Look Evelyn, Duck Dynasty Wiper Blades. We Should Get Them.: A Collection Of New Essays Read Online Free PDF Page A

Bar.”
    I’d sampled a small piece and it tasted like a little brick of sadness.
    Ben grunted. He hadn’t said much on the return journey.
    “That means only a few miles of sharp rocks to go,” I added in what I thought was an enthusiastic manner. Ben grunted again.
    “I’m sorry about your beanie.”
    There had been a minor scuffle a few miles earlier.
    “You could probably stitch it back up and nobody would notice.”
    Nothing.
    “If you used the same colour thread it...”
     
    Ben grabbed the beanie from his head and threw it into the forest. It might have been more dramatic had the angle of the throw not caused the beanie to catch air, like a frisbee thrown almost straight up, and return to land a few feet from where we were standing.
    “That was lucky,” I said, slipping my bare foot into it.
     
    Ben stared, “If I killed you out here, nobody would discover the body for ages. By that time, forest animals would have eaten most of you.”
    “They’d have to beat the ticks to it,” I replied, “Besides, the hikers that passed us will eventually work out that they are not on a loop and come back this way. You’d have to quickly hide my body off the path and I doubt you’d be able to lift me, what with your Progeria.”
    “I don’t have Progeria,” Ben lied, “and I wouldn’t have to lift you. I’d get you to leave the path with me and then I’d kill you.”
    “And how exactly would you make me leave the path?”
    “I wouldn’t have to make you. I know you like frogs so I’d say ‘there’s a pond just off the path up here, last time I looked it had about a hundred frogs. One was orange with white spots. Do you want to have a quick look?’ and you’d want to leave the path.”
     
    I do like frogs but I don’t wear t-shirts with pictures of frogs on them or collect frog trading cards. It’s more of a, “oh look, a frog,” kind of thing. I would be more impressed by an orange frog with white spots but I’d probably still say “oh look, a frog.” Just quicker with a tinge of wonder. Regardless, I don’t believe I had ever mentioned frogs to Ben.
     
    “When did I say I like frogs?” I asked.
    “It’s not about frogs, that was just an example, it’s about making you want to do something, not making you do something.”
    “You’d be better off saying it’s a shortcut back to the car,” I replied, “The bit about the orange frog with white spots was pretty good though.”
    “Thanks. There actually is a short cut up here though, do you want to take it?”
    “No.”
     
    A couple of weeks later, Ben asked me if I liked the band Linkin Park. He had an extra concert ticket to “a really amazing band I think you’ll also like” who were playing that night. The band’s name, The Calling, should probably have been a red flag but I only realised something was awry after Ben and his girlfriend picked me up from my house. He was wearing a white shirt, slacks and leather business slippers, while his girlfriend was wearing an ankle length floral dress with some kind of weird doily thing around the neck.  The concert was at their church and Ben’s dad was the bass guitarist. The audience totaled maybe thirty people.
     
    “They’re up late,” I said to Ben nodding towards his siblings. The youngest was four and also dressed in shirt, slacks and leather business slippers. I’d worn a red Pop Will Eat Itself tour t-shirt with the words Sample it, loop it, fuck it, eat it, and spit it out! written across the front. Ben’s mother gave me a Band-Aid to put over the word fuck. Ben’s grandmother was parked in the aisle next to me. She was paralysed from the neck down due to a severe stroke but could control her wheelchair with a rubber thing that went in her mouth. Whenever she had something to say, she’d pucker her lips around the control, rotate towards me, and mumble something unintelligible before rotating back. 
     
    “What did she say?” asked Ben, leaning over.
    “I’m