by Thom Young
“Split this down the middle. I take twenty percent of the house. Rules of the game. After that, wipe out the shitters and place new urinal cakes in the men’s john. Watch for bloody cunt rags in the ladies crapper.”
This was the first night of my new job in building six. My boss was an old fuck. He had worked his way up from pushing a broom to head janitor. It was a big title job. He covered two office buildings including mine. I saw him walk down the stairs and heard the door shut. It was just me now. The incessant hum of the new cooling unit sang. I lit up a cigarette and tossed my cleaning bucket in the trash. I walked up the nearest fire escape and climbed on top of the building. The city was quiet except for the lone street bums wandering aimlessly to nowhere. I exhaled and noticed something peculiar. Across the street, in office building seven a light shone from the second floor.
I strained my neck for a closer look to what appeared to be a naked woman. It must be a shadow I thought, but upon closer inspection she appeared to be on her knees performing fellatio. Lucky bastard. I put out my cigarette and slowly climbed down the stairs until I made it. I crossed the street and tried the front door. It was locked. I walked around back and tried the back door. It was open. I took the stairs to the second floor, trying to remember where I saw her. I noticed the office looked just like the one I had left. I took a left down a main hallway, and then I heard it. Moans of pleasure coming from a few doors down.
I unzipped my pants and placed my hand on my cock. The moans grew louder and more vigorous. I got excited. I approached the door. I stood just to the side and listened. “Suck it you bitch! Drain my balls! You bitch!” This guy knew how to tell her off. The filthy whore. I started to climax but didn’t.
I zipped up my pants. I turned and looked into the door. The old fuck was standing with his pants around knees. The Hoover vacuum hose attached to his penis. His eyes got big as he hurried to pull up his pants. I laughed and saw the red rise up his face.
I didn’t have a job after that. I walked back down the hallway and into the night. The madness of the employed and the job. It was a good night. The End.
Thom Young is a writer from Texas. His work has been in Word Riot, Thieves Jargon, The Legendary, The Delinquent, and many other sundry places.
SSFUCK: If you could talk to any inanimate object, which would you choose?
Thom: My left hand as it is always numb.