Chapter Text
"Just lost my job."
"Oh no!"
"They say construction’s always hiring, but it's not. In fact, it's often laying off people named Dan."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm open to suggestions."
"I'm sure someone in town is hiring!"
"I've been out of work for a year before, and this time I only lasted six months before being laid off. Do you know what that does to a resume?"
"Not really."
"I have a zombie resume. It's dead, but it's somehow still going all over the place."
"Oh."
And she walked off.
His resume wasn’t going anywhere, really.
It was nice to think it was, though. That someone was out there looking at it, thinking, this guy seems okay, in whatever place hadn’t fired him yet.
He’d started putting them up on the notice board outside the trolley tunnel. Maybe that made him look too desperate.
But what else could he do?
Danny sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. It was cold. That annoying, damp kind of cold that settled in your bones.
His house sat up at the top of the hill, overlooking town like some kind of washed-up king surveying his tiny, failing kingdom. His parents were inside. Probably arguing. Probably mad. Probably talking about how much of a failure their son was.
Danny stayed outside.
He could already hear it in his head. His dad’s gruff voice. "You need to get your shit together, Dan." His mom’s disappointed sighs. The passive-aggressive way she left job listings on the fridge.
Like he wasn’t already trying.
Like he didn’t wake up every day with that weight in his chest.
He’d been working since high school. His first job was at the Food Donkey. Then Pastabilities. Then Ham Panther. Each one ended the same way. Sorry, kid. Gotta cut back. You understand.
Yeah. He understood.
He kicked a rock down the road and watched it skitter across the pavement.
It wasn’t just the job thing. It was everything. His whole life felt like it was dragging itself forward, barely. Like his zombie resume. Like him.
A car passed by. He half-hoped it would swerve and hit him. Just a little. Just enough to get him out of work for a while, maybe.
He sighed again.
God, he needed to figure something out.
Maybe he’d check the notice board again tomorrow.
And so it was tomorrow.
Danny stepped out the door and into the cold.
It wasn’t raining, but the ground was wet. The air smelled like damp asphalt and old leaves. The kind of morning where everything felt stale. Even the sky, a dull, washed-out gray, looked like it had given up trying.
He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and started walking.
The Snack Falcon wasn’t far. He knew the path by heart. Walk straight and ignore everything else.
It was quiet otherwise.
Possum Springs never really woke up early. Not unless you were one of those sad people with a real job.
The notice board was on the way. He didn’t expect much, but he checked anyway.
None of his resumes were gone.
Awesome.
Someone had drawn a shitty mustache on his picture. A little swirl at the end, like he was some kind of cartoon villain.
Dick.
For a second, he considered ripping them all down. Just taking them back, pretending he never put them there in the first place. Like they weren’t just sitting there, screaming *Look at this desperate loser who will literally do anything for money!*
But that wouldn’t help.
He sighed and glanced at the other postings.
Same stuff as before. Yard work. Babysitting. Stuff that other people were doing instead of him.
Then something new.
A flier. Bright yellow. The ink was smudged from the rain, but he could still read it.
*Possum Springs Poetry Society. Weekly meetups. Library & Trolley Tunnel.*
Poetry.
Danny had never really thought about poetry.
He knew it existed.
Knew people wrote it.
But the idea of sitting in a room full of people, listening to some dude read a sonnet or whatever? Yeah, not exactly what he pictured himself doing with his day.
Still.
It was today.
And it was something.
Something that wasn’t going home.
Home meant sitting at the table, listening to his dad sigh and push the newspaper toward him, the classifieds circled in red. *"You see this, Dan? They're hiring at the Ol' Pickaxe again."*
Yeah. They always are.
Home meant his mom making little comments. *"Did you see CJ got a job down at the post office? That’s a good, stable job, you know."*
Like he had the qualifications.
Home meant going to his room, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how long he could keep doing this before he finally just didn’t wake up one morning.
So, yeah.
Poetry society it was.
First, though. Coffee.
The Snack Falcon was as shitty as ever.
It was too bright inside. The floors were sticky. The fridges hummed so loud it felt like they were rattling in his skull. The weird, gay fox dude tried to seem somewhat interested in his job.
The coffee was worse than he remembered.
Bitter. Burnt. Probably had been sitting there since yesterday.
He took a sip anyway.
Maybe poetry people had better coffee.
Danny spent the rest of the day drifting.
Nowhere in particular. Just walking.
The coffee at the Snack Falcon had been awful, but at least it was something warm. He sat on one of the metal benches outside for a while, staring at the road, watching cars roll by, rainwater sloshing under their tires.
The town felt... empty.
Not in a ghost town way. More in a *nothing ever happens here* way. Like Possum Springs was running on autopilot, just waiting for the last person to turn off the lights.
Danny kicked at a loose rock. Again. Thought about going home. Thought better of it.
He walked down to the train tracks, watched one pass. Sat near the old abandoned mill. Threw some sticks at a tree.
He checked the notice board again, even though he knew nothing had changed. His resumes were still there, still untouched, still laughing at him.
Eventually, it was time.
The library was one of the only nice places in town.
Some philanthropist or whatever had funded it years ago. Probably some old rich guy trying to feel good about himself before he died. But hey, at least he left something decent behind.
The place was huge, at least compared to everything else in town. More books than you'd think a place like this would have. Even now, it still had that old-book smell, the kind that made Danny think of being a kid.
His mom used to bring him here.
He’d read anything. Whatever was on the shelves, whatever he could reach. They had computers, too.
Back then, computers were magic.
Now his laptop just felt like another piece of crap taking up space in his room.
Danny sighed and walked in.
The air inside was cool, the hum of the lights filling the quiet. The whole place felt like it had been swallowed underground. Dark bricks, dim lights, kind of musty.
Three people were already there.
Miss Quelcy, a teacher he used to have in high school, was standing upright with her hands folded neatly in front of her.
Across from her left was someone he'd seen a few times. That old fisherman who was always at the trolley river, never actually catching anything. Danny didn’t think he was the poetry type.
And then there was someone new.
A shortish bear in a hoodie.
Hands in her pockets, one gripping a folded piece of paper.
She looked at him when he walked in. Kind of like she was sizing him up.
Miss Quelcy blinked at him.
“Oh,” she said. “I think I recognize you.”
Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “Daniel.”
She nodded, but it was clear she had no idea who he was.
He turned to the fisherman instead.
“Good to talk to you, Mr…?”
“Jones,” the old man grunted. “Jones is the name.”
Danny gave him a polite smile, but before he could say anything else—
“Selma.”
He turned.
The bear was looking at him with a face he couldn’t place.
“What?”
“Selma. That’s my name.”
Danny glanced to the side. “Oh. Sorry.”
A beat of silence.
Then Miss Quelcy clapped her hands together. “Okay! Well, welcome to the second meeting of the Possum Springs Poetry Society. Looks like we got ourselves a new member, though introductions have already been done, I suppose, so we can just go ahead and get started.”
Danny hesitated.
Oh. Shit.
He was supposed to have a poem.
He didn’t have a poem.
Miss Quelcy must have seen the look on his face because she smiled in that way old people did when they wanted you to stop panicking.
“It’s fine, dear,” she reassured. “If anything, something made up on the spot would be much more heartfelt.”
Danny wanted to sink into the floor.
Selma sighed. “I’ll go first.”
She pulled out her paper, unfolded it, and started reading.
**"There's No Reception in Possum Springs"**
No reception here
I wave my black phone
In the air like a flare
Like a prayer
But no reception
I read on the Internet baby face boy billionaire
Phone app sold made more money in one day than my family over 100 generations
More than my whole world ever has
World where house-buying jobs became rent-paying jobs became living with family jobs
Boy billionaires
Money is access access to politicians waiting for us to die
Lead in our water
Alcohol and painkillers
Replace my job with an app
Replace my dreams of a house and a yard
With a couch in the basement
“The future is yours!”
Forced 24-7 entrepreneurs.
I just want a paycheck and my own life
I'm on the couch in the basement
They're in the house and the yard
Some night I will catch a bus out to the west coast
And burn their silicon city to the ground.
Silence.
Danny swallowed.
That was… heavier than he expected.
He glanced at Jones. The guy just gave a slow nod, like *yeah, that’s about right.*
Danny didn't think he actually understood, though.
Selma tucked the paper back into her hoodie pocket and leaned back against a pillar.
Danny had no idea what the hell he was supposed to say.
Selma leaned forward.
"Your turn."
Danny blinked. "Huh?"
She gestured at him with a lazy wave. "You heard me. You’re next."
Miss Quelcy shifted on her feet. "Oh, now, there’s no rush—"
"He’s gotta go sometime," Selma cut in. "Might as well be now."
Danny felt his stomach tighten.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh. I mean, I don’t really have anything."
"Yeah. That’s the point."
Miss Quelcy gave Selma a small frown, but she didn’t push it.
Danny swallowed.
Fine. Whatever. If this was how it was gonna be, then this was how it was gonna be.
He tapped his fingers against the table. Thought for a second. And then:
"I wake up late,
Sun’s already past the trees,
Not much waiting for me except another day,
Another cup of shit coffee,
Another look at the board,
Same jobs still hiring,
Same resumes untouched."
His voice wavered a little, but he kept going.
"I’m a name on a piece of paper,
A number on a list,
Just another guy in a town that’s running out of guys,
But still somehow doesn’t need me."
He stopped.
There was a beat of silence.
Jones gave a slow nod.
"Nice one, Daniel."
Miss Quelcy smiled warmly. "Very good, dear. It’s honest."
Selma huffed, leaning back. "It was okay."
Danny let out a quiet breath. Good enough.
The others went next.
Jones' poem was short. Something about the river fish. Nothing fancy, but you could tell he meant it, as much as you could mean about fish.
Miss Quelcy’s was better. Something about old Possum Springs, the trolley days, back when the town still had a little life in it.
But neither of them hit as hard as Selma’s.
Eventually, the meeting wrapped up.
Miss Quelcy clapped her hands together and stood. "Well, I’d say that was a successful session. Same time after the next two weeks?"
Jones gave a grunt of approval. Selma shrugged. Danny just nodded.
One by one, they filed out.
Miss Quelcy and Jones walked together, their silhouettes disappearing down the street. The sky had darkened, the first evening stars poking through.
Selma sat down on the steps outside the library.
Danny hesitated.
For a second, he thought about joining her.
Instead, he kept walking.
Then:
"Hey, dipshit!"
Danny stopped.
Turned.
Pointed at himself. "Me?"
Selma snorted. "Nah, the other guy named Danny who read a poem five minutes ago."
Danny sighed and walked back up.
Selma tilted her head at him, arms crossed over her hoodie.
"What’s your deal?"
Danny frowned. "What?"
"You heard me."
Danny opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Because, honestly?
He had no idea how to answer that.
Danny shifted on his feet.
"Uh. What do you mean, 'my deal'?"
Selma shrugged. "Dunno. Just seem like you got one."
"That doesn’t really narrow it down."
"Guess not."
Silence.
Danny rubbed the back of his neck. "You always this pushy?"
"You always this dodgy?"
Danny exhaled sharply. A little laugh, maybe.
Selma tapped the step next to her.
"C’mon. Sit."
Danny hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he sat.
Selma rested her elbows on her knees.
"Didn’t mean to come off as an asshole, y’know," she said. "You just remind me of my ex."
Danny blinked. "Your ex?"
"Yeah. Dennis. You wouldn't know him. You don't look like you know assholes."
"Shit. Sorry."
Selma turned her head, raising a brow. "For what? You aren’t him, are you?"
"I mean, no."
"Then don’t apologize."
Danny nodded slowly. "Right."
Another pause.
"So," he said, "what was his deal?"
Selma sighed. "Lazy. Dependent. Thought he had the whole world figured out when he didn’t even have his own life sorted. But, most of all, he had this way of making me feel like I needed him." She clicked her tongue. "Turns out, I didn’t."
Danny chewed on that.
"Sounds like a real winner."
"Oh, yeah. Prize fucking catch."
Danny leaned back on his palms.
"So, what, you think I’m like that?"
Selma considered for a second.
"Nah," she said. "Not yet, anyway."
Danny frowned. "That’s reassuring."
"Hey, you asked."
Danny sighed. Looked up at the sky. The stars were clearer now.
"How long you been coming to these poetry things?"
Selma shrugged. "A few months. Helps keep my head straight."
"That bad?"
"You ever been to rehab?"
Danny glanced at her. "No."
"Then you wouldn’t get it."
He decided not to push that further.
Instead, he asked, "Why poetry?"
Selma smirked. "Why not?"
Danny shrugged. "I dunno. Just doesn’t seem like the usual post-rehab hobby."
"Yeah, well. Neither does getting a job."
Danny snorted. "Fair."
Selma nudged him with her elbow.
"So, you actually gonna come back next time, or was that a one-time thing?"
Danny thought about it.
"Guess we’ll see."
Selma stretched her legs out, cracking her ankles.
"I think I’ve seen you around before. Like, a lot."
Danny blinked. "Huh?"
"Just—different places. Pastabilities. Ham Panther. The gas station on the edge of town. That other hardware store that went out of business. Hell, Party Barn. It’s like, you’re always around, but never really anywhere, y’know?"
Danny’s stomach twisted a little.
Selma didn’t realize that was a soft spot.
"Not a bad thing," she added. "Just… something I noticed."
Danny shifted. "It isn’t."
Selma glanced at him. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
She looked at him for another second, like she was deciding if she believed him.
"Alright," she said.
Silence settled again.
Then Selma hummed.
"You’re insecure," she said.
Danny exhaled through his nose. "What about it?"
Selma smirked a little. "Nothin’. Just means you gotta work harder at not caring."
Danny raised an eyebrow. "That’s terrible advice."
"No, it’s great advice. You’re never gonna not care, so you gotta fake it 'til you’re too busy to notice."
Danny chewed on that.
"That sounds bad," he muttered.
"Bad things work sometimes."
He tilted his head, considering.
Then, after a moment, he looked up. The stars were brighter now, shining against the dark sky. He used to stare at them a lot when he was younger. When things felt bigger.
"You’re better at this stuff than you probably think you are," he said.
Selma scoffed. "Flatterer."
Danny shook his head. "No. Your poem was, like, really good. Like, really, really good."
For a second, Selma didn’t say anything. Then she stretched her arms over her head.
"Well, damn," she muttered. "Might actually believe that."
Danny smirked a little. "You should."
Selma side-eyed him.
"You coming back next week?"
"You already asked that," Danny muttered.
Selma smirked. "Yeah, well, I actually care this time."
Before he could say anything, she stood up, dusted off her skirt, and looked back at him.
"Later," she said.
Then she walked off.
Danny sat there for a second.
Then another second.
Then another.
Weird.
That was weird.
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his head.
Then he got up and started walking.
It was getting colder out. The wind had picked up, whistling through the trees and rattling the old streetlights. Most of the town was asleep by now. A couple of porch lights were still on, buzzing in the dark.
His feet dragged a little. His hands were stuffed in his jacket. His head felt—off.
Selma.
He tried not to think about her.
He thought about her a lot.
Not even in a normal way. It wasn’t like, Oh, she’s hot, or Oh, she’s interesting. It was just—
She stuck.
She wedged herself into his brain like a splinter, like an itch he couldn’t reach. Something about her felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Like a song he hadn’t heard in years, but somehow still knew all the words to.
It annoyed him.
It intrigued him.
It annoyed him that it intrigued him.
He reached his parents’ house, climbed up the stupid creaky steps, and let himself in.
The house was dark. Quiet. His parents were asleep. Probably. Maybe. If they weren’t, they weren’t bothering him, which was good enough.
He went to his room.
Sat on his bed.
Ran a hand down his face.
Selma.
Goddamn it.
He opened his eyes.
It didn’t feel like waking up.
It just felt like his brain switched back on.
The light in his room was dim, the gray kind of morning light that made it impossible to tell if it was early or just a cloudy noon. His blanket was twisted around his legs. His arm was numb.
He sat up.
He didn’t feel rested.
His clock blinked at him. Too early. Or too late. Either way, he needed to get up.
He stretched, winced at the stiffness in his back, and ran a hand through his hair.
Selma.
Fucking hell.
He shoved the thought away and got out of bed. His body moved like it was on autopilot, like he was just some guy playing the role of "Danny" for another day. He pulled on the same Jacket, shoved his feet into some socks that didn’t match, and cracked his neck.
Downstairs, the TV was on.
His dad was in his chair.
His mom was in the kitchen.
Danny stepped off the last stair, and immediately, his dad spoke without looking at him.
“Danny.”
“Dad.”
“You got any plans today?”
Danny rubbed his face. “Dunno.”
His mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “You should know.”
Danny sighed.
His dad muted the TV. “Still unemployed?”
Danny gritted his teeth. “Yeah.”
His mom sighed in that way that made him feel like a sinkhole. “Danny, honey, you need to be out there looking.”
“I am.”
His dad scoffed. “Not hard enough.”
Danny clenched his jaw.
His mom disappeared back into the kitchen.
His dad unmuted the TV.
Danny stood there for a second.
Then he went to the fridge.
Opened it.
Stared inside.
Nothing good.
He shut it and leaned against the counter.
“You need a plan,” his mom called out.
“I know.”
“You say that, but you’re still here.”
Danny exhaled slowly through his nose.
His dad chuckled. “You say you’re looking, but we don’t see it.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I should be filling out applications right in the living room so you guys can critique my resume.”
His mom didn’t laugh.
His dad didn’t, either.
Danny didn’t know what he expected.
He grabbed a piece of bread and ate it dry.
His mom sighed again. “Danny, we just want to see you do something with yourself.”
“I’m trying.”
“Not hard enough.”
Danny gritted his teeth.
The TV droned on.
He finished his bread.
Then he went back upstairs.
Danny lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The conversation downstairs still clung to him like a bad smell.
His parents were always like this. Like he was some kind of burden, something they had to deal with. He knew he wasn’t much, but it wasn’t like they had done him any favors either. He was just existing. Barely.
He sighed and turned on his side.
Then on his back again.
Then on his other side.
Then he sat up.
Fuck this.
He didn’t want to wait a whole two weeks just to see Selma again.
That thought alone made him pause.
Since when did he care about seeing someone that much?
Didn’t matter. He was already on his feet, shoving his shoes on for the second time in ten minutes. He grabbed his hoodie, pulled it over his head, and walked straight out of his room, down the stairs, and right past his parents without a word.
His dad grunted something.
His mom barely looked up.
Danny stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
The air was cool, but not cold. The sky had that kind of mid-morning brightness that made everything feel slightly off, like he had just woken up in a different world.
He looked around.
Nothing on his right.
Nothing on his left.
Down the hill—
There.
Selma sat on the steps of what he could only assume was her house, notebook in hand, smiling to herself as she wrote.
She looked cute.
Mae Borowski was standing next to her, talking about something.
Danny hesitated.
He needed to apologize to Mae one day.
Not now.
He walked down the slanted sidewalk, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. As he passed, he gave Mae a nod.
“Hey.”
Mae looked up. “Huh? Oh. Hey.”
Then he was past her, at the bottom of the hill, standing in front of Selma.
She had headphones on, still scribbling something in her notebook.
Danny tapped her shoulder.
She frowned for a second, then looked up.
“Oh, hey. Dan's here.”
She scooched over, making space.
Danny sat down.
Selma shut her notebook.
“What brings you down here?”
Danny shrugged. “I live nearby.” It wasn't a complete lie.
Selma raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
She leaned back against the steps.
“Could use the company,” she admitted.
Danny frowned. “But Mae was just here.”
“Well, yeah, but she isn’t *here.* She’s *there.*”
Danny blinked.
“Not in, like, a mean way,” Selma added. “I like her.”
“Oh. Right.”
Silence.
Selma looked at him.
Like she was waiting for something.
Like she already knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
Danny took a breath. “Hey, do you wanna—”
“No dice.”
Danny felt his stomach sink.
“…What?”
Selma sighed. “I’m too old for ya, kid.”
Danny blinked again. “Like what?”
She clicked her tongue.
“Insulting that you should ask,” Selma said with a smirk, “but twenty-nine.”
Danny sat up straighter. “I’m twenty-three.”
Selma tilted her head, like that was supposed to mean something. Then she shook it. “I was six when you were born. That’s a lot of years, dude.”
Danny clenched his jaw. “I don’t care.”
He said it louder than he meant.
Selma’s eyes widened.
Her body relaxed slightly.
Then she stretched her arms over her head, smirking a little.
“Okay,” she admitted. “You’re kinda cute.”
Danny’s brain stuttered.
Selma sighed dramatically and gave him a look. “Fine, what the hell.”
Something about that made Danny feel weirdly victorious. Made his chest kick up.
He tried not to show it.
“…Cool.”
Selma chuckled.
They sat in silence for a little longer.
Selma smirked again.
“You know what?” she said, standing up and dusting herself off.
Danny raised an eyebrow.
“How about we get started on that poem of yours for the next meeting?”