People don't like rats. It's a fact. Lice...disease...tails...whiskers...it's okay to hate vermin. Perhaps even understandable. Some people lay spring loaded traps or purchase delicious bits of poison. Because it's okay to kill...as long as the thing you're killing happens to have a tail and whiskers.
Hop in your car and take a trip into a city…a place where rats and people are the same thing. Scumbags, punks, and all forms of low lives prowl every street corner that offers smoke and beer. Things can’t get any worse…until a lab rat escapes from its cage and wanders into an urban jungle.
Mortimer walks inside 24/7 Breakfast & Dining and sits alone inside of a far corner booth. The front door opens and in steps a man wearing a gray suit. He barks into a large, black rectangular contraption.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. He’s finished. I’ll deal with him.”
He sits on a metal stool beside Mortimer and grabs a vacant newspaper beside a crusty bottle of ketchup.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll take care of it.”
The newspaper crackles in his hands while Mortimer stares at the inky bearer of bad news. The guy in the gray suit snaps his fingers.
“Hey, hey…sweetie…do you mind taking my order? I’m on my break.”
He crumples the newspaper as Mortimer squints. A fly lands on the counter and steps inside a greasy oasis. The man in the gray suit rolls-up the newspaper.
He slowly raises the newspaper—tongue hanging out of his mouth. The fly spins around: bulbous red eyes glow under a flickering light. The newspaper eclipses the fly.
“Haha! Right on! I got that little fucker! Did you see that? Never seen it coming!” The man in the gray suit says while tapping Mortimer’s shoulder.
“Are you ready to order?” The waitress says.
The man in the gray suit spins around.
“Cupcake…I’m always ready…give me a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. And coffee.”
The man in the gray suit smiles at the dead fly, he winds up the newspaper and slaps it toward a magazine rack.
“Sir, excuse me, can you please stop that?” Mortimer says.
He smirks at Mortimer while the waitress slides a plate of food in front of his face.
“Sugar…you forgot my coffee.”
He drags the porcelain plate along the counter as Mortimer snarls. The waitress drops a mug down on the counter.
The man in the gray suit opens the newspaper—a cacophony of crackling floats into Mortimer’s eardrums.
“Excuse me, sir, can you please stop doing that?”
He spins around on the stool—his mouth full of charred pig skin and yellow, puffy matter.
“Listen, pal, I ain’t got time for you, alright? Fuck off.”
He turns around and shakes his head.
Mortimer stands up and bashes the man’s face into his plate of charred pig skin.
Shards of porcelain stick out of the man’s forehead while Mortimer wipes his mouth and exits the diner……CLICK TO CONTINUE READING!!!!
Everyone has a little rat in them