— Get out.

Brad Pitcher stood from his leather chair, his fingering pointing past the door.
— Is this how you greet your best friend?
Chris Kirkman asked, slowly drawing closer. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice frail.
— Get out.
— Dude, will you at least listen to me?
— No, absolutely not.
— Wha? Why the hell not?
— Well…let’s see…Oh yeah, because you’re a raving idiot.
— Ouch, dude, just ouch.
— Will you please leave?
— No, not until you hear me out.
— I’m not giving you any more money.
— Dude, I’m not asking for money, I’m sharing with you a profitable business opportunity.
— Okay, now I know I’m not interested.
— Come on You’ve never given me a chance.
— What are you stoned? Are you drunk?
There was a brief silence.
— Oh Jesus, Chris.
— Dude, it was like three beers.
— Tha-that’s not even the point. I’ve given you more than your fair share of chances.
— Oh yeah?
— Yeah.
— Name one.
— Okay lets see…There’s back in high school when you read A Modest Proposal and wanted me to go halvzies with you on a baby farm.
— Dude, that was a totally sweet idea and it would have totally worked if it wasn’t for-.
— Oh Then there was the tazer shotgun Oh, that was a good one.
— You provided seed money for that one
— You got me pissing drunk and stole my wallet
— Look, we don’t have time to focus on who stole what from who.
— You’re right. I don’t have time for this. Get out of my office!
Chris let out a sigh.
— You know your being very difficult about this.
— Oh my- okay Chris.
Brad fell back into his seat.
— I’ll give you thirty seconds to tell me whatever asinine idea you’ve got this time, before I tie the long hair on your head and the short hair on your ass and kick you down the stairs.
— Sweet I’ll do you one better, I give it to you in ten.
Brad stared at him, neutral.
— Okay, get this… Pooper Scoop Bot. It is robot that takes care of your dog’s messes for you. It runs off of manure so it gets never has to be charged. Dude, this is like the best idea I’ve ever head. This could make us both rich!
— Hmm. And how much would this cost?
— $35,000 intial investment. But, dude, it’s a guaranteed success.
Brad thought for a moment.
— You know Chris, that is actually a really good idea.
Chris’s face lit up.
— Really?
— No! Now get the hell out of my office.
— Come on, please?
Chris walked over to his desk and now stood beside him.
— No.
Chris sighed.
— I didn’t want to have to do this…
— What are you talking about what could you possibly-
Brad felt Chris’s arm wrap around his neck.
— Head lock!
Brad got up from his seat. Chris’s arm held steady.
— Let go of me.
— No, not until you give me the money.
— I’m not giving a penny.
They continued to struggle, Brad far more than Chris.
— I got time, I could do this all day.
— If you don’t let go of me right now, I swear to God Chris, I can’t be held responsible for what I’m going to do to you.
— Yeah, you don’t seem to be in any poistion to be making threats.
Chris tightened his grip, Brad gagged.
— Chris. I. Can’t. Breathe.
His voice was strained.
— I’m not gonna fall for that, now gimme the money.
Moments passed and Brad’s body became heavy. Chris let go of Brad and he fell to the floor. Chris stared, unsure of how to react.
— Come on, Brad, ya big baby, get up.
Nothing.
— Seriously man, get up.
Still nothing.
— Brad! Come on, get up! This isn’t funny.
No response.
— Oh man, this is bad.
Chris got down on his knees and pressed his head against Brad’s solar plexus.
— Oh, God. No heart beat!
Chris looked down at Brad.
— I’ve got to find a place to dump the body!
Chris stood up and began to search for something large enough to hold a grown man, until a loud crack sent him onto the floor.
— My back!
Chris rolled onto his back. Brad stood over him with what looked to be remnant pieces of corded black phone.
— A phone? Who hits people with phones?
— You punk! You were going to get rid of my body?
— Dude, you were alive? But you didn’t have a-
— Oh! And by the way. The heart is on the left side of the rib cage, not the stomach, you idiot!
Chris stood up, his left arm supporting his spine.
— You didn’t have to call me an idiot.
Brad said nothing.
— So can I-
— Get out!
This time the message connected. Chris face grew increasingly said as he limped away towards the exit. He stopped at the doorway.
— See you for beers tonight?
Brad sighed.
— Yeah.
Chris left.
— Thank god that’s over.
Brad picked up the phone on his desk. He pressed a button and it began to ring.
— Becky? Yeah, could you call the masseuse? Yeah. Yeah, Chris stopped by. Thanks. Uh-huh. Bye.
Brad hung up. For a while he sat in silence. Finally, he let out a chuckle and went back to work.