A Beacon Vince Told Tuesday
“Wanna get out of here?” I ask her.
“I’m a beacon Vince told Tuesday,” she replies with a confusing sense of confidence.
“Who’s Vince? and who cares what he said on Tuesday?” I ask.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,”she says to me unapologetically.
“You literally just said Vince told Tuesday he’s a beacon. I have no idea what that means.”
“I said I maybe convinced too old to stay and if you didn’t interrupt me I’d have finished saying too old to stay here. Meaning, yeah let’s go,” she clarifies her homophonically ambiguous previous response.
My facial expressions betray me faster than I can formulate a verbal seduction to counter the imbalance the phonetic fumbling invoked. She senses my misplaced heroism and callously rescinds her charity with minimalist styled wording to match her disgust.
“I’d like to stay, save instant…” she begins the gentle rejection I’ve heard all too many times before.
“No, it’s cool. I get it, you don’t have to…” I repeat the least dignity dissolving my arsenal has to offer.
“Why don’t you ever let me finish?” she asks, interrupting my interrupting her predictable response.
“Look, I know what you’re going to say, and I appreciate you saying it softly,” I say as I grow increasingly febrile from my awkwardly failed escape…”
“I was trying to say Hide like Tuesday’s a Vince ten times over but you interrupted me again,” she corrects me with the same confidence I falsely assigned before.
“Wait! What? That makes no sense?” I plead despite having already abandoned any chance or hope.
“I know, right?” she agrees, reviving the confusion I just resolved moments ago, “now let’s get out of here before Vince and Tuesday show up,” she explains, pulling me to the exit with the enthusiasm only found after returning victorious from battle.