Soap Opera

Chance had been growing used to Jake’s inventions. Especially on days when his partner would work rigorously to bring a missile he’d sketched on paper to life. Chance had also sat through every test phase – the banshee missiles, the octopus missiles, the tar missiles. The tests usually ended up with him being an unwitting target. Regardless of Jake constantly apologizing, Chance had decided to stay away from the garage on days when Jake was busy putting a missile together.

So, when he walked in after a trip downtown to find suds on all four corners of the garage, he didn’t bother asking. One glance at Jake told him enough. Jake, who was standing in the middle of their living area holding a remote and staring blankly at the door, covered in the very soap decorating the walls.

“Too much kick on that foam bomb,” said the inventor. Then, he tossed Chance a grin that indicated he’d reached the right mixture. “I think it’s good to go.”

Chance didn’t answer. He just turned around and walked back to his truck.

END