I barely had time to get my hand out of my pants or change the channel. Joe crashed through the door and walked right into the shitty apartment like he damn well owned the place.

Well, technically he paid rent and he lived here too. But I lived here first and he damn sure didn’t own the fucking place. Not that it was much of a place.

“Today was so crazy man. I am losing my mind. I just feel like ranting. Ranting like the housewives of Facebook do when they’re talking about shitty service at the grocery store or how terrible someone was driving or whatever. Or like the hot girl next door who knows she’s hot but she still bitches about everything to get attention. That’s what I feel like.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” I asked.

“Maybe it’s the drugs?”

“What drugs? Thought you didn’t do drugs.” I said.

“No, no, I don’t. Not anymore, you know that. That’s over now. I mean the drugs all the other people are dying from. The opiates. The oxy. The fentanyl. It’s crazy. They’re crazy!”

“Or maybe you’re the one who’s crazy,” I said.

I wasn’t sure where to begin. One minute I’m enjoying some quiet alone time, the next I’m listening to this raving lunatic on a self-proclaimed rant calling other people crazy. I didn’t know him too well. It’s only been a month and a half since we moved in together. I was already beyond getting annoyed.

“I don’t know man, maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. What does that even mean anyway? People say it all the time and I guarantee most of them don’t know what they’re even saying. I get up on the same side every damn day. Maybe it’s the way I sleep. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe I go to bed too late because I’m staying up all night watching sports, then the news, then the late-night jerk-offs talking about celebrities and politicians I don’t even give a shit about.”

I got up off the couch and grabbed a beer for myself. I didn’t offer him one. I took a swig and looked at him and said: “slow down.”

“What do you mean slow down?” He asked.

“Like shut the fuck up. Stop talking. Maybe I haven’t had the best day either. Doesn’t mean I need to ruin yours right? So slow-the-fuck-down. Relax.”

“Hey man, you have no idea the shit I see out there on a daily basis. Conspiracy theorists, tax evaders, crooked cops, and hookers…lots of hookers. I know you get hookers from time to time so I don’t mean those ones, they’re classy, but the ones from down on 118th where all the needles are on the ground and they trade tricks for crack or whatever. I have to deal with that every day and it is so frustrating.” Joe opened the fridge and took out an apple.

“Well, I hope that apple shuts you up for a minute. Listen, Joe, when I said you could move in here it was because I needed the damn money. I needed someone to share the place with so I could stay here. I lost enough already. I’m not going to lose my peace and quiet.” I said.

“Oh no man, I would never want to ruin that for you. I’m just telling you about my day. I saw this homeless guy who had a sign saying “I need money for drugs’’ and it set me off. I never did shit like that. Even on my worst days. I always worked for it or at least stole it fair and square. These guys nowadays — and girls — they just stand there at a stupid corner and hope someone gives them money for drugs. Makes me so angry.” He took a bite of his apple. It was the loudest bite I’ve ever heard. He wasn’t going to slow down.

I walked over to my safe and entered my digits. I pulled out my .44 Magnum and promptly shot him right in the fucking face.

That made him slow down.

I opened the window and took a look around. It was still light out. It wasn’t quiet. People everywhere. It didn’t matter. I hauled him up and placed him on the window ledge and tossed him over. I took a deep breath and watched him land on the hood of some kind of luxury car I couldn’t care to make out. Two for one deal I figure.

I grabbed another beer, put my porn back on, put my hands back down my pants, and waited for the police to come.

Joe was right. The world is fucked.