, cat, fat. Rat, hat. Rhymes.”

“Yes I know what rhymes are, but how can a song not have enough rhymes?”

“You know what just forget it, drink your damn trench coat.”

Both characters stirred their drinks as they looked around at the décor of the café. There was an art deco poster that spelt coffee ‘koffie’ which is Dutch. I like using a k for the hard ‘ca’ sound, that’s why I spelt it Kanadian earlier.

The main character spoke again, “Hey, do you ever get the feeling you’ve impregnated someone?”

“What the fuck?”

“Never mind, forget I said anything.”

The two glanced around at the other patrons sipping their respective drinks. Eventually their eyes focused back in on their own table, and they each raised their cups to sip.

“So you’re still smoking?”

“How did you know?”

“Your digits are yellow.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah, I’m just kidding. The other character of this story that is only mentioned in this sentence and the next one told me you took it up again.”

“Fuck, I hate that character. Always telling you my nasty habits.”

“Well, when are you going to quit again?”

“Never, that gum is disgusting.”

“What about the patches, I hear they’re quite the ride.”

“What’s this now, you a patch junkie?”

“Full blown, I go through a pack a day. I’ve had the coolest dreams.”

“Like what?”

“Well, this one time I was on a weird football team and we we’re practicing in my house, but it wasn’t really my house, and our job was to smash cucumbers against the kitchen table.”

“You know what that means, right? The cucumbers represent your childhood. Was there a coach for your football team?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, and he’s adulthood ordering you to dispose of your childish ways.”

“I thought it just meant I wanted to have sex with my mother.”

“Or that.”

At this moment the main character received a text message, which made a loud noise in his pocket. He had forgotten to turn down the volume after his alarm woke him up. In fact, when the alarm woke him up he turned it off and fell back to sleep, which made him late.

“Sorry, I’m so popular.”

“Oh it’s okay it’s not like I mean anything to you.”

“Ha.”

“Who was it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

“Wow, original, what’s this dialogue from? Some 1980s b-movie?”

I’ll have you know I take offence to that.

“Oh come on, it was a joke.”

At this moment the secondary character felt a sharp pain in his neck.

“Ouch!”

The main character laughed, because the author of this story holds his future.

“That really hurt,” the secondary character said as he rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, his right holding open the newest copy of National Geographic. In 30 years time this magazine will be donated to a public high school library where it will be disembodied, made soggy with white glue and slathered onto a Bristol board art project. It will then rest in the basement of the artist’s parents for 15 years until it’s finally thrown out, resulting in a total of 45 unread years. Defeating its original purpose.

“So are you ready for the rapture?” said the main character as he squinted his eyes to see the other character’s reaction.

“I think so, why do you bring it up?”

“There’s a sale on at the store for Campbell’s Soup?”

This was important because canned goods can outlive human beings.

“I’ve got all I need now, thanks.”

“Dude, what’s your problem? I’m just trying to help.”

“You know what, it’s fine. Just enjoy your soup sale.”

“You’re just jealous aren’t you? That’s what this is all about ain’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

The secondary character put down his magazine and raised his head to meet the eyes of the main character.

“You’re just jealous that I’m the main character of this story and you’re second.”

“Oh please.”

“No, no, just say what you want to say. I know you’re thinking it.”

“It just makes no sense, we play practically the same part and to purposely distinguish between the two of us is rude. He knows it bothers me yet he wrote it anyways! What does that say about this asshole?”

“Ha! You’re something else you know that, I’ll have you know I had my own very extensive introduction at the beginning of this story, so yeah it does make sense that I’m the main character.”

“You know what? Enjoy your damn story — I’m through with this crap.”

“Geez, get over yourself man.”

At this moment the purposefully secondary character rose up out of his chair grabbed his National Geographic and left the café. *Chring*. The main character chuckled to himself and sipped his beverage. Burlington and Vietnam made a good combination.