Eureka in Loki’s Lounge

While Steven P and Steven S had fought in public before, this was the first public food fight, and as they both went to bed angry, Steven P couldn’t help but feel a nagging pang of guilt.

Steven P went straight to bed that night without showering. He still had dried mashed potatoes under his eyes and grape jelly on his t-shirt. Normally this would have bothered him but he had a lot on him mind. For instance, what was Steven S up to?

He racked his brain trying to remember, Steven S hadn't been at last weeks meeting of the Stevens' club, which was strange because that was the day that Steven Q and Steven R had a rap battle, and everyone knows how much Steven S loves rap battles.

But he couldn’t remember what had been stopping him from going. Perhaps it was the intense sense of ennui born of so many Stevenses in one space all the time. He decided to make a break. He opened the white pages and searched for a club starting with the letter T.

"Thor's Hammer: Valhalla on Earth! Come for our shots of Odin's sweat, and relax in Loki's Lounge!" He wrote down the address, thinking this place seemed worth a try.

He stepped out of his taxi and saw a gigantic door made of wooden beams braced together with brass brackets. Small letters are burned into the wood: Thor’s Hammer. He’s about to grab the handle as a window opens in the door “Password?” A voice said. He ventured his best guess.

Turns out “octopus” wasn’t it. After his 4th guess at the password, the small window slid shut, and the ancient, wooden door creaked ajar. “Good thing I read the whole dictionary last night,” he thought to himself as he waddled forward.

The cruel irony— he could remember every word in the English dictionary, but couldn’t remember his own father. As he walked in the door he was met with a familiar must; a predator was close

When his father would hit his mother, he would dive further into the dictionary, memorizing everything he could to block out the present. Falling in love with a world of words kept him safe from the realities of home.

It was easier to commit to a book than to look at his mom's face.

His guilt poured out onto the pages he was supposed to be reading, but try as he might he just couldn't concentrate. All at once his glare stopped and fixed on the word, that one word that he knew would...

Change the future of the custom injection-molding industry forever. "Alack!" He shouted, barely able to contain his abandon. "Adding this to my patent will make us millions!" And his guilt evaporated, replaced by the cool, amoral certitude only excessive amounts of cash can buy.