I always knew that Mr. Wide-Ass would die a tragic death. A man like him with a body like an old couch and a mouth that was faster than his brain could never have a graceful end. I just didn’t expect it to end so soon, and more importantly, in front of me.
That day, I was enjoying a hateful afternoon at the Coffee & Lies Café, a place where the coffee tasted like burnt charcoal and the waiters considered smiling a sign of weakness. I sat at a corner table, my favorite place to watch people fail at their lives—a cheap entertainment.
Across from me sat him, a creature God created on a lazy day: Mr. Wide-Ass. A man whose volume was not only in his voice, but also in the diameter of his body. If he fell on the road, the government would probably put up landslide warning signs.
As usual, he was chewing something with the intensity of a ruminant cow. This time it was a croissant, which looked like it was suffering between his teeth.
"I think the world is too hard on geniuses like me," he said, brushing off crumbs with his shovel-sized hand.
I snorted. "Yeah, yeah. The world is cruel. Especially to people who think genius is measured by the volume of their voices."
He didn't hear me. Of course he did. Listening wasn't his thing.
"I'm thinking of a new startup. It's revolutionary," he said, in the tone a false prophet would use when announcing false revelations.
I took a sip of my coffee, trying to resist the urge to bang my head on the table. "Oh yeah? What's this? An app that turns farts into NFTs?"
He laughed, like a pig who'd just found a free pile of corn. "No! It's bigger than that! Imagine a world where people could rent friends!"
I stared at him. "That already exists. It's called society."
He raised a stubby finger, like a drunken philosopher who'd just discovered the meaning of life at the bottom of an empty glass. "But this is more specific! People can pay to have friends who actually listen to them!"
I blinked. "So you invented therapy. Only worse."
He ignored my sarcasm, because it was the only thing he was good at. "I need investors. Do you know who has money?"
"Yeah. Everyone except you and me."
He nodded earnestly, like a cow who had just grasped the concept of gravity.
Then, suddenly, he choked. And here's where the tragedy began.
I, of course, responded in the most human way possible: I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to judge whether this was the right time to finally get rid of his ramblings. But seeing his face turn as red as a damn tomato, I realized he was in real danger.
The people around us weren't exactly helpful either. The waiter merely glanced at him briefly, then went back to wiping down the table with the expression of a man who'd seen too much bad in his life.
A woman at the next table turned and said flatly, "Anyone else choked?"
The waiter shrugged. "It's like one every week."
Meanwhile, Mr. Wide-Ass began making sounds like a seal having an existential crisis. I sighed.
"Okay," I muttered, and stood up. Reluctantly, I tried the Heimlich though it was more like trying to subdue a bear in the woods. I pushed hard. Something came out of his mouth. Something small and round.
A marble.
I stared at him. He stared at me.
"What…?" I began, but he just coughed and held up his hands. "I… I forgot I suck on marbles when I think."
I closed my eyes, trying to calculate how much longer I could survive in a world filled with people like him.
That day, I didn't have a single spiritual epiphany. But I did learn one thing: if anyone deserved to choke on a marble, it was Mr. Wide-Ass.
Unfortunately, fate was still kind to him. For now.
