"Hey Spud, Biff, I won the Triathlon. Why are there trucks in our driveway?" Luke yelled as he dropped his duffel bag in the entry foyer of his house. Pounding and clanging from the basement answered his greeting. A deliveryman suddenly appeared in the doorway and poked a clipboard in his face.
"Are you Ximraam Stigsson?" the deliveryman mispronounced the name hideously. "Delivery for someone named whatever that name is." Luke grabbed he package from too near his face and tucked it under his arm.
"Its pronounced Spud, asshole." Luke scribbled nonsense on the clipboard and shoved it back at the deliveryman. The deliveryman mumbled something vulgar. Luke slammed the door in the deliveryman's face. He went into the kitchen and opened the basement door.
"SPUD," he bellowed so loud the walls shook. The clanging stopped. Luke heard whispered curses, shoulder slaps, and shuffling footsteps.
"Aw sweet Jesus, he's home already," Biff's whispered, panicked voice carried up the stairs.
"Don't come down. It's a surprise," Spud yelled and appeared at the bottom of the stairs, bare to the waist, sweat and paint plastering his brown hair to his olive-brown body. Skimbleshans, their cat, ran up the stairs and rubbed against his legs.
Luke slammed the kitchen basement door closed before opening the door in the pantry where Skimbleshanks purred.
Behind him stood an angry deliveryman. "Look, kid, we got a bunch of furniture for you."
Luke opened the front door for them. "OK, just put it here." He watched as the sofa tumbled to the ceiling.
He shook his head. He was all for adventure, but why did they have to buy a house designed by M.C. Escher?
Opening: Dave F......Continuation: Khazar-khum