Read Grundish & Askew for Free Online Page B

neighbor.
    •  •  •
     
    “You should spin the arrow once in a while. And maybe dance around a little bit to get the motorists’ attention,” says Hayman to Grundish. “This is an important one for you today. They’re counting on you to get people’s interest in those two-for-one pepperoni pizzas. Now show me your moves with that arrow sign, Mister.” Hayman steps back, hands resting on cocked hips, and nods at Grundish.
    “Mr. Hayman,” answers Grundish, “I don’t dance, I’ve got a dirty whore of a hangover, and it’s too hot out there to be moving around very much. How about I just hold the sign and wave?”
    “Well, I don’t have anybody else here to take your place right now, so you’re going to have to do. But, and listen to me now and hear me later, you will not advance with this company with that poor attitude.” Hayman, in his excitement, spills a little bit of his iced mocha latte on his hand. He wipes it on his tiny shorts. “Now get out there and use that arrow to turn people toward those delicious pizzas.” Hayman walks toward the bathroom with his back turned to Grundish.
    “You bet, boss. I’ll do my best. And I might even try that dancing thing you want me to do,” says Grundish as he slips three rapid-tab boner pills in Hayman’s latte.
    •  •  •
     
    The humid Florida weather exhausts Grundish. But the boner remains. The thick exhaust from the buses, trucks, RV’s and cars assaults his lungs. And the boner [10] remains. The mental exhaustion of mindlessly waving at people who look down on him erodes his soul. But the boner remains. Grundish stands on the corner with his
Two-fer-One Pizzas
sign and tries to entice passers-by to go into PollyEyes Pizza and take them up on their deal. Jess, the lazy-eyed owner of PollyEyes, brings Grundish a piece of cold pizza and lectures Grundish on how he should dance around with the arrow sign. The pizza has olives and makes him want to puke. Grundish doesn’t know which of Jess’s eyes to look at, the one pointed directly at him or the one staring off toward traffic, as Jess tells him that when he was younger, he would have danced his ass off for $10.00 an hour. But still, the boner remains tucked in his pants, head peeking slyly out over the waistband, one eye surveyeing the scene and looking for something to spit on.
    A rusty pickup truck blurts its horn as it drives past Grundish. The driver’s kid, a freckle-splattered little girl with her front teeth missing, flashes a beautiful smile at Grundish. Momentarily, witnessing the unbridled mirth of the little girl, Grundish is touched by her innocence. For just that moment, joy stirs in his chest and begins to work its way up to his facial muscles, making his mouth twitch and form into something resembling a smile. And still his cock throbs. But, before Grundish breaks into a full-fledged grin...
SCHPLATTT
... something hits him from behind, splats on his neck, and oozes down his back.
    “Hah-hah!” screams the pimply teenager hanging out of the window of the yellow minivan. “Loooooo-zerrrr!” shouts another voice from the vehicle as it speeds away before Grundish can try to catch them. He rubs his hand on his neck and studies the goo: rotten tomato. And still his erection persists.
    “You really oughtta report those little hoodlums to somebody,” says the raspy voice behind him. “It’s ridiculous the way they taunt you.”
    Grundish turns around, shrugs his shoulders at Ms. Velda, and says nothing. His shoulders, having nothing else to say, droop. His arms hang limp at his sides. His back hunches up in a deflated lump of defeat. His day is shot. He’s been abused, humiliated, attacked, and generally beaten down.
And now
, he thinks,
ain’t this great
?
I’ve gotta take a piss test with a bloodstream full of prescription meds. And I don’t have my strap-on
. Yet still, his boner throbs.
    “Come on, I need you to go whiz for me,” says Velda, waving him in her