"I´m just really uncomfortable with the lack of questions if I´m related to Will Smith", the writer says as he sips his coffee. » Y G H M®: the stories, yo
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“I´m just really uncomfortable with the lack of questions if I´m related to Will Smith”, the writer says as he sips his coffee.

“I´m just really uncomfortable with the lack of questions if I´m related to Will Smith”, the writer says as he sips his coffee.

I take off my glasses; why does this dude keep talking?

“And”, I reply as I pick up my taza and recline in my cafe at the cafe, “who is that?”

The writer pauses; he hasn´t seen the botanical garden at Amistoso Park?

“He´s the architect that designed the wildlife sanctuary at the park on the outskirts of town. I mean… come on… everyone knows who he is!”

I pause; I don´t get out of the house enough… maybe I´ll go to the movies this weekend?

“Why would people confuse you too or think that you would be related?”

The writer gasps.

“Isn´t it obvious–work ethic, nasal bone structure, excessive amounts of sugar in coffee”, he pauses and takes a breath, “I could continue but I think that you get the point.”

I pause; I don´t think that I asked for sugar in this coffee… it tastes just kinda of… blah… blah is the word that I would use to describe it… like BLAH not blah.. like with emphasis… like you know sugar without coffee is like… you know… it´s like a day without sunshine… like… yeah… you know that it exists… but it is not great… but if it´s raining… that´s cool… I really enjoy rainy days… hot chocolate… I want a hot chocolate now… fuck this sugarless motherfuckin´ coffee… give me hot chocolate.

I put my hand in the air; the waiter comes over.

“Excuse me, good sir”, I say as I turn my head to the young lady with the red shirt, “may I have a hot chocolate.”

I pause; probably want to double down with the coffee and sugar, also.

“Also”, I continue as I pick up my taza, “I think there is a serious lack of sugar in this coffee. Can you remedy this situation?”

She pauses; why the fuck is he talking in a Scottish accent?

“It was a delicious hot chocolate”, I tell Edinbro as I put the marshmellow on the stick, “we had plans to make it to the beach this weekend with my daughter but then the car broke and we don´t have cellphone reception on Planet LSODi so here we are, instead, waiting for the light in the morning to get back to hitching a ride to the mechanic to get the repairs for the spacejet.”

“What do you think is wrong with it?”, he asks as he places the stick with the marshmellow above the fire, “you know that I have a digitalfabricator and can help out, if you know what the problem is.”

“I think that it´s a sparkplug”, I reply as I turn my head to him and then look away, “there was an issue and they replaced them but I think that in the tune-up, they used faulty equipment.”

“Hmmm….”, he replies as he stands up and takes the marshmellow off the stick, “I think I have what you need.”

He turns around and takes a step towards his spacejet; moments later, he returns with a dusty torn manual–Spacejet Repair in the DigitalAge.  He strums through the pages until stopping on one; he puts his pointer finger on the page and slowly slides it down until stopping.

“Here it is”, he remarks as he turns the manual to me, “this says that code )MMD(Fh3m in the digitalfabricator will manufacture sparkplugs for your model.”

I pause; oh… that´s genius!

“How much do we pay you?”, I ask as I lower my eyebrows.

“Oh!”, he replies as he turns and takes a step towards his spacejet, “it´s free–always happy to help out a fellow traveler.

He opens the passenger door and throws the marshmellow and stick into the machine; he turns his head to me.

“We need to start with matter before we make your fix”, he replies as he chuckles.

Well I guess that he´s helping out, I think as I pretend to laugh at his joke.

Moments later, the laser starts building the set of sparkplugs; moments after that, he lifts the protective shield and picks up the new pieces; next, he goes to my spacejet and inserts them into my engine; he turns to me.

“Try it now”, he says as he gives me the thumbs up signal, “it should work.”

I pause; oh man… my marshmellow is not done yet. Sad face.  

I get up and take a step towards the spacejet; I put the keys in the ignition; it starts right up; I smile.

“Hey dear”, I say as I gentle shake my wife awake, “looks like it´s fixed.”

She opens her eyes in the backseat and shifts in the seat; moments later, she´s asleep again; I turn to him and then back to her; I shift the blanket to cover her exposed feet; I get out of the spacejet.

“Hey, thanks!”, I tell him as I put my hand out to shake, “I really appreciate it.”

He puts his arms out and jumps towards me with a hug; my anxiety goes through the roof; I pause and count to 3; I step back and tap him on the shoulder.

“Well”, I reply as I turn my head away and then back to him, “thanks for helping!”

I turn around; moments later, I start the spacejet; it lifts off the ground; shortly afterwards, we are back on the spacehighway; the light from sun RLMC illuminates the cabin as we round Planet PVMC; I take a sip of coffee; my wife stirs in the backseat.

“Oh”, she replies as she leans forward, “we´re back on the road? What happened?”

I pause; I take another sip of coffee.

“Our new friend helped out by creating some new sparkplugs for the spacejet.”

“Oh!”, she replies as she leans back in the seat and looks around for her soda, “that´s nice.”

She pauses; I wonder what I did with it?

“You would think”, I reply as I hit cruise control and the vehicle shifts into digitalautodrive, “he was a hugger.”

My wife gasps.

“Glad to be back on the road!”, she remarks as she leans back.

“I agree”, I reply as I also recline my chair and shut my eyes.

We arrive at the beach to spend the weekend with HR 12.8 days later, in the morning.

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