“Okay, where the hell is that goddamn pizza? It’s been–” Willie checked his watch, a battered, baby-blue leather analog watch that he had gotten on his tenth birthday some fifteen years ago, “forty… thirty-three minutes. They said they’ll be here in thirty.” He pounded his huge fist onto the television, an old CRT, “I’m fucking starving, goddammit!” shaking the image momentarily into a blur of white lines and threatening to destroy the 90’s artifact once and for all.
“Oy, hey!” Reggie yelled in protest, finally looking up at Willie, the first time in four hours that he had taken his eyes off the ancient screen. “What the hell, man?”
“That’s my grandma’s TV, man! She gave it to me before she died, you know.”
“Yeah, well, your grandma was a good woman, and may she rest in peace. And fuck her, and her bad TV, and fuck her grandson, too!”
“I’m starving! I’m fucking starving! Fuck, we have nothing in the fridge, too!” Willie slammed the door of the refrigerator. Like his watch, like Reggie’s grandma’s TV, it too was way past its recommended life, and looked like it was about to croak any minute now. The slam scared a few baby roaches scuttling out of the hinges; neither Willie nor Reggie seemed to notice, having gotten used to the bugs in their apartment. “What do we have to do to get some food here, A-S-A-P? Can’t you go to the grocery?”
“The– uh, what?”
“The fuck, Reggie!” He grabbed the game controller from Reggie’s hands and threw it across the room, sending the entire console flying along with it.
“Jesus, Willie! What the hell?”
“Don’t you have anything else to do, other than playing that stupid game, every hour of every day? Look, our fridge is empty!” He wrenched away the door of the refrigerator to show Reggie that it was, indeed, empty. Two seconds later, the lights flickered and, with a crack, died. Willie banged his fist on the refrigerator, trying to get it to start again, as he had done many times before.
“Oh man, you’ve done it! You’ve finally done it!” Reggie cried out in total exasperation. “Why do you like destroying my grandma’s things? This is the second time, this month–”
The refrigerator no longer started. It was finally dead, just like its old, late owner.
“I’m. Fucking. Starrrrrvvvviiiiinggg! Arrrgggghhh!” Willie slumped onto the sofa, sending dust clouds flying. He rubbed his stomach. Despite the lack of good nutrition in his diet, his abdomen was an incredibly fit six-pack. “You know that movie, Reg? The one where the alien worm digs itself out of that woman’s tummy? Well, that’s how I’m feeling right now, and God help you if an alien does come out, Reginald, it’s gonna fucking eat you alive, if that pizza guy doesn’t get here any sooner–”
“Fina-fucking-lly! Reggie, get the door!” But Reggie was back to playing his game, and wasn’t listening. “Argh! Fuck me!” He bounced himself back up and pulled the door open.
“What took you so fucking long? I thought you said this was the fucking pizza express!” he roared.
He was met by a scrawny, likely fresh out of high school, boy, whose 5-foot-1 frame was dwarfed immensely by Willie by at least a foot and a half, and by at least a hundred more pounds or so. Despite the size difference, the boy didn’t balk; rather, he seemed very calm and serene. Too serene, in fact, as Willie quickly noticed.
The boy simply smiled and handed the pizza to his customer.
“Whatever, man,” Willie said. “Here’s your money,” throwing a few one-dollar bills at the boy’s face, “now get the fuck out of here!” slamming the door.
He had not yet opened the pizza box when came another knock. Willie rolled his eyes and opened the door, again. And there was the same pizza delivery boy, again.
“What the hell do you want now?” said Willie.
“Just doing a survey, about our new service,” said the boy, flashing a very long, very zen grin. “The boss says we gotta do, you know. *Hee-hee!* Now, what do you think about our pizza express? Our fastest– *hee, hee!*– delivery service for pizza, pizza expreeeeessssss?” He sang the last word, off-tone, to the tune from the TV commercial.
“What do I think about your– hee, hee– pizza express? What do I think about your pizza express, hee-hee? Here!” And he punched the boy straight at the face. “That’s what I think about your fucking useless pizza express!”
“That’s not cool, man. That’s not cool…” the boy muttered, slowly fading out.
“So that’s your pizza express, huh? Well, tell your bosses this:” Willie said, giving a double dirty finger, “Go express yourselves, motherfuckers!”
And, without waiting for the pizza boy to wake up, he slammed the door and locked it.