The Catboy Is Deceitful Above All Things
He’s some kind of guy. Imagine a sacred kind of guy, the last kind of guys of his kind, sitting on the curb of streetside Walgreens on a sweaty Friday night. He’s licking his shredded skaterboy elbows with his spiky tongue, stimming off asphalt grime wedged in his teeth. Sadly they’re all fake because he got a septic gum infection in catboy school. He’s walking to Walgreens on a Friday night to buy sugar-free gummy worms for Saturday’s hangover. Some kind of guy, if you can imagine this kind of guy, who tells people to kick him because he’s soft and lacks self-esteem. He’s hates the surveillance cameras stalking him from street lit supermarkets. It starts snowing on the way home. He’s the last catboy and he disgusts everyone.
The last catboy explains to the Walgreens cashier he’s new to the neighborhood. He’s wearing a face mask so no one sees the staph infection serrating his catboyskin a raw sanguine. America’s last catboy simps for the nice lady, with blonde hair like snow from heaven sticking to the branches of dead trees outside. He steps on dog shit staining the concrete sidewalk.
The sugar-free gummy worms cling to metal hooks in the sweets aisle. They make the real-life crinkling noise he hears in ASMR videos. Only he can hear this resemblance with his special catboy ears. The supervisor is watching him. The last catboy stands paralyzed pressed up against the cool plastic wrapping. Sucrosed, eyeless worm faces bulge, sucked into the shredded sphincter of a sodomite spectator. Leave, they whisper, go go.
Wouldn’t it be kind of funny, he sometimes thinks, if the worms had eyes — he thinks it would be funny if he tells the cashier this joke — sugar-free gummy worms should have cartoon googly eyes, the kind you shoplift from craft supply stores. The last catboy shudders. The automatic doors seals shut behind him. This is his stop.