I think I’m the kind of person who always offers to give a friend a ride, so I tell Max I’ll drop him off at his lab. I want to stay on brand. Plus, driving around the city will probably help me remember things. On Google Maps, Max’s office, the Hedco Neuroscience Building, is practically next door.
“You have to take the 110. Are you sure?” Max says.
“Yep.” I’m just that cool.
In the car, I learn that:
A) Max has always wanted to be a neuroscientist (which makes me think his mother planted the idea because no little boy would come up with that on his own, meaning that he must have very caring and invested, though slightly overbearing, parents, which in turn makes me wonder WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY PARENTS?), but on to the next point…
B) he believes that everything makes sense and can be logically explained,14and
C) his favorite movie isThe Matrix.Don’t get me wrong, I like Keanu Reeves, but I preferred him inBill & Ted.In fact, I kind of feel like I’ve time-traveled to 2020, except without Ted. Or Bill. I can’t remember which one Keanu played. Not that it matters. They should remake the movie with me and Keanu.
As I park in front of Hedco—did they misspell head?—I ask, “What kind of mad scientist, hypnotized monkey experience do you have going on in there?” The building is made of nice-looking red brick with art deco features and looks nothing like how I’d imagine a brain research center. In general, it looks like all of the other buildings on campus, but this one is full of attractive scientists arguing about transgenic mice and dating around. Someone should get a camera in there and start recording.
“No monkeys, just data,” he says. “But it’s some good, juicy data.”
Juicy data? Max is living a lie, but I’m not going to be the one to break it to him. “Have fun doing math with your vindictive ex,” I say.
“I always do,” he replies in asee you later, honeytone.
“I’m off to find my mind. It looks like I might have left it at the beach.” That’s where all my Insta posts are taken, at least.
With a worried look on his face, he says, “Call me if you need help. Anything.”
I smile and nod at his needless concern. He should be more worried about himself and his own drama den. I’ve got my life handled.
“You had a serious head injury and don’t even know who you are. You can expect periods of profound exhaustion and confusion. Unexpected nausea and vomiting aren’t out of the question.”
I posted a selfie this morning and got 220 likes already. If that doesn’t say near-full recovery, nothing will. “I’m fine, Max. Plus I have Siri. My digital assistant’s got me covered.” It’s like he doesn’t understand it’s 2020. “You just do your thing. I’ll pick you up after you’re done studying brains.” I don’t have time to linger; I have two posts to investigate: 1) sexy beach selfie, and 2) yacht selfie.
After I drop Max off, my phone buzzes. Dear God in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done: my texter’s name is Kobra. (And I might be Catholic?)
Hey Sweetcheeks, Crystal ain’t answering my texts.
Me either.How could I forget Crystal of theWhat are you calling me for? I’m donephone call. Unless I know tons of Crystals?
I’ll go check on her. Have plans tonight for a private boat ride to Catalina. Don’t want her to miss out.
Damn! Sounds like a lucky girl.
It’s in the cards for her.
Go get ’em, Kobra.
Oh, I’m a big bad snake.
I’m guessing Kobra is from a trailer park and has chipped at least one tooth opening a beer bottle. Still, he sounds okay…I think.
Good luck with Crystal, dude!
I wonder if I know Kobra for real. Maybe he and Crystal and I are super awesome friends. I search my Insta friends for Kobra and…
There he is.@TheBigSqueeze562. He’s almost naked in his profile photo, undoubtedly to show off his bomb tattoo. A life-size python coils around his torso and extends down his arm, ending at his wrist. The snake’s jaw is unhinged and it appears that Kobra’s hand is coming out of the snake’s mouth. Rad tattoo, dude.
His posts feature him fronting like a gangsta all over LA, plus some close-ups of the tattoo. What appear to be stripes from a distance are words, and when I look closer, I can make out a Bible verse.The serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made.Then, more directly,I am the devil. Take the fucking apple, Eve.
As far as Bible translations go, I’m giving him props: creepy but clearer and more accessible. Way to bring Genesis into the modern world.
