Prologue: Don't Panic?
Posted 6.21.02

The universe is made up of more galaxies then one can count, innumerable solar systems, and a devastatingly infinite number of planets.

Roger Davis, at that moment in time, felt that they were all somehow working against him.

Roger was very beautiful. Not that that was something he enjoyed hearing. He was rough and grungy with bleached blonde hair and a handful of frightening punk tattoos. He was the lead singer and guitarist in a rock band. He lived on the edge, and looked it. Yes, no one got away with calling Roger Davis beautiful. Unless their name happened to be Mark Cohen.

Mark seemed to be the polar opposite of Roger. Short and small with natural sandy blonde hair and inquisitive glasses-adorned eyes, he was very drab, very normal, and very geeky. Many of their friends often wondered how the hell they had gotten together in the first place. Roger would normally laugh and attribute it to something in the water, but everyone knew that they loved each other very much and were basically perfect compliments.

Well, usually loved each other very much.

"I swear to god it wasn't my fault!"


It was one of those days when Roger was starting to doubt that Mark had any other thought on his mind besides homicide. It had started out simply enough. Mark had an interview. Roger kissed him goodbye, they had sex in the downstairs broom closet while waiting for Mark's cab, and then Roger came back upstairs to try and write a song. It didn't work very well. He decided it would work much more efficiently if he had food. Eating was one of his favorite hobbies. It was right up there with playing the guitar, writing songs, and having sex. Food would help him write a song. That, apparently, didn't work very well either, because when he opened the refrigerator, there was no food. Roger stared at the empty shelves, closed the door, and opened it again. Still nothing. With a simmering glare at the kitchen appliance, Roger stalked back to his guitar and proceeded to write a song about how hungry he was.

"Where's the beef? / It was in the fridge! / Where's the sweets? / They were in the fridge! / I'm so hungry..."

His disgustingly pitiful lyrics were interrupted by the phone ringing. Roger sighed and picked it up. "Hello? Hi Mrs. Cohen. No.... no.... Mark's not here... a message? Sure..." Roger did his best to discreetly yawn. "Yeah, I've got a pen.... Thursday? Well, hm, I think Mark might be... dinner?! Oh, we're both free, sure, what time?.... no, six is fine, Mark will be thrilled! Thanks... bye!"

It wasn't until he had smiled, congratulating himself for fixing the food problem that he realized that Mark did not want to see his mother. And that his mother probably did not want to see the two of them. At least, not at the same time. At least, not at the same time the way they usually were when they were together, namely with their tongues down each other's throats.

"Shit. Mark's gonna be fucking pissed..."

To Be Continued...

Get the Hang of Thursday...

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