Milkrun Read Online Free PDF Page A

have the same issues with filtered water. I never finish the pitcher. I hate having to fill it up.
    I guess I haven’t as yet discovered the joys of closure.
    Sam gets annoyed that I make everything her responsibility. Like collecting the rent, paying the bills, watering the plants, feeding the cat…I always assume she’ll take care of it because I take care of the other stuff, right? Don’t ask me to define the other stuff; right now, I’m into the intangible (Jer, Jer, Jer). Luckily, Sam always ends up doing everything, because otherwise we’d have an eviction notice, brown plants, and a dead kitty.
    I’m kidding about the cat. I’d remember to feed a cat. We don’t even have a cat, I swear.
    Sam opens the door. She and her attachment are each holding a bag of groceries.
    â€œLook at you! Sexy stuff! What are you up to tonight?”
    â€œI’m going to Orgasm.”
    Marc laughs. “Lucky you.”
    Sam giggles again, drops her bag of groceries, and grabs Marc around the waist. “The bar Orgasm, silly.”
    â€œI know. I was just teasing, Sessy Bear.”
    Marc calls Sam “Sessy Bear.” I don’t know why. I don’t even know what it means.
    â€œI know, Biggy Bear.”
    Sam calls Marc “Biggy Bear.” I don’t know why. I don’t want to know why.
    â€œWho are you going with?” Sam asks.
    â€œNat. We’re going to get very drunk and meet men. You two wanna come?” Please say no.
    â€œSounds like fun,” Marc says. “But we’re going to watch ‘L and O.’”
    Thank God.
    Sam giggles. “Is that the new name? Like SNL and KFC?”
    â€œIt’s all about acronyms now, you know,” Marc says. “If you’re nice, Sessy Bear, maybe afterwards we’ll get an ice cream from DQ.”
    â€œIs it normal that someone could be such a geek?” Sam asks me, playfully patting Biggy Bear on his behind.
    â€œYou’re the geek,” says her attachment.
    For the second time today, I think I’m going to throw up.
    After they disappear behind a thankfully closed door, I decide to prepare the instruments of our intoxication while I wait for Nat.
    I take out the vodka and two shot glasses. She’ll be here any second. I might as well pour while I wait.
    Yay! I’m going out tonight! Although I’ve never been to Orgasm, I’ve heard many detailed descriptions from Natalie. “It’s the place to be seen,” she once explained after I had lied about having too much work to do to go. As if I ever brought work home. They certainly aren’t paying me enough for that. Paying me enough, period.
    â€œAnyone who’s anyone goes there,” she said. I was slightly surprised that people besides the prom queen on TV movies actually used that expression.
    Whatever. Tonight I’ll be seen. If Natalie ever gets to my house, that is. Nat, where are you?
    Jeremy, where are you? Long, Dutch legs come to mind.
    I might as well get started and have mine. Drink, that is. Not long legs. All fantasy should be based on some degree of truth; what’s the use of yearning for something that can absolutely never happen?
    Ouch. That burns. The drink, that is, not the truth (although that, too, can jolt a girl if she lets it).
    Damn slut and her damn Dutch navel ring.
    Now Nat’s shot is just sitting there, all alone, like the last lonely chocolate chip cookie in the box.
    So I down it just as the downstairs buzzer rings. “I found something to wear,” Nat’s voice flows up through the intercom. “Come downstairs.”
    See? If I hadn’t had those shots, they would have gone to waste.

3
Orgasming
    â€œH I , HON ! S HALL WE WALK ?” Natalie asks, slinging her arm through mine.
    â€œOf course we should. It’ll only take us eight minutes.”
    â€œWhich way is it?”
    Silly Natalie. It’s not that I’m a walking compass or