MILO, Pt. 1

This is something I wrote in hopes of making a very broadened, expandable short of.

It was 2041, 21 years after a deplorable year for each and every person living in America. She stood up too quickly and soon fell back over. She clicked on her SeeMore glasses and checked the weather and what she had planned from the night before to wear, yet had forgotten to write down.

Skip that. Lets go back to 2013. A year she never thought to think of, but the year that held the most potential for her future: career, love, friendships, that she needn’t forge.

‘The teachings, good, bad, or indifferent, were a warning. It wasn’t going to be easy.’ -John Ashberry

‘Would you like to donate a dollar to Research for Humanity and the Arts?’

‘Huh?’

‘Just asking if you’d like to donate-‘

‘Oh, no no no I get that. Just going through the process of figuring out what the fuck this research firm is before I make my final decision, sister.’

‘Well, it’s-‘

‘I mean sweetheart it’s a scam, and hey you don’t gotta tell me, and I wouldn’t tell your manager or nothing about you telling me it’s actually ‘Mr. Happy over there’s Get Me Out of This Shit Job Fund While the Getting’s Good,’ pointing to a stout man of about 50 with an expensive hairpiece and poor man shoes, that’s all well and good. But I don’t know why you’re helping this schmuck. If you were honest, hell, I’d donate two.’

She looked disinterested and began again. ‘The charity you’d be donating to helps find cures for cancer and other people with medical issues, Beth Israel funds it a bit…’

‘Alright, yeah no I’m good for today. I mean, ‘Research for Humanity & The Arts’, could’ve thought of something a little more creative, am I right sister? Have a good one, lay off that lipstick too if I’d be so bold. Eek.’

Milo Scheon showed up only 25 minutes late to the gig and received minimal complaints from the management team he was supporting for the night.
‘You know I love Underwear the Message; I think their sound is soulful yet waspy. Do you feel that Milo?’
‘You know, man,’ he started, ‘I don’t dig their sound. At all.’
‘Yeah, man, I respect your opinion, I just wanna know what you think of their sound.’
‘Sound? They sound like shit, man.’
‘Milo, for once, can we just intelligently talk about a band?’
‘Brad, there is not a chance in hell that I’m gonna talk intelligently about a band from Worcester who sings about creaming their pants during a school day. I mean, what the fuck is school, man?’
‘Milo, you always get so defen-‘
‘Brad, shut the fuck up. Remind us all about your glory days with, what was the name-right, Porno-Holics?’
Everyone backstage laughed, even the bassist for Underwear the Message who, although hurt by Milo’s comments, found him irresistible.
‘What’s the story, what’s the line-up? In other words, when do we get to go home and when will Gale send out the checks for this week?’
Brad shrugged and turned to the guy next to him. ‘August?’ he inquired to him.
August had a way of never knowing jack shit.
‘He told me last night he’d be here today. So, tomorrow.’
But bulshat anyway.
‘Yeah, yeah and he said a few other things. I may be auditioning for Godscum!’
‘You mean that Godsmack cover band? With two 13 year olds and a mother?’
‘Hell yeah! The Brady Bunch is together again.’

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