Angel Farts
Rivi is lying on the dog bed in the sun room, a pillow under her head, leaning against the glass window. Even though it’s winter and in the low twenties outside, the skies are clear and true to form, the thermostat in the sun room reads precisely one hundred degrees. Physics is wild like that.
“You’re going to smell like a stray dog once you get out of there,” I say to Rivi.
“That’s why I’m going to use your tub before I go home,” she says. “Smell like angel farts and fairy burps.”
“That’s not… very appealing.”
“Says you. Chicks dig angel farts. That stuff sells for a hundred bucks a bottle on the dark web.”
“Did an AI tell you that?” I ask, then sip my tea.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“And then you wouldn’t get to use my tub.”
“Hunter would still let me in,” Rivi says. “She loves me.”
“You’re very loveable,” I say. “Like a feral cat with deadly claws and pretty eyes.”
“My eyes are very lovely, it’s true.” She flutters her eyelashes at me. “Maybe I can use them to lure some vapid man into buying me angel farts. Men are easy.”
“No comment,” I say. “Why are you here, anyway? You have access to your own tub at Boone and Tina’s.”
“They kicked me out for the day. Said something about needing quiet time. I don’t know what that’s about. I can be quiet. I have the ability.”
“You have the ability,” I agree. “You just don’t choose to utilize it.”
“You have the ability to not be snarky,” she says. “Oh no, wait. You don’t. I take that back.”
“I would kick you out, but it’s too much effort. Just lay there in the sun like an alligator. Don’t snap at my ankles when I’m walking past.”
“No promises,” she says. “Ankles are tasty. Not as tasty as angel farts, but you know.”
“I swear to God, you need to stay off the Internet.”
“My sources are reliable. Reliable, and mysterious. Hidden behind layers and layers and more layers. A digital onion. I don’t even know my source’s name. She just calls herself Z.”
“Z,” I say. “Like Q?”
“From Star Trek?” Rivi asks.
“I was thinking QAnon, but sure, Star Trek works.”
“Is Z a doctor?”
“Like in Planet of the Apes?” Rivi asks. “Doctor Zeus? Doctor Z?”
“I have no idea. She’s your mysterious source. I don’t wander the dark web looking for beauty secrets.”
“It’s because you’re not a woman, Sebastian. You don’t know how much work it is to remain gorgeous.”
“Obviously not.”
“I’m already working on staying youthful forever. My neighbor is a vampire, after all. It’s only a matter of time until I’m bitten.”
“You’d better enjoy that sunroom while you can then. Otherwise you’re going to turn into a crispy bit of bacon if you’re one of the undead.”
“Mmm,” Rivi murmurs. “Bacon.”
“That smells like angel farts.”
“I’ll check with Z. If it passes mustard, I’ll give it a whirl.”
“It’s not passing mustard,” I say, and then I hold up my hand. “You know what? Never mind. You go ahead and smell like mustard and bacon and farts, and I’m going to go get some work done today.”
“Just stay out of the bathroom, bub,” she says. “That tub’s going to be calling for me pretty soon.” She raises her arm and takes a sniff of her pit. “I wonder how I’m going to know when I’m done?”
“Ask Dr. Z,” I say. “I’m just a man. I don’t know anything.”
“Don’t I know it, buddy,” she says, taking another pit sniff. “Don’t I know it.”
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