Meter Fairies

            In an empty parking lot late one night, Tom and Jim-Bob found themselves putting coins in the same parking meter in the same lot at the same time.

            “Why are we doing this, again?” Jim-Bob asked, shoving another quarter into the slot. They’d already wracked up 5 hours’ worth of parking time, and it had just occurred to him that he might not have any reason to be there.

            “What? You’re still stuck on this ‘why’ thing? Just because, Jim-Bob! Just because! God, every day, it’s ‘Why are we doin’ this, Tom? Why are we doin’ that, Tom? Why am I puttin’ my finger up your ass, Tom? Why’m I blah blah blah? Soon, you’re gonna have to learn to just roll with what life deals you. Sometimes you just wind up with shit-covered fingers.”

            Jim-Bob thought about that for a few seconds. It was true, he had been asking a lot of questions recently, and most of them had the word ‘why’ near the front of the sentence, if not the very first word. But Tom kept getting these weird ideas, and Jim-Bob never had been good at spontaneous shenanigans. Planning was what he did. He planned to go to work, he planned his lunch break, he planned his bathroom break, he planned on coming home most days. Some days, he didn’t, but he usually wound up back home, anyway. It was the odd day like this where he didn’t wind up going home that made him wonder what was going on. Then, he remembered that time Tom mentioned where he made Jim-Bob stick his thumb up Tom’s ass in the middle of the grocery store they went to.  Jim-Bob was just out getting some milk, lettuce, and Aspirin, when he wandered into the wrong isle and found Tom waiting for him, pants-less. There was a bit of white powder around his nose, and he seemed much happier than normal. “You never did tell me why you needed my finger. Have you ever had a finger covered in shit? It smells like ass, I don’t like it. I didn’t really appreciate what you did that time, it didn’t make any sense.”

            “Who gives a flying fuck about making sense?! You make sense every single day of your life, and look where that’s gotten you!” Tom threw his quarters down in frustration, scattering them everywhere. It was the perfect way to lose a group of thug ferrets, had there been any around.

            “I’ve got a job at the fac-“

            “That’s right, a job at the factory!”

            “What’s so bad about that? I like my job. I can get food and pay rent for my family. You live in a box on top of my neighbor’s house. I think I’m going ok.” Another clink as Jim-Bob put another quarter into the meter.

            Tom quickly picked up a quarter from the ground and shoved it into the meter, following Jim-Bob’s quarter. “But it’s SO BORING! Your life is the same as everyone else’s. So, in that, making sense has achieved you NOTHING! You won’t go anywhere. You’ve never thrown feces down a storm drain and laughed at the passers by. Will you ever be on the FBI watch list? I don’t think so. You can’t see what I see in life.”

            “You’re on the FBI watch list?”

            “No, not yet. But I’ve heard it’s an awesome club to be in, and I’m gonna crash their party.”

            “That’s fine, I guess.” Concluded Jim-Bob, as he pushed his last quarter into the slot.