Norville took the long way home. It gave him time to think and to reflect, he told himself. It gave him time to avoid responsibility, he knew.
Norville was tired of being responsible. Not that he was tired of being held responsible for things, but simply tired of being reliable. Why couldn’t he have just stayed in perpetual adolescence like Fred? Sure he’d be living hand to mouth, but Fred seemed to do all right. He would just have to find someone more responsible than him to mooch off of.
“Responsibility sucks,” he thought.
The rain seemed to feel that its attempts to drown the entire county were inadequate, so it redoubled its efforts, buffeting Norville’s car with great sheets of angry water. The wipers tried and miserably failed to improve the situation, and visibility vanished. Norville’s pulled over to the side of the road and waited.
“I don’t know if I even have Daph’s number anymore,” he rationalized to himself. He checked his phone–her number was still in his Favorites, below Velma and above Fred.
“It’s not like I’ll get a signal in this rain anyway,” he tried. Then he tried the call.
One ring.
“She won’t pick up.”
Two rings.
“She probably–”
“Shaggy, is that you?”
Crap
“Crap.”
“What was that, Shag?”
“Sorry–had food in my mouth.”
“I figured as much. Why don’t you come down to the office? Maybe you’ll be ready for some lunch by the time you get here.”
Crap.
But he was hungry again.
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