FICTION: DOGSIDE
can a werewolf survive a terrible fast food shift?
Today’s post is a short story for our paid subscribers. But before we set off:
CLOWN ABOUT TOWN, the final volume of my Harley Quinn run, is out March 25th, giving you time to pre-order from your favorite comic shop or book retailer.
I’ve also opened pre-orders at TINIHOWARD.COM/STORE. If you want to reserve a signed copy now, go ahead and buy one at the link and we will ship it on release day.
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Thank you! And now a short story: “DOGSIDE.”
DOGSIDE
by TINI HOWARD
In humans, the ability to hear high frequency sounds tops out at around 20,000Hz. The TasteMax Now! POS System, during the busy shift, can get all the way up to 44 or 45,000Hz. I’m the only one who can hear it, and it’s driving me fucking insane.
I shake my head to clear, grabbing Mercedes’ shoulder as she fills the sour cream bag. “HEY.” I'm shouting. It's a struggle to be heard over the microwaves and cash registers, the irate garbled noises from the drive-thru speaker. “We’re good for this weekend, right?”
She turns, and for a moment her lip rings look like fangs in the light. Always a comfort. “Huh? Yeah, I’ll work these next three days, you work next time off for me?”
“Yep, that’s fine. Just fine.”
“Your parents are so weird,” she laughs, bagging four Taco Blasts atop an order of Nacho Average Nachos. “They’re seriously not at all negotiable on what days you see them? Like they don’t care if you lose your job or get kicked out of school, you have to be there?”
She’s so genuine in a way that’s almost stupid, and I can’t look her in the eye. I focus on a few packets of taco sauce that have escaped their small plastic corral. Milds fallen in with Fuego. Fuegos tossed around with the Salsa Verde. The sorting kickstarts my brain. “Nah. They’re really strict. It’s like, a Catholic thing.”
“Really?” She thrusts the bag out of the drive thru window, sliding the window shut during a request for taco sauce packets. “That’s weird, I’m Catholic too, but I don’t really like…care about it. Is it a holiday?”
I scratch at a fresh pink scar on my arm. “Different sect. Orthodox Catholic.”
“Oh.” That works for her, which works for me. I run to the schedule clipboard hanging beside the OSHA regulations and cross my own name out, replacing it with hers. May 11-14. Mercedes.