Remember, for the month of October, this is the story that AI told me to write:

A woman in her sixties, who can be quite compassionate.

A man in his early thirties, who can be quite aggressive.

The story begins in a nightclub.

Someone is driven out of their home.

It’s a story about greed.

Your character reluctantly becomes involved

So here’s the story. I don’t know what to call it.

“I don’t piss in public toilets,” Eric shouted above the music to Don Lemon. “The toilets are connected to the publicly funded municipal sewer system which then goes to a treatment facility. From there, hazardous chemicals and biologicals are removed from the water where it is then discharged into receiving waters like lakes and rivers. Downstream, other municipalities treat that same water so that it is safe for human consumption. That’s socialism. I’m a libertarian. I don’t believe in using such systems. Besides, REAL men piss outside.”

“Look,” Don replied, “I’m just saying that there’s no sense in holding your piss in! If you gotta go, GO!”

Eric and Don met in college. Despite their paths diverging after graduation, the two remained close. Now in their early 30s, Don was killing it selling Mazdas at the local dealership. Eric was still taking odd jobs stocking shelves and slinging pizzas.

“Mazda is a quality machine, Eric,” Don would always tell his friend, “I could get you a good job down at the dealership.”

This made Eric chuckle. “Don, you know I’m a Hyundai man.”

Don was happily married. But his friend Eric wasn’t blessed with the skill of communication. Or even empathy. He’d pity his friend as he watched him fumble around with women throughout their dorm days. But Don’s obligation to his best friend never wavered. Though knowing it was futile, he’d encourage Eric to mingle, hoping that some lucky lady would relieve him of his duty to his awkward friend.

Now the two pals were batching it up at the club. Don sipped his cocktail, leaning against the bar. Eric was pounding the rum and cokes, ignoring the patrons.

“She’s cute,” Don said, referring to the girl on the other end of the bar. As opposed to the other girls in the club, this one was closer to Eric’s age, dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt.

“She’s alright,” Eric replied.

“Buy her a drink!”

Eric stumbled his way across the bar. After seven rum and cokes, he was easily able to overcome a vague sense of nervousness. “Hi, I’m Eric,” he slurred, “can I buy you a drink?”

The disinterested girl nodded. “Wh-what do you do?” Eric asked.

“I’m a graduate student.”

“What do you study.”

“Middle Eastern Studies.”

“I love the Middle East!” he exclaimed. “Did you know that since the US invasion of Iraq, the economies of various nations in the Persian, or Arabian, Gulf have exploded: the UAE, Qatar, Bahrain, Kuwait, etc. And they did so without much help from public subsidies. A perfect example of the power of unbridled capitalism. This, as opposed to Iran, who, US sanctions notwithstanding, drove their economy into the ground by nationalizing most of their industries. What a shame.”

“Uh-huh.”

Moments later, the girl’s friends came to collect her. “Gotta go! Thanks for the drink,” she said.

“Fuck this,” Eric thought. He signaled the bartender to close his tab. “Are you leaving?” asked Don.

“Let’s face it, Don,” Eric explained, “females just aren’t interested in an intelligent, nice guy like myself. They want bad boys to treat them like rag dolls and whores. I’m done with this shit.”

“At least let me drive you home,” Don pleaded to his friend.

“No! Those are public roads! I’m WALKING home.”

***

Across town, in a much quieter bar, Patricia was lamenting her 60th birthday. “To god for allowing me to live one more year on this godforsaken planet!” she toasted to her friend.

“Maybe you should stop drinking,” Debra replied. “If you get one more DUI, you’ll surely be fired from you VP job at the bank.”

“Poppycock!” Patricia yelled. “Without me, that bank wouldn’t run!”

“Just take it easy, you gotta be at work in the morning.”

Patricia looked down at her watch. “Oh fuck, you’re right. I better go.”

“Well let me drive you home,” Debra pleaded.

“Sit the fuck down bitch,” Patricia replied, “you’re acting like I never drove drunk before.”

Patricia pulled out her keys and revved up the engine to her red Porsche 718 Cayman GTS. She cranked up Def Leopard’s Hysteria album and sped out of the parking lot.

On down the road, while walking home, Eric finally had to relive his bladder. With his deep-seated hatred for all public works, Eric pulled out his penis and began pissing on the street. Patricia, meanwhile, was singing at the top of her lungs to Animal as she burned down the road.

Suddenly, mid-piss, Patricia clipped Eric with her Porsche. He helicoptered into the air before landing on the pavement, unconscious, and covered in urine.

TO BE CONTINUED…