GLASS SOUP by Jonathan Carroll (funny books to read .txt) 📕

their pretty faces, is that they almost never understand why the world eventually ends up hating them. Haden had done terrible things to people. But for the life of him, he could not understand why he had ended up where he was now—living alone in a lousy cramped apartment, working a no-exit job, and spending far too much free time at the TV watching whatever was in front of his eyeballs. He knew which wrestlers were feuding with whom in professional wrestling. He had given serious consideration to buying those Japanese steak knives on the Shopping Channel. He carefully taped his favorite daytime soap operas if he had to miss an episode.

How did I end up like this?

If someone had told Simon Haden that he was a colossal prick and why, he would not have understood. He would not have denied it, he would not have understood. Because pretty people think the world should forgive whatever their sins are simply because they exist.

He finished in the bathroom and went to the bedroom. The envelope containing the day’s instructions lay on the dresser. In his underpants and sheer black socks, he picked it up and tore it open.

A little man the size of a candy bar stepped out of the envelope into his hand.

“Haden, how you doin’?”

“Broximon! Long time no see. How are you?”

Broximon, dressed in a beautiful blue pinstriped suit, brushed off both arms as if being inside that envelope had dirtied them. “Can’t complain, can’t complain. How’re you?”

Haden carefully put him down on the table and then pulled up a chair.

“Hey Simon, put some clothes on before we chat. I don’t wanna be talkin’ to a dude in his underpants.”

Haden smiled and went off to choose an outfit for the day. While waiting for him, Broximon took out a tiny portable CD player and turned on some Luther Vandross.

With the music cooking in his ears, Broximon walked to the edge of the table and sat down with his legs dangling over the side. Haden sure lived low. The man’s apartment showed no signs of life. No texture, no soul, nothing there that made you go, whoa, that’s cool. Broximon was a firm believer in “to each his own,” but when you’re in a man’s home, you can’t help looking around, right? And if you see that apartment ain’t got nothing inside it but the heat, well then that’s just the truth of the situation. You’re not making any sort of value judgment; you’re just reporting what you see. Which in this case wasn’t much, that’s for damned sure.

“So I’m showing around this House of Lipstick today, right?” Haden came in wearing a formal white shirt open at the neck and a sharp pair of black slacks that looked like they had cost serious money.

“That’s right.” Broximon reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. “A group of twelve. And the part you’ll like is that they’re almost all women, average age thirty.”

Haden’s face lit up. His prayer had been answered! He couldn’t believe his luck. “What’s the story with them?”

“Did you ever hear of Mallvelous in Secaucus, New Jersey?”

“No.” Haden looked to see if Broximon was joking with that stupid name.

“Biggest shopping mall in the Tri-State area. Then someone started a fire in it and it became the biggest shopping mall fire ever in the Tri-State area.”

Haden checked his pockets to make sure he had everything—keys, wallet. Then he asked without much interest, “How many died in the fire?”

“Twenty-one, over half of them in the House of Lipstick. The fire started right next to their shop and so they didn’t have much chance of escaping.”

“What was it, some kind of cosmetics store?”

“Yup. The guy who owned it—you’ll meet him today—had himself a good little business because that’s all he sold. Just about every brand of lipstick on the earth. You know how everybody’s crazy for specialty shops these days. He had brands from the weirdest places, like Paraguay. You never think of women wearing lipstick in Paraguay, you know?”

Haden stopped walking around the room and stared at Broximon. “Why not?”

The little man was instantly embarrassed. “I don’t know. Because it’s—I don’t know. Because it’s fucking Paraguay.”

“So what?”

For want of anything better to do, Broximon stood and brushed off both sleeves again. In a cranky voice he asked, “Are you ready to go or not?”

Haden stared at him a moment longer, his expression saying he thought the little man was an idiot. The message was conveyed loud and clear. Finally he nodded.

“Good! So let’s go, huh?”

Haden picked up Broximon, placed him on his right shoulder, and left the apartment.

He always met the tour bus outside the café where he ate his breakfast. The bus driver was one of those saps taken in by Haden’s good looks and sometimes-charm and was more than happy to detour a few blocks out of his way to pick up the tour guide.

The bus doors hissed open. Simon Haden charged up the steps, lit from within by two cups of strong cappuccino and the optimism that comes with knowing you are going to spend the day with a bunch of young women. The bus driver, Fleam Sule, waved one of its many tentacles in greeting at Simon. Then with another tentacle it pressed a button to close the door. Haden had always loved octopuses. Or was it octopi? He would have to ask Fleam Sule that some day, but not right now because Women Ahoy!

Winking at the octopus bus driver, Haden put on his best, most winning smile and turned to face the passengers.

Outside on the street, Broximon stood and watched as the bus pulled away from the curb. A maple leaf blown by the wind collided with him, hiding the tiny man completely from view for a second. He brusquely pushed it away and the leaf fled down the street. Shaking his head, Broximon reached into his pocket and took out a cell phone the size of a pencil