Flip

It was only seven ten, but Flip would be by in ten minutes. Dom hadn't slept. He hardly slept these days. He slept maybe three or four hours, drifted off around two, somewhere around there, and he was up by six. He was afraid to look at the clock. He thought about running. As in leaving. But he knew that would only make it ten times worse when Flip caught up with him, which he would. He caught up with everybody. That's what Flip did. He used to say he was in Funds Apprehension. Whatever that meant.

Dom looked at his toast. He had nibbled off the points, and they almost made him throw up. He hadn't been able to eat lately either. He had lunch yesterday. A small lunch. Flip was going to be angry. That's also what he did.

He'd offer Flip whatever he had. He didn't have anything. The television. Worth, he didn't know, maybe fifty dollars. Didn't even make a dent in the five thousand he owed. It was nothing. Flip wouldn't even laugh. Dom didn't think Flip laughed. He had never seen him laugh. Not that they hung around a lot together. Ever. At one time, Flip was friends—actual friends—with Gilbert. But that was a long time ago. Before Gilbert went delinquent on Flip.

Dom looked at his hands, still holding the piece of toast. The toast trembled. The toast couldn't take this, and neither could he. Flip was going to be here any minute, and Dom's only hope was that his cooperation, his just sitting and waiting, and not even trying to run, would have some effect on Flip's demeanor. Might as well hope for a helicopter to land on the roof and whisk him away. A helicopter with a stocked fridge for when his appetite returned. And a beautiful little female with red hair who had a soft spot for balding types on the large side. Flip knocked on the window. Dom saw him standing outside, looking in, past the sink. Dom's heart leapt into the garbage disposal.