Once Sal finally convinced himself that his brother and brother-in-law were not home, he considered leaving. After all, what was the purpose of sticking around in an empty house.
But he had followed the irritating housefly into the kitchen, which led to other distractions. Within moments, the fly was forgotten as Sal used one massive arm to wrench open the door to the fridge. Soon after, he withdrew a bottle of beer but lingered as he perused other offerings. After some consideration, which did not include any misgiving about mooching off his brother, he decided to build a sandwich.
Placing the beer bottle aside, he gathered bread, some thin slices of deli ham and turkey and a jar of mayo. He fetched a plate from the cabinets and commenced to building a sandwich, which was soon constructed and left unguarded while he returned the basic ingredients to their rightful places in the Rivera-Walters kitchen.
Meanwhile, Brad, literally weak from hunger, picked up on the presence of food. Or at least his fly senses and instincts kicked into high gear, letting him know a solution to his depleted state was now at hand. He had watched with a detached lethargy the entire process of sandwich construction, which had been a sort of engineering feat from his lowly new perspective.
His attempt to fly closer to a sandwich the size of a building ended in a stumbling crash onto a vast slice of bread. His little proboscis went wild, testing and tasting, trying to sponge up nutrients that could save him.
“You dirty little pest!” Sal’s angry voice alerted his transformed sibling to the fact that he had been discovered, again!
An attempt to buzz his wings and take flight fizzled in failure. He hadn’t had time to soak up any nutrients. He needed the meat or perhaps the oily mayonnaise to alter his physical state with any degree of swiftness.
But Sal didn’t intend to share, especially not with a germ-laden, filthy fucking fly!
But he didn’t want to squish the damn bug on his sandwich, so he drew back an enormous finger, which he cocked against his thumb before unleashing a powerful flick that crashed into Brad and propelled the puny insect into a high-velocity journey across the kitchen counter, ending in a painful crash against the shiny chrome base of the kitchen’s food processor.
Sal laughed arrogantly as he watched the fly twitch miserably about the length of a ruler away on the countertop.
“I’ll finish you off later,” Sal vowed. “But first I am hungry.”