"Hmmm...No, that's not right..."

Jimmy had the monologue in a few days. He was more than glad that the accident, his stay at the hospital and the recovery did not affect his plans. It was a chance that one simply couldn't refuse, the result of years of hard work. But, as if the electrocution had lit a lightbulb inside of his head, he reviewed what he had planned and found it awful. Like, what was he thinking about when he wrote it? It was as if he had conceived it in the toilet.

Thus, it was time to write something new. And it was being difficult. His muses were very good at pointing out the flaws in his script but were of no help when it came to rewriting it. What a bunch of bitches.

Speaking of bitches, Classi had called him because she needed his help. Something about a guy who had been mean to her at work. Not that she needed Jimmy to give that man a lesson, but there was a problem with her pipes and needed someone to take a little look, just to see if there was something she could do before calling a plumber, while she looked for that asshole to run him over with her car. Jimmy was glad to oblige.

Waiting for the bus with his notebook on his lap, Jimmy went over the new monologue—although the best way to describe what he was doing was that he was fighting against that stupid dough he had for a brain.

He was so focused on it that he noticed the bus when it was already closing its doors.

"Hey! Hey, wait!"

As fast as he could, he stood up, the notebook falling to the floor. He had to grab it, his backpack too, and the crutches, and with all of that in hand, he ran to catch the bus before it left. But it seemed that the bus driver was not listening, or perhaps he did notice but was in a bad mood, because the bus started moving.

"No! No! STOP!"

He waved his hand, but it was useless, and he couldn't run and do that at the same time. The bus was gaining speed. He couldn't lose it: the next bus would come in an hour.

Dammit, he was dropping everything. But he wasn't losing that fucking bus!

As fast as he could, he took his pencil and phone charger from the ground and ran as much as his legs and arms allowed him to.

At first, he was proud of him catching up with the bus. Then, he realized he was going too fast. The bus was now behind him.

But he couldn't stop. He was going faster and faster. His body seemed to have a will of its own, because he told his brain to stop and his legs and crutches were still moving. Jimmy turned his head and saw that the bus was far away.

Blam!

Direct orders from his brain didn't stop his limbs but a car did. Jimmy fell backwards and there he stayed, feeling like his stomach had turned into pâté. A woman got out of the car and walked to him.

"Oh, my God, are you okay?"

"Uhhh..." was all Jimmy could say.

"What happened? Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No, it's...ungh...Okay..." Jimmy tried to stand up. The woman ran to grab his crutches and help him.

"Are you sure you are alright?"

"Yes, don't worry...Oh...Your car..."

It looked pretty bad, but the driver was more worried about Jimmy.

"You have to be more careful!"

"Yeah, I know, I..."

The woman looked at the dent in the body of his car. And she had been so careful not to scratch it, taking care of it as if it was a baby! Her husband would be furious.

"How on Earth did you do this?"

Jimmy didn't know what to say. That bump...it had been a mighty good hit. It almost seemed incredible that he hadn't broken any bone. That was a good question indeed, how had he done that?

He looked around and saw that South Park was a mile behind him.

The doctor had told him to take it easy in order to help the recovery, but Clyde had trouble keeping his promise. After revising his recipes, he had so little to do. So he took the determination of calling his friends and go out, have some fun. He supposed enough time had passed for them to feel better. He hadn't seen them in a long while and wanted to know if they were alright and ask them how they dealt with the convalescence.

His first choice was Craig, but he never answered the phone. Token did, but he refused.

"Sorry, man, I...can't. At this moment I have...uhm...Sorry, I can't." And hanged up, leaving Clyde disappointed but also a little worried, because Token didn't give him the chance to ask if something was wrong.

What about Kyle?

"Okay, see you at the park"

Well, fine, at least now he had a plan for the afternoon.

Leaving his phone on the bed, he raised an arm and approached his nose to his armpit. He drew back while letting out a grunt. Yes, he needed a shower first.

As he got undressed, he began to think. The times when him, Token, Craig, Kyle, everyone, all of them hanged out together practically all the time. In and outside of school. There was no need to call in advance to know if the other was free, one just had to knock at the door and ask their parents if they were there. They did so much mischief...He turned on the tap and the water got his smiling lips wet. The good old times, when their worries were innocent, stupid in a way. He treasured the memories about their games. The stick of truth, which was just a simple stick, castles and dragons made of cardboard, cheap costumes, disputes about an attack counting or not.

None of them played anymore. They had their partners, their jobs. Responsibilities. He had his. It couldn't be helped. It was part of growing up.

Clyde looked down at his legs and rubbed them vigorously with his sponge. Little remained of the boy he was then. His testicles started to grow, followed by his penis, when he was eleven, until he was sixteen. Hair started to sprout in his whole body, including his face, when he was fourteen. His voice definitely deepened, after years of awkward ups and downs, at the age of sixteen. That lump in his back...

...Huh?

Clyde reached his back. There was something there that shouldn't have been.

"Ah-AAAAAAH!"

"Clyde?"

Clyde gasped and opened the curtain a little bit. His father was at the door of the bathroom, with his hand still on the doorknob.

"...Y-Yes, dad?"

Mr. Donovan gazed at him. Why was he looking at him like that? He was so serious. What had he done?

"Were you masturbating?" he asked then.

"...Yes, dad."

Wait. No. Shit. Why did he say that?

Mr. Donovan, after a moment of motionlessness, nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Clyde bit his under lip and stayed under the water for a while.

He had screwed up, giving that answer to his father, but he had a much more important problem. He was reluctant, but he touched his back again. It was there...it was still there...He scratched it and it hurt.

He forgot about the shampoo and the rest of his body. He had to see it. Walking out the shower and, dripping, not minding about getting a towel, looked for that hand mirror...there it was! With the help of the one hanging from the wall, Clyde looked at the reflection of his back.

What he saw almost made him scream again. He felt he was going to throw up. He didn't want to touch it but at the same time he did. No, he'd better not touch that. He had to call an ambulance. Or...no, no, no. Nobody could see that. Oh, dear. Oh, sweet Jesus.

"...Kyle?"

"Ah, hey, Clyde, what's up?"

"Listen, uhm...I can't meet you this afternoon."

"Huh? Why? Did something happen?"

"It's just that...uhm...My mom! I mean, my father wants to go to the cemetery to put flowers on my mother's grave and...it's been a long time since I last...Yeah, so...I can't say no to him...Ma-Maybe another day, okay?"

"Okay, sure, no problem...Uhm, Clyde."

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes!"

Kyle gazed at the phone after Clyde abruptely hanged up.