The Fourth Stall Part III Read Online Free Page A

to you, you ran the risk of slipping into a depression-induced coma from which you’d probably awaken thirty years later to find a strange world where the Cubs have moved to Wyoming (yuck!) and a racist house cat named Neil has been elected president.
    â€œAnyway,” Eeyore continued, “can you help me?”
    I took a deep breath in preparation for my usual speech about being retired, but he must have been able to tell what I was going to say because he interrupted before I could even get started.
    â€œPlease, Mac? I’ll pay you in advance for everything. I mean, thinking about all these problems is giving me a headache. Plus, my eyes already hurt from this lighting,” Eeyore said while trying to shield his eyes with his hand. “Where do they get such bright lights? Don’t they know we’ll all get cancer from standing under these things? Not to mention the eyestrain, I mean, my uncle lost vision in one eye from staring at his computer screen too long every day at work. Now he just sits at home all day in the dark and drinks gross tea, which is tea that is too cold to be hot tea and too warm to be iced tea. And his car rolled into the river behind his house last week, too.” Blaaaah-Ruuump.
    He knew my weak spot: payment up front. But before I could open my mouth, Vince jabbed me with his elbow as we walked—a painful reminder of how these things had spiraled out of control in the first place: not knowing when to say no.
    â€œLook, I’m sorry, Eeyore, but I can’t help. It’s just too dangerous for me now. If I help one kid out, then I’ll have to help others and then, well . . .”
    He nodded in defeat. “Yeah, I figured you’d say no. Would this change your mind?” He took out a crumpled wad of cash and held it out to me. “Like I said: payment up front.”
    I looked at the cash in his outstretched hand. There must have been at least fifty bucks there. That was a lot of dough. Then I glanced at Vince. He was also staring at the money, his eyes glistening like glazed hams.
    â€œI’ve been saving all summer. I need your help,” Eeyore said. “Please.”
    I looked at Vince again; this time he was looking back. He shook his head slightly. I knew he was right.
    â€œWhat time is it? We have to get to homeroom,” I said, picking up the pace, hoping Eeyore would get the hint.
    â€œI don’t know,” Eeyore said. “I try not to look at clocks much; you know they say that staring at clocks too often can cause cancer, right? Plus, I read this article online that said keeping track of time too frequently can lead to stroke, heart disease, and early onset diabetes and can also accelerate the development of Alzheimer’s disease. Not only that, but I had this kitty clock once that fell off the wall and smashed my Xbox into seven pieces. And that was on my birthday, which is also the same day John Lennon died.” Blaaaah-Ruuump.
    â€œYeah, well, what doesn’t cause cancer these days?” I joked. I know it’s not cool to joke about something as horrible as cancer. My grandma had died of cancer a few years ago, so I really do know how crappy it can be. But it was all I could do to keep from slipping into a depression coma
    â€œI know, exactly. Life is a war zone, Mac,” Eeyore said somberly.
    But he’d gotten the hint because then he just nodded in defeat and veered off away from us toward his own homeroom classroom. I looked at Vince, and we both sighed and shook our heads as we headed into our homeroom. Homeroom was the only class we had together that year.
    The second kid to ask me for help that day did so almost as soon as we took our seats in homeroom. I hoped eventually kids would start giving up because there’s only so much a guy can take.
    Vince and I sat down next to each other, and then the kid in front of us turned around so violently, his desk almost tipped