Captain Sammitch walked into the kitchen and slapped his head. His already red skin just below his hair line showed that he'd been doing this same motion for the past hour.
"What distresses you?" asked Euro.
"My pizza got up, talked and walked away," Sammitch began, "And is married."
"We've faced much weirder things, haven't we?"
"That's not it. I had already taken a bite of the pizza."
"Oh?" asked the Italian cook, hero, sometimes drug-addict, once family of characters.
"From how he was walking, I bite between his legs..." Sammitch disclosed further, "Does that make me gay?"
Elsewhere
Ritchie sat on a stoop infront of the house that floated in nothingness, a white vast nothingness. Next to him was his alter, but not really, sometimes, personality, the bald (by choice!) god-like being Prometheus.
"We really fucked up Devin, (shakes his own head) I mean Pro." Ritchie started.
Prometheus looked at him.
"Whatever."
"Whatever? You usually have something very deep and inspiring, life altering even to say."
"Maybe something will come to me."
"Yeah, maybe."
Both men continued to sit, looking into the vast nothingness. Yet strangly, it was a relief. A clean slate.
