A little bald man sat in the corner with his coffee and strawberry stuffed French toast. A mother and her two blonde-haired daughters step out of the bathroom and stand in line at the counter. I waited in line at the fountain machine wanting to re-fill my cup.

Just then one of the employees steps out from behind the counter and asks me if I needed help. I politely declined, thinking the mother would be better served by him as her daughters were becoming impatient waiting for their Jr pancakes. The man persisted. I raised my glass and shook it at him, “just a refill,” I smile. He began with a shaking of his head, down turned lips and then a pointing of his finger, “not here,” he replies. “Excuse me?” I asked. “NOT here!” he responded, “you can’t fill your cup here.”

And that is why I no longer go to Denny’s.

“I fucking hate you, you bastard,” I screamed as I unloaded my .45 into his chest. He lay there, lifeless, a bloody mess on the carpet that we picked out together. A carpet that held so much promise. An ugly drab gray that we decided would match our dull life. It looks better with red blood soaking in it. There will be no heart-shaped boxes of candy. No stuffed bears. No roses. You deserve this, I tell myself. Take that! I showed you. I grabbed my coat because it was time to go to work, and I can’t be late.

There will definitely be glitter!!!! You know the kind that sticks with you like a burr. In your hair, on your skin, stuck to the souls of your shoes and the souls of those who attend. Sprinkled on the fabric of your lives and on the chairs where you sit.

Paper streamers blowing in the wind like little freak flags waving goodbye. Pink. Orange. Bright colors to be noticed from far away.

No sorrow as I enter the eternal rest. One worthy of remembrance. Into a place of peace. An ever-after life with all my dreams and wishes; whatever I was told would be possible. You can be anything that you want, whatever you set your mind on. You can do. You can become. You can fly with eagles or angles, entirely up to you.

Balloons! Marvelous, wonderful, huge hot air balloons drifting as clouds when you scatter me on the wind. Fire fuels the air in the balloons urging them to float higher and higher in the sky.

Magnificent horns with sounds that New Orleans would be jealous of. Loud and obnoxious, heralding in the first day of the last of my life.

Dancing girls. Rockettes! Ballet! Jazz! Tap dancing!

A parade with sirens and lights! Confetti cannons!

Let’s make t-shirts to throw into the crowd! Presuming you show up, attend, be there at the end.

Secret friends are there.

The sun is shining, there will be no exceptions, this is an outdoor affair, and we will need the weather to cooperate of course.

Mother nature will attend and bring her glorious blooming colors for my mysterious friends to admire.

Lastly, there will be no tears. No tissues. No blowing noses. Only laughter and appreciation.