I haven't stayed late to work in a long time. In honor of this occasion, I just prayed to God Above: "Please let there be a beer in the fridge. Please." At one time I kept it stocked. Now, who knows.

The fridge door revealed: One single thing inside: A 16 oz. can of Budweiser, laid sideways, the plastic template still on it. I don't know whose it is, but forgive me.

It was delicious. So sweet and so cold.

Part 1—Josh Loses

The kid on a bike swooped out of 32nd Street through a driveway run and onto the sidewalk, his straight hair blowing as he swung from side to side across the ground. He stood on his pedals, his fingers barely on the handlebars. A mathematician would call his trajectory graceful for the way each inflection point touched the curb edge for one instant before curving in the other way. It was nighttime.
          I tried making out the band name on his black shirt—some kind of heavy metal I could tell, but it was hard to read. While I read, the amplitude he traced on the sidewalk dampened to a straight line, his tires thumping over each square of pavement, slowing. Straight toward me, I wondered if me meant to hit me. He came to a stop a couple feet from my knees.
          I didn’t say anything, but looked up exasperated. I was stopped. He stared down, still standing on his bike.
          “Go back to your country,” he said, low and mean. His accent might have been fake, thick and slurred, but I couldn’t tell.
          “Go back to yours,” I said.
          “No, yours!!” He screamed.
          I stepped around him, staring. He sped off, the bike swooping again, and he yelled. “Go back! Yours!”

An informational video about osmium, from this interactive periodic table. Like the scientist in the video, I have made one osmium compound no one had ever made before. It wasn't anything exciting, just one variation no one had thought to try. It was kind of a blood red, but to my color blind ass it looked black.

Far more interesting is dude's hair. Holy hell yes. (I found the link on Mighty Girl.)