At Fred Meyer for overpriced bread and Buddig, I almost literally bumped into my talkative flatmate Dean. He's hard to miss — always overdressed, with a silk shirt, usually a tie and a 1950s-style gentleman's hat.

Of course, he wanted to talk. He always wants to talk, so he said hello amidst the mayonnaise and mustard, and started talkity-talk-talking.

Ah, jeez.

I was in no mood for a surprise one-way conversation from Dean, and certainly not at the grocery store. I smiled and nodded but said nothing, just kept walking, same as I usually do when he wants to talkity-talk-talk at me in the kitchen at home.

Onward to the cash register, where again as always I asked for a loyalty card application. I'll never fill one out, but asking for a card gets the prices discounted to merely high instead of ridiculously high.

Then I drove home, and felt something unfamiliar as I turned my key, walked into the house.

You know that nagging feeling, when something is wrong but you're not sure what? This was the opposite of that. Something was right, but what? For a moment I didn't understand, until I walked into the kitchen, set down my groceries, and — there was no apprehension, no need to rush.

Dean wasn't home. And I knew it. Which means, just this once, there was no chance he'd emerge from his room to tell stories about his long and illustrious career as a chef in four-star restaurants

It was such a splendid moment that I had to pause, and simply stand in front of the sink for a few minutes, looking out the kitchen window and feeling fine.

You know, two other men live in this house, and neither of them ever bother me with stupid conversation about stupid things. I even kinda like one of them, Robert. We usually nod and say nothing, but sometimes we talk about the weather, the Mariners — and then we say toodles, and he never keeps talking to stop me from walking away.

Just now, Robert and I had the perfect flatmates' conversation. I'd pooped and flushed and even washed my hands, and then I emerged from the bathroom and found him sitting in the kitchen chair, where you wait for your tun in the bathroom.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," said I.

"Not a problem," said he, and then I turned and walked into my room, with nary another word between us.

That's what life in a shared house is supposed to be like. It's not supposed to always be talkity-talk-talk, like it is with Dean.

With neither air conditioning nor screens on the windows, this house has always had flies circling in every room, all spring and summer, maybe in winter too. Last week, the landlord actually spent some money on the house — first instance in recorded history, says Robert — and installed cheap but workable screens on the kitchen window.

Now the flies can't get in via those windows, but they can still get in via the bedroom, living room, and laundry room windows, and via the doors, which are often propped open for a breeze. All the incoming flies are still drawn to the kitchen by its smells and grease and garbage, but now they can't get out, so they circle in the air and die on the floor pr on the stove top.

There are 37 fly corpses are on the kitchen floor at the moment. Been there for days, because none of us care enough to sweep them away. There are also several in the bathroom and hallway.

My room always has at least half a dozen flies flying around, and my plan was to put up with it because who cares. But one of them flew into my mouth this morning as I was yawning, so I've mail-ordered the same brand of screens for both my windows, too.

And now, the news you need, whether you know it or not…

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Historians privately warn Biden that America's democracy is teetering

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Nursing homes sue residents’ friends, family to collect unpaid debt

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Walgreens played 'substantial' role in San Francisco opioid crisis, judge finds

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Vos fires Gableman, ending scandal-plagued 2020 election investigation in Wisconsin

After spending more than $1 million in taxpayer dollars to investigate election conspiracy theories over the last 14 months, threatening to jail the mayors of Madison and Green Bay for refusing to comply with his order that they give secret testimony, and being held in contempt by Wisconsin courts for failing to produce public records related to the investigation, Gableman had, according to one of the judges who sanctioned him, found no evidence of fraud.

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Howard Carter stole Tutankhamun’s treasure, new evidence suggests

Of course he stole it. Did anyone think he owned that stuff? How is this even news?

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Miniature micro-cars can serve a niche in cities.

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Swarms of mini robots could dig the tunnels of the future

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Life on the Internet is a 1996 TV documentary from PBS, all about the marvels of the internet. By now the show is a quaint antique, but enjoyable, and only slightly marred by the annoying narration of NPR's Scott Simon.

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Climate activists fill golf holes with cement after water ban exemption

Oh, yeah, baby. Excellent.

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In rare move, school librarian fights back in court against conservative activists

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'Taste of his own medicine': Plane flies "Ha Ha Ha" banner over Trump's Mar-a-Lago home

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List of people who have been considered deities

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List of sexually active popes

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One-word newscast, because it's the same news every time...

• climate • climate • climate • climate

• cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops• cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops

• Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans • Republicans

♦ ♦ ♦

The End

• Raymond Briggs

• Paul Coker

• Anne Heche

• Dee Hock

• David McCullough

• Roger Mosley

• Leon Rosenberg

8/14/2022
Tip 'o the hat to Linden Arden, ye olde AVA, BoingBoing, Breakfast at Ralf's, Captain Hampockets, CaptCreate's Log, John the Basket, LiarTownUSA, Meme City, National Zero, Ran Prieur, Voenix Rising, and anyone else whose work I've stolen without saying thanks.
Extra special thanks to Becky Jo, Name Withheld, Dave S, Wynn Bruce, and always Stephanie...