Just Super.


1. Scott Bradford


For obvious reasons Scott Bradford wasn’t interested in his job. The main obvious reason being; he worked at a gas station on the outer fringes of Porkbelly, Washington[1] and the other obvious reason was it was the end of his last shift, and the start of the weekend. As he had for the last six months he hung his hat upon the ‘in and out rack’[2] and slowly pedalled through the dark alleys that lead to his house.

Scott had taken the same route multiple times, but the interesting thing about this particular Friday night is that just as he was attempting to hop a curb he felt something large and solid knock half his brains out. His face slammed into the curb, and his pants… Well they wet themselves.

Under the city street lights, Scott’s attackers appeared to multiply. Taking on various forms and sizes as they beat him. When his brain could bear the abuse no longer it said ‘ bye bye chaps.’ And Scott passed into unconsciousness. 

When Scott awoke he had no bike, a throbbing head, arms, ribs, soul, and his shoes were tied together. He was also naked from the waist up. As the badly beaten bloke stretched up and found his feet he touched the hem of his Levi’s fondly, “Fank goodness I pished them.” He said, a wobbly tooth making proper pronunciation a pain.

Scott hobbled his way home, pish from his Levi’s and blood from his forehead leaving a small trail that would become irresistible to neighbourhood dogs in the coming weeks.

By the time he’d arrived at his tiny bachelor pad, he realised that the burglars had used his keys to cut the insides of his arms and chest. Without even asking if he’d need them later the hooligans had thrown them into a drain. Scott was locked outside.

While he wasn’t a fellow to get angry quickly, Scott felt something begin to burn inside of him, and it wasn’t just the infection spreading rapidly over his body. Scott stared at his cut up fist as he realised that the burglars had been unnecessarily cruel to him. They should have just taken the bike and left.

Why? He thought, Why me?

Scott punched his front window.

As the glass cascaded onto his living room floor and his red blood cells found new openings to pour out of Scott tried to contemplate what he’d just done. But he didn’t care, he just hurt.

Stepping through the window and taking care to have his arms sliced by only four of the five remaining shards he almost tripped on his cat, who had been standing right in front of the window when it broke.

Ignoring the meows of pain coming from somewhere outside his semi-concussed mind Scott trouped into the sole living/bedroom that was his house. And unzipping the fly of his Levi’s he took a good long time to release the contents of his full bladder into the toilet.

It was only as he flushed away the red-sticky mess that he realised his bladder had still been full when he got home, which meant he hadn’t pissed in the Levis while he was unconscious.

Someone else had.

Why? Scott thought, Why me?

He collapsed onto the floor as a heat spread across his ribs and arms and face. It carried with it the thrill of infection.




While Porkbelly is now a thriving metropolis (mostly due to Scott having lived there.) back in Scott’s day it was the sort of place people go to when they’ve traveled from incredibly drab towns and need to remind themselves why they don't want to go home. 


[2] An important bit of HR technology, that effectively makes hats worn by gas station workers more important then the employees themselves.

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