I had some good shit written, and when I pressed backspace to edit it deleted the whole goddamn thing. So then I smoked a cigar and chewed a guitar pic instead.
Sometimes, you just wanna say 'Fuck it,' ya know? Leave your thoughts never opened. Instead they'd sit(more) mint in your mind and no one would have known they ever existed. That's the real shit. That's the Swiss Army Man shit. What you hide beside your farts. The real thoughts. The what if's. The times when you look at that co-worker with the long legs and think "If only I'd just ask her to dinner" all while stressing over the fact you're underperforming at work.
At least that's what you think. That's all before you take the drink that can safely be described as five-fingers of Crown Royal. That's when you realize the standard straight whisky is probably only two fingers, yet here you are with a fist. But perhaps the fist is appropriate. Perhaps a fist is what you need when you face the next stressful, time-constrained day. Not in the sense of gripping a drink, but rather in the sense of grabbing the day with the strongest fist you can muster and whispering in its ear "Fuck. You. Dude." and flinging it across the office.
Bake the chicken, boil the green beans, stare at the wall and empty chair that's only pushed out from the table because the last time you sat in it you were stoned and discussing the finer points of The Meat Puppets with your buddy. Play the guitar, croon the love songs off-key.
Maybe for now you're better off never opened. Maybe for now that's okay.
Maybe she's out there waiting for you. Maybe tomorrow needs to be taken with the fist. (less)
"You know, Akuta-san, this box has never been opened. I wonder what's inside?"
"Probably money. Let's get into it."
"It's a shame," the newbie policeman said. "She was holding onto this so tightly, her hands began to bleed."
Akuta grit his teeth as he yanked at the box,(more) annoyance making him more and more furious until he slammed it on the table.
"Let me see it again, dammit!"
He paused at his own words.
"See...what?" The younger policeman in the room asked.
"Jesus...nothing. You should go home."
The key fell off the bottom of the box like it had been there from the start, but Akuta was sure that wasn't the case.
The notes were decorated with stickers and cute kaomojis, but as Akuta took hold of them he couldn't help but feel a sense of deja vu wash over him.
'Ren ! Let's meet up again after school again. Yoruka will come too!'
'what about akuta?'
Akuta himself paused, staring down at the note. His name wasn't an uncommon one. It was just coincidence.
'He's working again. Being an adult must suck...'
'It does suck'
It did in fact suck.
'are you sure Yoruka will even want him there?'
'It's a work in progress, Ren. You know how silly Akuta can be...'
'you mean perverted. if it's true, it's not unkind to say it'
'Don't say that stuff on paper! His career could be at stake!'
'don't you wonder if being a policeman is even legal for him?'
"Stupid Ren," he muttered. "Leave me alone."
'Kamisama deserves to have a good job! He's a good person!'
Kamisama-no, just Akuta. Ren. Yoruka.
Miu's notes quivered in Akuta's shaky hands. "Dumb hag," he muttered quietly. "Why is this the only thing we have of each other now?" (less)