Stain looks at me with a curious look, the look a baby makes when he’s trying to push out a poop. He adds a little brow furl on top of that and says in a Ringo Starr with cotton balls in his mouth sort of way: “gee Sappho, what do you want to do tonight?”

“Same thing we do every night Stain, try to fight for a better world.”

Stain lets out a little laugh and retorts: “I don’t think that’s the line.”

“Indeed, but we’re men, not mice.”

Stain looks concerned for a moment, like he’s had an “aha” moment of clarity.

“What are we going to do for money?” Stain asks.

“Since when do you care about money?”

“I don’t, as long as I have a place to crash and food to eat, but how are we going to do the superhero gig full time if we have jobs, and if we don’t have jobs, how are we going to eat?”

“I got the money thing covered.”

Stain pauses a moment and looks at me, but I give him a little nod. The cool thing about Stain is that he really doesn’t care about money. I can tell that he’s accepted my answer, and if my answer means that he has to sleep on a parquet floor in a bachelor apartment without a blanket or pillow, he’s cool to do that, as long as he’s getting fed.

“I don’t mind getting a part time job, to help cover bills and that,” Stain offers.

“No, no jobs. The money is covered 100%. Food, shelter, and gear are all covered. From now on, this is our job. We fight for good.”

I put my fist out.

Stain punches it. “We fight for good, but first, I want to get some t-shirts made. I mean, you can’t fight evil without t-shirts.”

“That’s true, but I’m supposed to meet Emily.”

“Who?” Stain asks.

“Emily, the waitress.”



“Right right. Cool. You hook up with Emily, and I’ll grab the t-shirts.”

“That’s awesome, yeah, come by when you’re done then?”

“See you in a bit,” Stain says.

Stain heads over to the t-shirt shop, while I hop in an Uber and make my way home. It occurs to me that I haven’t heard from Emily yet, and she has no idea where I live. I’ll send her a text.

“I’m on my way home now. You done school?”

While I wait for a response, I begin chatting with the driver. She’s a bit older and a little heavy, but there is something about a large breasted older woman that makes me want to pull down my pants and scream out come and get it mommy.

“So, are you almost done your shift?” I ask the driver.

“No, I just started. I go until around ten, sometimes midnight.”

“Your husband or boyfriend or whatever doesn’t mind you being gone all night?”

She looks at me in the rear view mirror and smiles. “I’m not married, never was. I don’t have a lot of boyfriends either.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah right,” she says.

“No really. I mean, you’re an attractive woman. I’d love to have you over sometime.”

“Now, don’t play around with a woman’s emotions like that.”

“Oh, I won’t. I promise.”

There seems to be an awkward silence the rest of the car ride home. I think I’ve made her feel uncomfortable. I suppose I took things too far too fast. I get out of the car, and just in case, part with the words: “I would love some company if you can spare a moment.”

She says nothing, so I walk towards the door of my place. Just as I’m about to go in, I feel her grab my hand, even though she still looks a bit nervous and weary, she comes in with me. I smile.

In a dark corner of the room, I see Emily, wearing very expensive looking lingerie and warming herself up a bit. The cab driver looks shocked, but I just smile at her and say: “this could be fun.”

Emily gets up, starts poking the cab driver in her giant sweater meat and says: “who are you? That’s my man. Nobody goes around with my man and lives to tell about it, nobody.”

The cab driver lady’s eyes bulge out of her head when she says: “I’m outta here” and walks out the door.

“Emily, how did you know where I live?”

Emily puts her hands on her hips and gives me a killer glare while saying: “I don’t think you understand what you’ve done here. You’ve made a very powerful enemy and . . .”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” I interrupt. “Are you serious? Is that a movie line or something? You’re like 4 feet tall with no money, no resources, and quite frankly you think you’re a lot smarter than you actually are.”

She’s yelling now. “I’m not short! I’m not 4 feet tall. I’m 5 foot 2. I’m really smart and really pretty, and people love and respect me. Did you think you were just going to fuck that fat old lady then stick your cock in my mouth so I could suck off her pussy juice?”

“There wasn’t really a plan in place. It was thoughtless though and perhaps disrespectful as well. Emily, I’m sorry.”

Emily starts crying and saying: “that’s ok. I just tend to attract the losers.”

Emily walks out of the house wearing nothing but her lingerie.

“Uh, Emily. Don’t go…”

Emily interrupts. “I’m going, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me, but mark my words. I’ll be back, bitch.” She slams the door behind her badly strung together movie lines. I was going to tell her not to go without putting some clothes on, but I suppose she’ll figure it out at some point.

I write out a text to Stain. “Remind me next time, t-shirts are better than sex.”

I get a text back. “No t-shirts. Figured out bank stuff. Are you done with the girlfriend?”

“I’m done with the bipolar stalker forever.”

“For now anyway. Come to the bank,” Stain writes.

“On my way.”

I hop in my car, and begin driving downtown. My phone rings.


“Is this Sappho?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Hi. This is Frank. Ben and I were wondering if you were free tonight.”

“Frank and Ben, my favorite taggers. I do have plans, crime fighting stuff, but if you and Ben want to join, that’d be cool.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun. Where are you fighting crime?”

“We’re trying to solve a shooting. You know the bank that got robbed downtown?”

“Yeah, I heard something about that,” Frank says.

“Cool, well I’m on my way there. Maybe text me when you guys are in the neighborhood. Stain will be there too.”

“Sounds cool. I’ll see you then.”

Son of Sappho Stain and Sappho , , ,

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *