Leonard sat at the counter of the diner nursing his coffee and applying for jobs on his laptop. He
was sixty-two years old, recently laid off, wondering if he’d ever work again and how he’d
manage when his 401(k) ran out.
was sixty-two years old, recently laid off, wondering if he’d ever work again and how he’d
manage when his 401(k) ran out.
An octopus climbed up on the stool beside him, suckers popping on the vinyl. Half its
arms draped over the counter in a casual way, bulbous head lolling to the side with rubbery
weight. Some kind of compact regulator fit into a funnel-like structure that appeared to be part of
its respiratory system.
The waitress strolled over with her order pad, showing no alarm. “What’ll it be, honey?”
she said.
“The usual, Sandy,” the octopus said.
She placed a half-full pitcher of water on the counter and left. Leonard, shocked and self
conscious, tried not to stare back into the large slot-like eye examining him.
A slender arm snaked into the pitcher, then bathed the octopus’s bell with water. “Looking for work?” it said.
“Yeah,” Leonard said with a laugh of surprise. “The last time I applied for a job was
through a want ad in the newspaper. It’s tough out there.”
through a want ad in the newspaper. It’s tough out there.”
“Is it?” the octopus said.
“Yeah,” Leonard said, feeling a little more comfortable. “Hey, sorry to even bring it up,
but this kinda reminds me of that joke.”
but this kinda reminds me of that joke.”
“What joke is that?” the octopus said.
Robert P. Kaye’s stories have appeared in New Letters, SmokeLong Quarterly, Gulf Stream, Penn Review and elsewhere, with details at www.RobertPKaye.com. He hosts the Works In Progress open mic at Hugo House in Seattle and is an editor at Pacifica Literary Review.
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