Beat 96: The Capper
With its shift on the wane, the sun began its usual commute into Porbeagle’s horizon. The day’s heat subsided bit by bit, but the hint of salt in the air still wafted regularly past the townsfolk. As always, the sky welcomed and displayed streaks of gold and orange, with the sun’s rays peeking through thick, slate-hued clouds. The town might have known no shortage of frenzy -- in the past, present, or future -- but as it citizens shuffled off for their homes, a sense of tranquility pervaded throughout.
Lloyd smiled. He was exactly where he wanted to be -- outside a supermarket holding a girl’s hair as she puked repeatedly into a trash can.
“MRFRAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” Sheila’s body quivered and buckled for the thirty-second time that day, and the splatter of liquefied lunches echoed out of the can. When she finished, she pushed herself up from the rim and gasped for air. “Okay…okay…I think that’s the last of it.”
“You’re sure this time?” Lloyd asked.
Sheila stood a few inches higher and sniffled. “…Nope. Still more.”
Her ear wiggled, but Deirdre didn’t get the chance to say a word; she just bent back down and fired off another sickening salvo. “MRFRAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
“Is that the last of it?” Lloyd asked.
Deirdre stood up slowly. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I think…I think that’s it.” She stepped away from Lloyd and patted a hand against her stomach. “So I guess I learned something new today: I REALLY hate puking.”