Charles walked down to breakfast this morning with a pad of paper and a pen in his paws and he sat down next to me at the table. I was shovelling a rancid omelette down my throat because about a week ago I got breakfast at a diner, ordered that omelette, and only ate a few bites before I was done. I asked them to wrap it and told them I’d probably finish it up next week. “You can’t save that for a week – it’ll rot,” the chef said very seriously. “No,” I said, “It will be fine. I will be fine. You just worry about getting all this shit cooked, ok?” I pointed at all of the ornamental cans of tomato sauce, bottles of olive oil, boxes of pasta, etc. on the walls. I reached over the counter and grabbed a takeout box, packed my omelette, and left without paying.
And here it was, a week later, and I was struggling to get the slimy egg dish down my gullet. It really did not smell right but I had to eat it and report back to the diner. If nothing else I could always walk in, puke in the soup, and leave – no one would ever be the wiser. So Charles sat down and looked solemn. “I’ve got a list,” he said.
“Lay it on me,” I said around bites of decaying breakfast.
“Well, I remember the avocados. And the pile of jackets. Ansd then I remember something there in the middle. Actually, I don’t really remember anything, but I keep seeing these weird visions.”
“I remember feeling sharp pains in my hands as I reached into my jacket and I think I threw my jacket.” I jumped for joy on the inside – the thumbtacks in his pockets had worked! “And I am seeing a lot of watermelons for some reason. And a chipmunk. I keep seeing a chipmunk running around chattering.” He scratches some items off his list. “But this one thing I keep seeing…”
“Yes? What is it?”
“I keep seeing this cave.”
“But it’s weird, there’s light coming out of it and it smells like the ocean.”
It was the cove. “Charles – it’s the cove. Some boat guy told me about this cove that just appeared a couple of weeks ago.”
“For som reason I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Charles we have to go to the cove!” Then I puked all over him and his pad because the guy at the diner was right – a week is too long to keep an omelette.