Read Online How to Be a Normal Person by TJ Klune - Free Book Online

that. And black bean hummus is pretentious.” He started pushing his cart down the aisle, absolutely refusing to feel embarrassed by the contents of the basket and the admitted lack of burn to his insult. Sure, there were TV dinners (maybe two or three weeks’ worth, whatever), but that was just who Gus was. That was who Pastor Tommy had been. They’d never learned to cook, never really had any need for it, and Gus had continued that tradition on after Pastor Tommy had died.
    They could bake, though. They baked a lot. Only because Pastor Tommy had been partial to pot brownies. And pot cookies. And pot cake and pot pie (marijuana, not chicken) and pot raspberry crumble.
    Gus hadn’t baked in a while. He didn’t need it.
    (Sure, the idea of it made him sad, but he chose not to think about that part.)
    Casey didn’t seem to get it, but then he was a stoner, and it might take a more less-than-subtle hint to get it through his fogged-out skull. He followed Gus, pushing the cart quickly and jumping up on the bar along the bottom, rolling ahead and laughing when Harry S. Truman squeaked and tried to chase after him.
    Gus did not laugh or squeak.
    “So, Gus,” Casey said, “Tell me more about yourself.”
    “Why?” Gus asked, already suspicious. He thought it possible that Casey was a spy sent by a bigger video rental corporation, but then reminded himself that they were all pretty much out of business. Gus then decided he probably worked for some shady land developer and was trying to get an in with Gus to convince him to sell his properties so they could be torn down and made into a parking garage for people with BMWs and no souls.
    “Because that’s what new friends do,” Casey said. “They learn about each other so they can grow as people both together and apart.”
    “I like that,” Gus said. “Let’s grow apart.”
    Casey laughed. “You’re funny. Ooh, organic yogurt. Gus, you said they didn’t have organic anything.” He stopped in front of the cooler and started plucking flavors at random.
    “I didn’t know they did,” Gus said. “People here don’t buy that crap.”
    “Sure,” Casey said. “Crap. It’s from the earth. It’s why it’s organic . You know, modern processing puts in so many chemicals into the products we use. I don’t want that shit in my body. It’s why I like weed, man. It grows. If it grows, the body knows.”
    “Oh look,” Gus said. “I think I hear slow jazz being played outside. You should go listen.”
    Casey stopped, cocking his head. “I don’t hear any—” He grinned as his eyes widened. “I see what you did there. Man, you’re good.”
    “It’s not that hard to pull one over on someone when they’re stoned,” Gus said.
    “Nah, man. I’m not stoned today. Woke up with the muse caressing my face and whispering in my ear. I put it to good use. Plus it’s Sunday, ya know? God and Jesus and shit.”
    “Yes,” Gus said. “I’m sure God and Jesus are happy you didn’t smoke weed on this the most holy of days.” Then, before he could stop himself, “Muse?”
    Casey glanced at him, teeth flashing. “Yeah.”
    And said nothing more.
    Now, Gus should have let it end there. He should have. He normally would have. There was no reason for this conversation to continue. He came to get his TV dinners, his two-ply toilet paper, and maybe, if he was feeling really frisky, a package of beef jerky he could have as a dessert after dinner. And his string cheese. He needed it now like air.
    However, the inspirational calendar had forced Gus to say hello the day prior, and a million things were happening, and Gus couldn’t stop his mouth from opening and saying, “You paint or something?” It came out aloof and sounding bored, but it was still a follow-up question.
    Gustavo Tiberius rarely asked follow-up questions.
    And never to hipsters. It was one of the unspoken rules.
    “I’m a writer,” Casey said easily.
    Gus stopped. “What.”
    Casey stopped too,