The crystal coast swallows up sun and spits it out as gum on the sidewalk. A giant oak spreads its arms in the evening light while rotting planks of his brother fall off an abandoned shack in the dirt. You want to grow. You don’t.
A squirrel approaches. Can I borrow a light?
No, Squirrel. I’m trying to listen.
I was just asking for company, says Scooter, as he raises his lighter to a light bulb and inhales the fumes.
Don’t bother. I come from a different universe.
Same. Where are you from?
Same, Bygonian, says the squirrel as his eyes light up in a terrifying expansion. He jolts upright, bolts up a tree, steals an acorn from its uppermost branch, leaps down to sit next to me. Thumbs twiddling a million miles a minute. He tosses the acorn to the ocean.
So, what are you listening to.
The waves are speaking.
What are they saying.
They say they can’t speak English.
Well neither can I, I’m just a squirrel.
Oh, that’s right. I tongue the tab on the roof of my mouth.
He swims out to collect the acorn and surf it back to shore. He cracks it, chews it, spits it out tossing the shell back to the ocean.
Of course it’s dead.
I want a living one. I’m tired of veganism.
How could you possibly eat a living acorn?
All I know is this lifestyle isn’t for me. I can’t stand yoga. I’m going back to meat and meth.
You can have my cheeseburger, I say, remembering the bulge in my jacket pocket.
The squirrel backflips, stabs the tree with a switch blade, pulls on a 10 gallon hat and shreds the burger with fangs bared.
You look terrible.
He did look terrible. He had bags under his eyes, patchy fur and needed a shower.
Why can’t you let Bygones be Bygones? I’ve never felt better! Thanks for the burger, says the squirrel as he tips his hat and evaporates.
I visit the local market on the way back to the hostel to throw together a quinoa roast veggie salad.
I’m Scooter .
I’m Scooter and this is my blog.
I’m Scooter I’m a Squirrel.
I’m a depressed, nihilistic introvert who just really loves people.
I write about how life can be a bit confusing.
I write about how life is a bit tricky sometimes.
I write about many people.
I write about how I’m many people all at once.
In anything I write I try to build empathy.
I want to write but I don’t want any of it to be attributed to me.
You know, real me.
I won’t write everything.
Everything is too much.
But I want to write something.
I want to create.
And so I’m Scoots.
Thank you for reading and I hope you think of me again.
P.S. The cartoon was drawn by a former lover before I renamed Derek, Scooter