TumbleDweeeb

“”I’ll tell you what. Creative writing is an awesome platform and easy to do. All you gotta do is think and write, jot down just anything your mind tells you to,” Emmitt said as his left index finger slid up his nose. “I’ll tell you what, if them Trash Pandas don’t beat the Lookouts tonight, I’ll never attend a game again.” He said as he pulled out a slimy, green booger and flicked it to the ceiling. “Seems like every time Chattanooga comes to Huntsville we lose.”
   John grimaced, leaning away slightly. “Man, that’s disgusting. Could you not do that while we’re talking?” He shook his head and continued, “Anyway, I think you’re being dramatic about the Trash Pandas. They’ve got that new pitcher from Double-A, and I heard the Lookouts are missing their star outfielder. We’ve got a decent shot.”
   Emmitt began picking his right nostril, not pulling out anything this time. “Man, everybody’s got boogers, it’s either blow your nose or pick it to get them out quicker.” Looking up at the ceiling, there must have been 20 dried boogers or more, just dwelling there, waiting to fall down but glued by snot. “We may have a chance this year, but it seems like the Pandas can’t perform when Chattanooga is around…” He paused his nostril excavation. “Hand me that socket wrench and a three-quarter, will ya? I got one last bolt to tighten and we’ll be finished with this dang lift for another couple of weeks.”
  John reached for the toolbox and rummaged through it, picking out the socket wrench and the three-quarter inch socket. He handed them to Emmitt with a look of mild disgust still on his face.
   “You know, one of these days all those boogers are gonna rain down on somebody’s head,” John said, gesturing toward the ceiling. “Probably mine, knowing my luck.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and stepped back from the car lift. “And for what it’s worth, I think the Trash Pandas have a real shot this weekend. Miller’s been pitching like a man possessed lately. Maybe this is the series we finally break the Lookouts curse.”
   He watched Emmitt tighten the final bolt. “Anyway, you still want to grab those beers after work? Game’s on at seven, and Tommy said he’d save us seats at Rocket Republic.”
   “Nah, you know I don’t do well in them kinda settings. I’d rather go home, sit on my lowrider couch and watch the Big Bang Theory. I’ll keep up with tonight’s game with Alexa & Google alerts,” Emmitt said as he placed the socket wrench down on the floorboard. “Plus, if you remember correctly, the last time we went I got into a small argument with that wannabe, tie-dyed wearing, Willie Nelson, Jerry Garcia wannabe that prefers football over baseball. I had to hear that shit all through the game.”
   John chuckled, remembering the incident. “Yeah, that guy was something else. Kept going on about how baseball was ‘boring’ and ‘too slow’ while wearing that ridiculous tie-dye bandana that he swore was blessed by a Himalayan yogi who could communicate with the ghost of Babe Ruth through crystal vibrations.” He shook his head as he helped Emmitt gather the tools.
   “Fair enough about staying home. Your lowrider couch does sound comfortable, I’ll give you that.” John closed the toolbox with a metallic snap. “Big Bang Theory reruns sounds like a money saver to me. But Tommy’s buying the first round tonight, and I promised I’d show.”
   He wiped a smudge of grease from his hands and glanced up nervously at the booger collection on the garage ceiling. “I’ll text you updates on the game though. Maybe you’ll change your mind if the Pandas start crushing it early.” He ducked slightly as an air conditioning vent turned on. “And I promise to keep you away from any football-loving hippies. Though honestly, I think the bar might be cleaner than this garage ceiling of yours. One day, man… gravity’s gonna win,” he snickered.