I heard the familiar “click” of my front door opening, but since my usually territorial Lab, Libby, made no move from her spot on the couch, I wasn’t worried a homicidal intruder had entered my house.
When I heard the fridge door open, I knew it had to be Drake.
“Seriously, dude, just make yourself at home,” I yelled from the living room.
Carrying a cold beer and an unopened bag of Doritos, Drake ambled into the room, plopping on the couch beside the dog, Ignoring the coasters on the coffee table, he sat his wet bottle down and opened the chips.
“What?” Drake said with a spray of crumbs. “You really think I’m going to knock?”
“You’re right, what was I thinking?” I picked up his beer and slid a cork circle under it, wiping the wet ring off the table before the finish turned white. “I don’t know why I even bother.”
Drake ate the chips by the fist full, dropping more in his lap than he got in his mouth, drinking huge gulps of Bud. The dog was enjoying his Doritos dregs, furtively snagging morsels Drake missed.
“You know, without me, you would’ve never been accepted into the group.” Drake let out a hops and nacho belch. “With my coaching, you gave an Oscar worthy performance. You owe me!”
“I’m not so sure it’s worth the fall out, worth putting up with your bullshit.” I picked up his empty and swept his webbed feet off my coffee table. “I don’t like playing a character, being someone I’m not.”
“Bro, the world is your stage,” he quacked, shrugging his feathered shoulders, “and I’m a duck. What did you expect?”
Trifecta, a weekly one-word prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: Home [adj. \hohm\] 3a : a familiar or usual setting : congenial environment; also :the focus of one’s domestic attention; b : habitat
I gave Eric Storch this prompt: Oh, for heaven’s sake. You could win a gold medal for stupid.’