March 8th, 1999

The food court assaulted every one of Kett’s senses. Greasy garlic collided with artificial cinnamon, synthetic vanilla, and the pungent reek of fry-oil, creating a nauseating medley of scents so dense the air itself felt suffocated by them. Vacuous conversation echoed off the tiled walls as the materialistic swine who frequented the shopping center shuffled from store to store, mistaking consumerism for actual fulfillment. And when fatigue finally settled in, they’d gather in the food court to stuff themselves silly with overpriced junk food and sugar-laden drinks (as if another purchase might actually satisfy the emptiness gnawing away deep inside them). Even the sunlight pouring in from the skylight felt hostile, its garish brilliance exposing every ugly corner of human vapidity and overconsumption.

He loathed it all.

Kett had worked in the food court for eight miserable months, employed as a fry cook at The Patty Palace, the lowly position not only indicative of his pledbian station but also the fuck-up that he called his life. For the entirety of his beleaguered existence he’d never known a solid good feeling. His parents had been abusive alcoholics. At nine the courts had torn him away from their home and placed him into the foster care system, where he was moved from one loveless house to the next. He dropped out of high school and ran away at fifteen, drifting from city to city, state to state, ever since. He’d always been too odd to make friends, too ‘insane’ to attract women, and far too convinced that happiness simply wasn’t in the cards for him.

Until she came along.

Autumn.

Even her name was perfect, fall had always been his favorite time of year. She was gorgeous, she smelled so good, like amber and lilac, and if you could believe it, she was actually nice to him. She had thick brown hair that she often wore in a single long braid that was placed off to the side. Her eyebrows were plucked in elegant arches, her nails attended to in the exact same fashion: always flawlessly manicured. She had big blue eyes that radiated a kindness that Kett seldom found in anyone else. She wore the prettiest make-up, not too much, she used cosmetics to enhance her natural beauty instead of painting something entirely new like most bitches. And her lips, God, they were perfect: full, soft, and impossible to ignore. Kett often wondered what they tasted like—perhaps like the strawberry bubblegum she was always chewing?

Her body was ideal: nice big breasts that he’d kill a thousand times over just to feel beneath his palms. She had a Venus tummy, a beautiful hourglass with just the right amount of fat curving the bottom into something artful; the sheer definition of womanhood as far as Kett was concerned. She had wide luscious hips. Perfect for bearing his children. He liked to imagine her on all fours in front of him, his hands buried in the soft flesh of those wide hips as he fucked her senseless, Autumn, of course, moaning his name and and telling him how much she loved him the entire time. Nature had been unusually generous in sculpting her lower half. Her sensational hips swept outward before tapering into voluptuous thighs, while her rounded backside completed the most superb silhouette that had ever been crafted by the hand of God.

Despite how briefly he’d known Autumn, Kett was convinced she was his soul mate. He’d certainly spent enough time following her around and studying her to be sure. He knew she attended the local community college and was studying communications to become a 9-1-1 dispatcher just like her single mother who worked tirelessly to support her and her younger sister, Cadence. She drove a burgundy 1983 Chevy Impala with 213,486 miles on it. She had two best friends: Marisol and Fatima, the three girls spending most of their time driving around town listening to Britney Spears tapes, or meandering through city parks if they weren’t off to the movies to see the latest Leonardo DiCaprio film. She lived at 1122 East Linsey St, apartment three on the ground floor—which made it incredibly easy to peek in through her window at night and watch her sleep; stroking himself to completion each and every time.

Yes, Autumn had been the only thing he could think of since she’d started working as a cashier at The Patty Palace three months ago. She infiltrated every dream, every waking thought, every breath he drew was flavored by Autumn. Even now, as he surveyed the disgusting patrons of the miserable food court, Autumn lingered in the back of his mind. It was Saturday, you see, which meant his love was scheduled at 4:00PM. It was now 4:30. He wasn’t concerned, however, she was often late. His girl had no mind for time.

“Breaks over Kett,” snapped Randall, the manager of The Patty Palace, the slight middle-aged man leaning over the register and spearing the twenty-three year old with his beady little eyes that were trapped behind overly-thick aviator specs.

“Rats,” Kett exclaimed snidely, reaching out a patient hand to grab the black coffee in front of him, indicating just how much of a hurry he was in by leisurely draining the bitter dregs from his styrofoam cup.

Randall rolled his eyes. “Well?! Get a move on then! Dinner shift ain’t gonna prep itself!”

Kett snorted, flicking his mid-length curly black hair from his brown eyes as he slowly stood to his feet. “Sure thing, Randall,” he replied with a sardonic bite, simultaneously crushing his empty cup in a tight fist. “Can’t let our esteemed guests go without their processed meat and trans-fat pig-slop, now can we?”

“Fix the attitude, kid,” Randall heckled as Kett came around the counter. “If you don’t like working here you know where the door is!”

“Oh, yes, Sir!” Was Kett’s sarcastic reply as he made his way to the dirty little kitchen that doubled as his prison cell.

“Kett. I’m warning you—oh, hey, Autumn!” Randal greeted the nineteen year old as she walked up, his voice suddenly shifting from entirely scrutinizing into something overly pleasant and deep.

The obviously flirtatious tone made Kett’s fists tighten and his jaw clench...

“Sorry I’m late, Randall,” she smiled, not even the hideous pin-stripe Patty Palace smock able to diminish her magnificent beauty. “Traffic was murder!”

“Happens to the best of us!” Randall smiled in return. “Just go ahead and punch in for me.” He then moved away from the register he’d been occupying in Autumn’s absence as he turned back to Kett, his tone once again morphing into gratuitous censure. “I’m taking off for the day. Make sure you drain the deep fryer tonight, too! You haven’t changed the oil once all week!”

“Alright,” Kett replied, unwilling to nurture the sarcasm he usually reserved for his boss as he was now too impatient. The sooner Randal fucked off the sooner he’d be alone with his beloved.

“Good,” was Randall’s satisfied reply as he turned on his heels to make for the gap in the counter that led out into the food court. “Don’t forget to close out your register tonight, Autumn,” he relayed courteously as he departed.

“Okay, Randall!” Acknowledged Autumn with a friendly wave. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you!” Randall replied, not even looking back before disappearing into the crowd of the food court.