A DAY IN FOR JONNY FEVER "What's your order?" the barista chirped, her pen hovering over the pad. Jonny looked up from the coffee menu, his eyes glazed with a distant sadness. "I'll have a black coffee," he murmured, his voice trailing off as he handed her a crumpled bill. He took a seat by the window. The memory of her lingered like a ghost, her laughter a distant melody that still echoed in his ears. Her name was Tammy, a celestial roastie with breasts shaped like perfectly ripe bananas. They had met at a flea market. Her top had been tight, showcasing the natural curvature of her body, and he had been utterly captivated by her uniqueness. Now, as he stared into the abyss of his coffee, the dark liquid swirling in the cup mirrored the tumult of his thoughts. He had held those banana-shaped tits in his hands, felt their softness and weight, traced the outline with his thumbs. The way she had looked at him, had made him feel like he was the only man in the universe. But it was a fleeting encounter, a moment in time that had been snatched away from him as quickly as it had arrived. A group of young women giggled at a nearby table. One of them, a blonde, had breasts that bounced as she leaned over the table. But no matter how much they drew the eye, they couldn't compare to Tammy's. He felt a pang of anger, resenting the mundanity that surrounded him now that she was gone. The coffee cooled in his hands as he contemplated the unfairness of it all. How could she just vanish like that? They had exchanged numbers, but she had ghosted him after their electric encounter. He had tried calling, texting, even showing up at the flea market the following week, but she was nowhere to be found. It was as if she had been a figment of his imagination, a cruel trick played by the universe to show him what he could never have. Jonny took a sip of his coffee, the bitterness a fitting companion to his mood. His thoughts grew darker as he remembered the way she had moaned when he had kissed the tender skin of her neck, the way her body had responded to his touch. The curve of her banana tits had been so exquisite, so perfectly suited to the palms of his hands. He had never felt more alive than when he was with her. The anger grew inside him like a tumor, consuming every other emotion until all that was left was a burning need to lash out. He knew it wasn't healthy, but he couldn't help it. He decided that tonight he would get drunk, really drunk, and record himself ranting about the injustices of the world. He had heard somewhere that getting it all out could help, could provide some semblance of catharsis. So, after finishing his coffee, he stood up and walked out of the café, the bell above the door chiming a mournful tune. The liquor store was a beacon of hope in the sea of despair that was his evening. He picked out a bottle of Admiral Nelson, the cheapest and most potent he could find. He didn't care about the taste; he just needed something to dull the pain. With the bottle clutched in his hand, he made his way back to his apartment, his thoughts already racing with the things he would say to the camera. Once home, he set up his phone on the tripod he used for his sad, lonely video blogs. The room was dimly lit, casting harsh shadows across his face. He took a deep breath and began to speak, his words slurred and angry. "Why do the Jews always get everything?" he ranted, his eyes bloodshot. "They've got all the power, all the money, and they still manage to play the victim. It's not fair!" He took a swig of Nelson, feeling the burn as it traveled down his throat. The amber liquid warmed his stomach, but it didn't warm his heart. He continued to rant about conspiracies and injustices, his voice growing louder with every passing minute. His sadness over Tammy morphed into a rage that was as palpable as the alcohol on his breath. He talked about how the Jews controlled the media, the government, and even the porn industry. How they were responsible for the downfall of society, and how the world would be better off without them.