I don't know what possessed me to write this story. It's kind of random. I wish I had more background information, but I don't. So without further adieu, here's the "Recreation" preview:
They were following me, so I had to get out of here. I’m sorry.
Take the money and the license. You know where to meet me.
Talk to no one. Burn this letter.
I love you.
Lauren folded up the letter and kissed it. A big red lipstick mark and his name were all you could see on the outside. She put it on the table next to the bag of money, the bandana, the sunglasses, and the Hawaii driver’s license that said “Tualitan P. Monibags.” Brian had never taken her to Hawaii, and this was her chance to drop a hint that she’d like to go. Snickering at the awful picture of him—his brown hair all over the place, and his eyelids half closed in a blink over his dark blue eyes—she pulled her scarf over her thick red hair, and slid her dark glasses up the bridge of her nose. She glanced around the studio apartment one last time. It was time to go.
She flung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door. It was quiet out in the hallway. She closed the door behind her and turned around to lock it. Click. The money would be safe in there. For now.
She glanced to her right and to her left. No one. She silently blessed the carpeted floor that muffled her footsteps as she headed for the elevator. No, maybe the stairs. No. The elevator would be less suspicious. She pushed the “Down” button that glowed yellow at her touch.
Come on, come on, she thought.
She glanced at her watch. Brian would be off soon. She didn’t have much time.
Brian clasped his hands behind his head and stretched. Finally. It had taken him way too long to finish that stupid project. He looked at his watch. 5:30. He wondered if Lauren would have dinner ready for him by the time he got home, because he was starving. She only ever cooked him dinner when she had the day off, so the chances weren’t bad.
“G’night, Peter,” he said as he stood up from his desk.
“See you later, man.”
Brian grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. He loosened his tie with his free hand as he waited for the elevator that would take him down to the parking garage.
A handful of cars remained in the lot, but there weren’t any on either side of his. Parking garages always made him feel a bit claustrophobic. He could never shake the images of cement and concrete collapsing on top of all those cars during the San Fran quake of ’89.
His chest tightened for a split second as he spotted the little piece of white paper under his wind shield wiper. Then he smiled. Lauren had been here. The sound of his shoes clicking on the concrete bounced off the walls as he reached his car and grabbed the note.
I know you’re hungry, so you’re going to need to grab something to eat before you head home.
Make it fast. We have things to do, people to see.
I love you.
He folded the note back up and slipped it in his pocket. He knew this was coming, and now it was time to get serious.
He slid his key into the lock, opened the door, and ducked into the driver’s seat, wishing for the 500th time that Lauren would let him buy the big Chevy he had always dreamed of owning. The Fiero was a cool car, but he was just too tall for it. She, on the other hand, wouldn’t be able to lift her little 5’2 body up and into a big-ass truck either. Oh well. Big or little, a car wouldn’t be able to protect him from a collapsing parking garage. He jammed the keys into the ignition and started the engine.
Taco Bell time. And then, to business.