An excerpt from Astral Heights: Inshidious 🍗
Chapter 1
The Three Little Pricks
"Anyone wanna order some wings?" Phil asked.
"Oh, hell yeah," Dyson said, replacing the cans on his beer hat.
"I saw Don's has wings now."
"No fuckin' way," Lakshit chuckled. "Don's ain't no chicken joint."
"Yeah, it's more like a joint joint," Dyson laughed. "Those guys are so high all the time, it's a wonder they can make a simple burger. Made of beef," he added.
"And its a wonder you can string two sentences together, being drunk all the time, Dyson, so let's not go calling the kettle black here," Phil muttered.
"Who said anything about a kettle?" Dyson asked.
"Well, we could either try Don's or stick with something we know's good," Lakshit said, getting them back on track before the inevitable further derailment.
"What do you think, Francis?" Phil asked. They all turned to him.
Francis jumped at the mention of his name. Oftentimes those three seemed to forget he was even there at all. This sometimes, by extension, made Francis forget he was there at all. As if he were in his own little realm, watching some sitcom starring his three charming roommates.
"Oh, golly, uh… well, I'd be curious to try some Don's wings," Francis piped up.
"Yeah, just call me George, 'cuz I'm curious too," Phil agreed.
"Me too," Lakshit said, taking his phone out.
"Well, if you guys feel like gambling, sure. Why not," Dyson said, then took a particularly long, loud sip as if to hint to them that it was their decisions that drove him to drink.
They watched Lakshit mess about on his phone.
"So, you're ordering, right?" Phil said impatiently.
Lakshit looked up in a daze, gazing around. "What?"
"On your phone!" Phil snapped, short temper rising.
"He's swiping on Tumble," Dyson said knowingly.
Tumble was a dating app that Lakshit spent so much time on that he might as well have used it bettering himself in some way.
But, alas.
"Well, get the fuck off Tumble and order our wings!" Phil roared.
"Why me?" Lakshit stammered.
"Because you... oh, my God. You have your FUCKING PHONE OUT!"
"Fuck, fine!" Lakshit snapped.
They watched the baseball game as Lakshit did the deed.
New Orleans didn't have their own major league team, and so they cheered for the Astros since Houston was pretty close. Plus, since their apartment building was called Astral Heights, the Astros fit right at home on their TV on nights like this.
Astral Heights was currently the highest apartment building in the world, even recently topping the Central Park Tower after the last bit of construction.
And they lived on the very top floor.
Francis could swear they only kept adding to it to be able to say they were the highest. He just hoped it was structurally safe being that high.
Lakshit finally looked up from his phone. "You guys better pay me back. Right away."
Dyson burped.
"Son of a BITCH!" Phil roared and they all jumped. Francis turned to what he was looking at. The Rangers had scored a home run.
"Don't fuckin' do that, man!" Dyson snapped, wiping beer off his chest.
Phil was in anger management, and it didn't exactly seem to be working wonders on him as of yet.
When the wings arrived, Dyson went and got them from the guy at the door since he was already up pulling new cans of beer out of the fridge.
He brought the wings to the table in the middle of the living room.
"Well, they smell good, at least," Phil said. He opened the bags and took out the white wings boxes. Then he opened one of those.
"Damn, those look hot," Lakshit said.
"Easy there, horndog," Dyson chuckled. "They're for eating, not for swiping right on."
"I don't mean hot like your mom! I mean spicy!" Lakshit clarified. "Damn, I'm scared to eat one!"
"Well, you ordered them, dipshit!" Phil said.
You TOLD me to!" Lakshit reminded him.
Phil looked at the receipt. "ALL ghost pepper? Really?"
"I didn't pay much attention, okay?" Lakshit said. "I wanted to get back to swiping."
"Well, that's just fuckin' great. A shit ton of the hottest wings. Well, who wants to be the test subject?"
"I vote Lakshit," Dyson said. "What about you, Francis? You vote him too, right?"
Francis' gaze darted from Dyson to Lakshit, not wanting to agree, but not wanting to disagree either.
"They can't be that hot," Lakshit snickered. "This is Don's we're talking about..."
He picked one up and placed the very side of it in his mouth.
He dropped it instantly, then hopped up and ran to the kitchen.
The others looked at each other incredulously.
Lakshit soon came back, head back and chugging their milk carton.
Phil glared at him, eyes nearly popping out of his head, then leaned forward and put his head in his hands as if to calm himself.
Lakshit stopped chugging to say, "Wait until you see what its like! Then you'll be begging me for this!" He shook the carton around in his hand, sloshing milk onto the rug.
Suddenly, there was a loud trio of knocks at the door, making them jump. BOOM, BOOM. BOOM.
Wolfgang.
Francis gasped and frantically hid behind the couch, which made Dyson and Lakshit snicker.
Phil sighed and went to open the door. He was always the one silently chosen as best suited to go and deal with their cantankerous landlord.
He opened it.
Francis peeked over the top of the couch.
Wolfgang took a long puff of his cigarette and blew the smoke right in Phil's face. "There's been another noise complaint," he boomed. "If you three little pricks can't shut the fuck up, I'm gonna have to throw you all out on your asses."
Francis suppressed a yelp. If they were thrown out from that ridiculous height, they would be long-dead before they landed.
"Where's chicken shit at, anyway?" Wolfgang asked, looking around.
Francis gasped and quickly lowered his head.
"Hiding from your scary ass," Francis heard Phil reply.
"Well, shoot, I'm not so scary, am I?" Wolfgang laughed a low, rumbling laugh. "Now. You three little pricks better shut the fuck up or ol' chicken shit's gonna be looking for some new roommates. Hopefully ones not as annoying as you three." He put his cigarette out on Phil's shirt, gave him a few mobster-like slaps on the cheek, and slammed the door in his face.
"Fuckin' douchebag," Phil fumed as he turned, still with his back to them, wiping ash from the front of his dark red patterned flannel shirt.
Francis shakily got up and sat nervously on the green, beat-up couch he had been cowering behind, next to the other two. He took nervous glances at the door.
Phil plopped into his usual black recliner.
"Where the chicks at?" Lakshit asked, after downing more milk.
"If you want women over, then invite them!" Phil said, also sounding like a broken record.
Lakshit looked sadly down at his phone. "I got kicked off Tumble while we were eating. Now I'm banned on every dating app I know. Even the gay ones. And I'm not even gay."
Dyson choked and his mouth promptly lost grip of his hat's two straws.
"Not on the couch!" Phil bellowed.
Instead of responding, Dyson cheered at the TV. But Francis turned to see the game was between plays, and the camera showed a player sitting on a bench chewing gum, before going to commercials.
"Well?" Phil demanded, glaring at him. "You gonna try to change the subject and just leave a beer stain on our couch?"
Dyson grumpily got up to fetch a napkin, muttering under his breath.
"Gee, it sure is nice to watch the Astros game with my bestest buddies in the whole wide world!" Francis said suddenly, unable to contain it any longer.
Dyson angrily attempted to wipe the beer off the couch as Francis started singing a song about how thrilled he was. Dyson glared at the game with deep concentration, while Lak scrolled on his phone with squinted eyes.
"I'm soooooo haaaappy, golly-oh gosh and gee! I just spend my night — with my friends so bright!"
After a few more spontaneous verses, Lakshit shoved his phone down hard and glared at Francis. "You sing like Tiny Tim and Tom Bombadil's illegitimate bastard child."
This critique caused Dyson to choke on his beer again the moment he sat down. "Fuck!" he roared, glaring down at the newest mess.
But poor Francis was hurt by Lakshit's hurtful comment. Tiny Tim was his musical hero. Sometimes it seemed like no one in the whole wide world appreciated him as much as he did.
"You're not seriously waiting for me to tell you to clean it up again?" Phil started in a dangerously calm voice.
"Dammit…" Dyson got up to get more napkins.
Their bellies soon began rumbling.
With his eyes glued to the game, Dyson slowly started reaching for a ghost pepper wing from the low table in front of them.
Phil and Lakshit exchanged amused glances and kept their mouths shut, Lakshit still sloshing milk around in his mouth to recover from his own experience with one of them.
"Uh, Dyson?" Francis said timidly.
But it was too late.
He bit off a piece of the dripping wing, a brighter orange than the surface of the sun.
Dyson's eyes bolted wide open and he emitted an ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream.
End of excerpt. 🧀
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