Colonized Mike, Ch. 2: ALLERGIC TO SPINE

by Smiley McGrouchpants

            A parking ticket . . . what the fuck?
            Colonized Mike smoothed his tie.  This would take some doing, some savoir faire . . . probably the meter maid was just up the block, and could be persuaded to see the error of her ways, and repent.
            He strode past his black Lamborghini, and, being careful to look both ways before crossing the street (don't need a jaywalking ticket — ha ha!), he took up the chase.
            This'll just be like one of the many girlfriends from Long Island I played “father figure” to at SUNY Alfredo, he thought, almost consciously — but, in true “turn his head when he hears a noise” fashion, it was certainly what he was doing.
            There she is! he thought, spying someone in uniform way up the block, though it might've just been the mailman.  Or UPS.
            Fuck it! he thought, and tore the ticket to shreds.  Suddenly terrified, he picked up all the pieces frantically — he had a spine allergy, in addition to being lactose intolerant — and shoved them back in his suit coat pocket.
            My secretary'll tape them up and pay for it out of petty cash, he thought, feeling better, his panic subsiding by a peg.
            He breathed in and out, pedestrian traffic having to separate around him.  Fuck 'em.

            Otherwise, it was an uneventful day.

            He thought.