Klib placed the bag on the counter and took out a sandwich. And now you have read the most boring sentence to begin a story ever. The bag, the counter, the sandwich, even Klib: nothing even remotely interesting.
Okay, maybe he drops the sandwich, hits his head on the counter when he bends to pick it up, knocks himself out. His wife walks in to see him folded on the floor, assumes he’s drunk or stoned, and walks back to the bedroom.
Or maybe it’s some subtle, symbolic stuff: Klib is Everyman; the bag is his life; the sandwich is a memory. Too obvious. Klib is the Journey; the bag is a dream he has had since he was a kid; the sandwich is the last vestige of this dream, sitting now on the Counter of Indifference.
Klib unwrapped the sandwich, went to the fridge, took out a beer, returned to the counter, placed the beer on the counter, picked up half of the sandwich, and took a bite.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door, which wasn’t supposed to happen, this being an apartment building with a buzzer and intercom and all that. But the narrative takes precedent over those hurdles known as Reality. So, for the sake of the story, the sudden knock on the door.
Not bothering to put down the sandwich, Klib goes to the door, opens it and sees the most beautiful woman he has ever beheld. Now, he really does almost drop his sandwich.
She smiles and says, “Hello, I’m Raven.”
“Um…Hello.”
“I just moved into 12N and I wanted to say hello to my new neighbors. I just flew in from….” Klib didn’t hear a word she said; so lovely was this woman that all of his other senses surrendered to his eyes so his enchantment would know no impediments. Imagine getting a glimpse of Heaven and your phone rings.
Or worse: your wife comes out of the bedroom.
Klib had the chance to merge his natural eloquence with his ability to handle suddenly-awkward situations, so he turned to his wife, then back to Raven, then back to his wife, and said, “Uh….uh……”
Kelly – the wife – stepped to the door, held out her hand, introduced herself and invited Raven in. “Coffee?”
“Oh, no, I was telling your….um….husband? boyfriend?…that I just wanted to introduce myself. Your new neighbor. Can I take you up on that coffee another time?”
Another pleasant exchange or two, Raven left, Kelly gently closed the door, turned to Klib and said, “Wipe the drool off your face, Romeo, and come to bed,” then went back to the bedroom.
How that chicken sandwich survived this is a miracle. Klib put it back on the counter, He couldn’t finish it. In the time it took for him to perform this act, Klib questioned his entire life and envisioned an entirely new one. There is a word for this: screwed.
Kelly, being no slouch in her understanding of human nature, could anticipate her spouse’s state of mind and the predictable inactions that would follow. Klib was a self-professed coward. Not one to pursue miracles that may or may not have been delivered to his doorstep by Fate or Destiny or some angel or devil, he would lust for this woman forever and do absolutely nothing about it. It wasn’t about being faithful, but about abiding to that aforementioned cowardice. Because Kelly knew his nature, she had not waited for him to propose to her; she handled the entire engagement routine knowing Klib would nod his head and say “yes” at all the right times.
Image: A sandwich on a board – is it chicken? we don’t know but it could very well be – from Pixabay.com
literally stories 
Ha! Made me laugh while also wanting to slap Klib upside the head – nicely judged and well written.Another great start to the week!
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I wonder if he will wake in the night, remember the sandwich, feel hungry and trip over his slippers on the way to the kitchen. This is so well done that you could go on and on with the options and yet you have drawn poor old Klib so well. What a dope – thanks for this entertaining start to the week – dd
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T.A.
A good wake up piece for the week. One must protect the sandwich at all costs, and avoiding the neighbors might be a good place to start.
Leila
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