Combo #3 With Chicken

When I came through the front door it smelled like nachos. For some reason fucking has always smelled like a cantina to me, not the one on Mos Eisley, more like Buford Highway. The apartment looked like it had been burglarized, but nothing was missing.

Someone had actually made an addition. Two standard poodles were sitting in the middle of the living room floor. They had mohawks. They didn't make a sound. They could've been statues.

A rolled up dollar bill and a smiley face outlined with cocaine were on the dinning room table. Some of the powder had fallen on the floor. It made a trail, like bread crumbs, to the bathroom. The door was cracked open.

I stood in the door way and was greeted by a naked man wearing a Michael Myers mask. He was taking a shit.

"Uh...Hey man...Your mom said she'd be right back."

Most people would call 911, but I know a first date when I see one.

Gridlocked

The second thought that came to mind was "Whatever you do, just don't look down." Naturally, I looked down. I was terrified. How could I not?

What surprised me; with my whole body trembling and the next rung in my hand I took the next step. Thinking back, I only recall going up two places on the ladder before I woke up.

It's not that I'm afraid of success, just the failure that precedes it.