Sudden inspiration to write. I must note that I'm trying not to depend on the text so much… I'm a year older from when I started writing this. For serious. Go read a Chuck Palahniuk novel.

Chapter 2

This was it. This was fucking it. Her single serving life. She couldn't take it anymore. What the fuck did she care about this car? That model? It needed to be recalled; she'd told her boss time and time again.

"Mr. Edwards, look, I-"

"No, you look here Mau! We've had this fucking conversation before! If there are any redeeming numbers to be found for the formula, you're going to fucking find them! What you're suggesting as a solution is expensive! I need to know that it is our ONLY choice. And since there are still cars to be examined, guess who's going to examine them?"

Click.

What if she just didn't go? She knew what the next car would result in. And the next. And the fucking next one after that. Why even bother?

What if she went home and just breathed?

No. That wouldn't help.

She needed to get back, but not to her apartment.

To the emptiness.

She needed Bob and her face between his tits.

She needed sympathy.

She needed-

Vegeta popped into her head.

Chichi thought about calling him. When was the last time she'd had sex anyway?

She thought about Chole and felt dirty.

"There are three ways to make napalm. One, mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice…"

Chi-chi looked to her left at the woman sitting next to her. She had blue hair, blue eyes, and (almost angel) white skin. "Two, equal parts gasoline and diet cola. Three, dissolve kitty-litter in gasoline until the mixture is thick. "

"Is that so?" Chi-chi heard herself say. They all involved gasoline. Just in case someone happened to have some at hand.

"Do you know why restaurants provide kids' menus?"

Chi-chi hazarded, "So kids have choices too."

"You'd think that. It's so no one has to hear the kids fucking cry. Bad for business. Did you know that when a kid doesn't finish his meal, they save it for the next one who wants it? Imagine, some kid eating a grilled cheese sandwich that has sat untouched before two other kids. Delicious." Chi-chi had to smile. The woman stuck out her hand. "Bulma. Bulma Durden." hadn't meant to ask that. It had automatically slipped out.

"I'm Chi-chi Mau. What do you do?" Hmmm… she hadn't meant to say that. Automatic, she supposed.

"What do you mean what do I do?"

"I mean, what do you do for a living?"

"Why? So you can pretend to be interested?" She asked, peering deep into the other's eyes. Chi-chi emitted a half-laugh, half-indignant "Ugh!"

"You sound sickly desperate," Bulma noted, head cocked. Chi-chi thought of Vegeta again. She was silent. Bulma reached forward and grabbed a suitcase out from the seat in front of her.

"We have the same suitcase!" Chi-chi exclaimed. Bulma flipped hers open.

"Soap. The yardstick of civilization," she said. The suitcase was filled with neat little rows of different colored bars. "I make and sell soap."

Bulma reached into the pocket of her red leather jacket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Chi-chi.

"That's funny," Chi-chi said. "I work with crashes. Vehicular crashes." Bulma cocked an eyebrow.

Dammit. Why had she said that?

"If one were to add nitric acid to the soap-making process, one would get nitroglycerin. With enough soap, one could blow up just about anything," Bulma said.

"Is that so?" Chi-chi said. Bulma nodded in confirmation.

"If one were so inclined."

Chi-chi murmured that under her breath. She whipped her head back up and said,

"Bulma, you are by far the most interesting single-serving friend I've ever had." Bulma looked at Chi-chi, unblinking. Chi-chi leaned in closer, happy to elaborate. "You see, I'ev come up with this thing. When I travel-"

"Oh I get it alright" Bulma said, smiling crookedly. "That's very clever."

"Thank you."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Excuse me?" Chi-chi gaped, aghast.

"Being clever."

"Oh! It's- uh, it's great, I guess." Chi-chi said falteringly.

"Well keep it up then, Bulma said with a mocking smile. "Keep it up." She stood up.

"Now a question of etiquette: as I squeeze past, do I give you the ass or the crotch?" And she was gone.

Chi-chi felt empty.

So… keep reading if you just find this. I've been inspired anew.

Junior year sucks. So… do I write my term paper, due in two days (and only 1 paragraph completed) or keep going?

I think I'll write another chapter.

-Ann