Chores. Rico hated chores. Errand running, groceries, laundry; the routine tasks that form the very foundation of the society he so enjoyed otherwise. He hated them. Every outing for electrical tape, every time he cleaned out the cat’s litter box, he wished for something exciting to happen. Anything to make the time move a little faster.
Returning from a particularly bland run to the barber, he found himself standing at the entry way of his apartment complex checking every pocket on his person for keys.
“Drat,” Rico muttered as he patted down his pants and jacket.
“Rico!” Called the familiar voice of his neighbor, Jon. “Rico, wait up.”
The relief Rico felt in having something out of the ordinary happen, finally, was delightful. He ran a hand through his freshly cut hair and forgot for just a moment about his key problem.
“Jon! How are things, man?” Rico asked. He extended a hand in anticipation of a high five.
Jon followed form, extending his hand as well, but Rico noticed something odd.
“What’s that in your ha-” Rico said.
His words were cut short by a blast of purple spray paint from Jon’s previously unknown object. Three more sprays followed.
“Jon! What the heck, man?” Rico was furious.
“This Facebook post told me to tag my friends!” Jon said.
“Aw. Jon, you consider us friends? That’s awesome, buddy. Thanks.” Rico was oddly touched, if looking like a tropical fish.
“Well, Facebook friends anyway,” Jon clarified.