The Empty Head
The Tremendous Bore
Lori sat there with her legs crossed, nervously tapping her shoe against the worn linoleum floor. She was young and pretty, but felt old and grey as she listened to the faded man with his washed-out eyes who sat opposite her at the table.
He smelled terrible. He'd been eating stalks of fresh rhubarb and his lips were stained green. He was droning on and on about something and Lori wanted to scream at him to stop, wanted to pull out her hair and die, but she didn't. She was too polite.
“Anyway,” he said, “I was in the war, and blah, blah, blah, mumble, mumble, mumble...”
“Which one?” she interrupted.
“The big one,” he replied. “WWII. So we had to take this hill, and I said to the sarge, I said, my buddies and me will blah, blah, blah...”
Lori was in agony. She removed a nail file from her purse and stabbed herself in the arm. The incredible pain and the sight of the bright red blood dripping from her fingertips gave her a renewed interest in life. “What sweet relief!” she thought.
She'd gone crazy listening to the boring old crank. She held the nail file firmly with both hands and drove it straight into her heart. Life became infinitely precious and bittersweet as it slowly left her body.
“Clank!” went the nail file as it slipped from nerveless fingers onto the floor.
“Blah, blah, blah,” said the tremendous bore.