Kenneth Pobo
Our Bungalow
Chase often got in trouble at school. He liked to hide erasers and stomp on chalk. Principal Wyman said, “Why can’t you be nice? You keep costing us money. You’re very bad.”
Chase did well playing ping pong. He saw himself as a ping pong ball batted from one side of the table to the other until it went off the edge and rolled under a chair.
At 18, he held up a pharmacy, not for the drugs or money; it just seemed like something to do. In jail he treated the other prisoners and guards well, was liked, and attended church services--he accepted Jesus, but after a while, Jesus became another cancelled show in a long list from his life.
In his late thirties now, he delivers packages for Amazon. It’s stable, or seems stable, and he married Thelma Comancho, also stable, or seems stable. They have a small house which Chase calls “our bungalow.”
His neighbor Ted calls Chase a “straight up guy.” He doesn’t see Chase hanging around the darker recesses of the Internet or read his journal notes where he writes out the strategies he would use to murder each neighbor. Thelma, a quiet woman who has gotten pretty good at ping pong, claps loudly when she lobs the ball back and hits Chase right on his eye.
