Late one night, Pam snuck into the Chili’s that banned her. Snuck in alone through a dining room window. Snuck in with the help of a well-swung crowbar and a lifetime of pent-up, “good-girl” rage. This is my Chili’s, she thought, cackling into the shards of her crime. I own this Chili’s. I hereby claim this Chili’s.
Police arrived, sirens wailing, pistols pointing. They gaped at the wall-wide graffiti – “BAN THIS, MOTHERFUCKER WOOOO” – then scrambled for cover as the back of the building blew out into the stars.
A single sneaker was recovered from the rubble. A white shoe, dirtied.
Rob McFadden is an aspiring novelist based in the Greater Philadelphia Area. He once got an old man on a bike to run into a telephone pole. The guy was fine, relax. Twitter: @RobWroteABook