The Sign

“It’s like an Uncrustable, except it’s a cookie.” “Shut up Jimmy. I wanna go to sleep,” I said, jarred away by the light of the desk lamp. “Some of us have work in the morning.” Jimmy pulled out a butter knife and a Chips-Ahoy to demonstrate his business proposal. “People like cookies, see, but they don’t really like the crusty outer bit. All anybody really wants is the gooey center.” “You’re ruining a perfectly good chocolate chip,” I muttered through my pillow. Jimmy didn’t pay me any mind. I listened to the sounds of frustration as the cookie fell apart in his hand. His was the sort of crazy idea that made me think of Ashley, not that they would’ve ever gotten along. She had once figured out how to hack into this electronic road sign off I-680 but, rather than write about “zombie invasions” (something Jimmy would’ve done) she used it to try and contact the owner of a small yorkie she had found. We fought a lot over those next several weeks. You can’t imagine the kind of people we had stopping by at all hours of the day and night and she refused to take down our address. She did find the owner in the end. She also found a new guy, some athletic trainer, and a new place as well. The last time I saw her was on a bus ride out of the Mission District. She was off to a job interview with some high-profile telecom firm. She didn’t need my sorry ass any more. Jimmy had nearly emptied the box when I realized that sleep simply wasn’t going to come. I heard a squeal of excitement and looked up to see him looking intently at his hand. “Look at this Jake, just look.” I looked at the floor around him. “You know you’re gonna sweep that up.” “Come on Jake, can you just look for a second? I’ve done it. It’s perfect.” I looked at the scanty remains in his hand. “That’s awfully small,” I said. “We can always make the centers larger.” I looked back down at the crumbs and laughed, planting my face again into my pillow. “It sure is nice to think so.”