I should be thinking about my new job, not Thatch.

I can’t help it, every time I pass by a bustling storefront I want to point out cool shit to someone who’s not there. Someone I really don’t know, no matter how much it feels like I do.

How much it feels like he’s … everything that was ripped out of me a long time ago.

A shiver runs down my spine and I casually look around. A selth follows behind me from a distance, his overcoat’s collar turned up and doing nothing to hide what he is. His pure onyx eyes dart away when he catches me looking and the tentacles dangling from his star snout dance with agitation.

“Fuck off, Bob.” I snarl, quickening my step.

Bob doesn’t fuck off.

✍️✍️

I’m not exactly sure where I came up with the idea for Bob and the cheesemaker who’s done him wrong, but it’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever written.

Ok, no, that may be.