“Mr. Fupa Scrubs With a Long-Handled Loofa” (Flash Fiction piece, 434 words)

His non-descript black sneakers; probably the Etonic brand, leaned outward, yet flat, as he walked. The rest of his outfit was what you expect from a behemoth who lost the ability to contain any type of coitus in his marital status—light blue jeans, and a blue shirt—not navy, but not quite baby blue. It was the kind of blue that you find at those big-n-tall stores where they just throw fabric together and hope it comes out looking like an article of clothing.

The attitude he carried, as he pushed his glasses up on his fat nose; one would believe that women dreamed of him silently as they sat next to their significant other, watching their favorite fantasy on a television show. He called out to me, but I’d heard him the first time; it’s just that I don’t hurry myself for people that might die if they turned up the dial on their own strut, to ‘brisk’.

“New guy—you.” I turned and stuck one of my digits in my chest, hoping he’d see that there was hardness there. Hoping he’d see that and think about giving his wife something that he hadn’t given her, probably since before she was married to him.

“I supposed you mean me,” I quipped. I looked in him in his round face, as he sat on the cement base of a light post. I said a brief prayer for the block, and for Humpty’s fall; but that didn’t happen before I made my way to…