Hang the DJ – David W. Foulds

4300 word General Fiction

It is the 1980s. Theodore Quimby, a nerdish wanna-be Mod goes to a job interview. He has always dreamed of being a disc jockey, but the venue, and the owner, aren’t quite what Theodore had in mind.

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Morning fog hung low over the muddy running track. Theodore Quimby straggled behind the pack of runners. His red PE uniform smelled like onions and wet dog. Hadn’t been washed all year. On it, the mascot of his high school: a large walnut with arms, legs and a crown. Never made much sense to him. His china flats barely stayed on his feet. They were soaked. Mud sprayed up the back of his calves. His glasses were fogged up. “Hey Queerby, run faster Queerby.” He had just run past the stoners that hung out behind the bleachers and smoked cigarettes or pot before they went to class. Usually skipped first period.

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