A Bizarre Journey ep 14: The Answer I Was Avoiding

My name is Loc.

I never thought I’d be the type of guy who overthinks a single text message for twenty minutes.

Yet here I was, sitting on the edge of my bed at 9:42 PM, staring at the chat with Tram like it was a bomb that might explode if I typed the wrong emoji.

After the whole New Loc disaster and the awkward pillow-fort rebellion at the company camping trip, things between us had been… polite. Too polite. The kind of polite that felt like walking on thin ice while pretending everything was fine.

I typed, deleted, typed again.

Loc: Hey. Saw they’re selling that passion fruit tea you like near my office tomorrow. Want me to grab some for you?

I stared at the message for another ten seconds, then hit send before I could overthink it more.

Her reply came faster than I expected.

Tram: Sure. Thanks.

No emoji. No teasing remark. Just “Sure. Thanks.”

I leaned back against the headboard and let out a long breath. That was progress, right? At least she didn’t leave me on read.

I wanted to fix things. Not with Quan’s scripts or Minh’s chaotic plans this time. Just… me. The real, awkward, not-perfect version. Even if it meant taking it slow and looking like an idiot sometimes.

The next few days passed in a strange, uneasy rhythm.

I kept trying — small things, nothing too obvious. I bought the passion fruit tea and left it at her door with a note that just said “No ninja delivery this time.” I replied to her messages faster than usual. I even asked about her day without sounding like I was reading from a script. It felt clumsy and forced, but it was honest. At least I hoped it was.

Tram’s replies were still polite, but there was something different about them. A little more teasing than before. A little more playful. I told myself it was a good sign.

I had no idea it was all just my pathetic hallucination.

On Friday evening, I was coming back from the convenience store when I saw her.

Tram was standing near the entrance of the building, laughing at something a guy was saying. He was tall, well-dressed, wearing a clean white shirt with the sleeves rolled up just right. He had that effortless, calm confidence I’d only seen in one other person before — New Loc.

My stomach twisted.

The guy handed her a small paper bag with what looked like her favorite macarons. Tram smiled — that soft, genuine smile I rarely saw directed at me lately — and said something that made him laugh too.

I stood there like an idiot, half-hidden behind a pillar, clutching my plastic bag of instant noodles.

Of course she’d move on. Why wouldn’t she?

I turned around and went the long way back to my room, heart heavier than it had any right to be.

That night, I stared at our chat for a long time before typing:

Loc: Saw you with someone earlier. He seems nice.

Her reply came after ten minutes.

Tram: Yeah. His name’s Kien. We’re… getting to know each other. He’s been really sweet.

I put my phone down and lay on the bed, staring at the spinning ceiling fan.

Sweet. Of course he was sweet. Unlike me.

I told myself I was happy for her. I really did.

But the next morning, I woke up with a strange, bitter taste in my mouth.

And that was only the beginning.

The following week became my personal circus of shame.

Tram and Kien were suddenly everywhere. And I, in a moment of profound stupidity, decided the only logical response was to turn into a budget spy.

I started “casually” taking the same routes as them. I’d hide behind pillars, pretending to tie my shoelaces for suspiciously long periods. Once, I spent four full minutes staring at a single potted plant just to avoid being seen. An old lady actually asked if I needed medical help.

It got worse.

I borrowed Minh’s ridiculous oversized sunglasses and a fake mustache (yes, a literal fake mustache) and sat three tables away in the café, holding a newspaper upside down while sweating like a wanted criminal.

When Tram glanced in my direction, I panicked and tried to duck behind the menu, knocking over an entire pitcher of water in the process. The waiter looked at me like I was a lost cause.

The absolute rock bottom came at the supermarket.

I was crouched behind a towering stack of instant noodle boxes, peeking out like a paranoid meerkat. Kien was calmly helping Tram pick out fruits, saying something that made her laugh brightly. The sound hit me like a punch to the gut. In my jealous haze, I leaned too far forward.

The entire noodle pyramid collapsed.

Hundreds of Indomie packs rained down on me like carbohydrate Armageddon. I ended up sprawled on the floor, covered in noodle packets, fake mustache still stubbornly stuck to my face.

Tram turned around at the exact wrong moment.

She stared.

I stared back, noodles in my hair, dignity in ruins.

A long, painful silence stretched between us.

Then she slowly raised an eyebrow.

“…Nice mustache, Loc.”

I wanted to dissolve into the floor and never return.

Kiên, being the infuriatingly perfect gentleman, even crouched down to help me pick up some of the fallen packs, looking genuinely concerned.

That night, lying on my bed and staring at the spinning ceiling fan, I felt a strange mix of humiliation and burning determination.

Kien was too perfect. Too calm. Too much like New Loc.

And for the first time, instead of just feeling sorry for myself, I felt something sharper.

A strange determination that burned deep in my chest.

That same night, Quan burst into my room like he had been waiting outside the door the whole time.

“Bro! I heard everything from Minh! You saw Tram with that Kien guy? This is a national emergency! We need to launch a full counter-offensive. I already have a 47-step recovery plan. Step 1: Grand romantic gesture at sunrise. Step 2: Custom playlist titled ‘I’m Sorry I Was A Mess’. Step 3—”

“No,” I cut him off immediately, sitting up straighter on the bed.

Quan froze mid-gesture. “No…?”

“I’m not doing this with scripts again,” I said firmly. “No more fake stories. No more plans from you or Minh. This time, I’m handling it myself. As me. The real, awkward, chronically disappointing version.”

Quan stared at me for three full seconds.

Then his shoulders started shaking. He turned away quickly, clearly trying — and failing miserably — to hold back laughter.

“Okay… okay, I respect that,” he said, voice trembling with suppressed giggles. “Totally support you, bro. One hundred percent. Go fight for your girl like a real man. This is… inspiring.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you look like you’re about to piss yourself laughing?”

“No reason at all,” he replied, still grinning like an idiot. “I’m just… so proud. My brother is finally doing things his own way. Character development arc truly unlocked. I’m almost emotional.”

He quickly left the room before I could press him further, shoulders still shaking suspiciously.

I had no idea what was so funny to him.

But at that moment, I didn’t care.

Kien might be calm, charming, and effortlessly perfect.

But I was real.

Messy. Scared. Full of flaws.

And this time, I wasn’t going to let another “better version” of myself take what I wanted without at least trying to fight for it.

Even if I looked like a complete idiot doing it.

~~~•••~~~

Well, I did indeed turn myself into a fool.

The next few days became an escalating comedy of errors that felt personally targeted.

I tried to be subtle. I really did.

First, I again waited near the entrance with two cups of her favorite passion fruit tea. The moment she appeared, I stepped forward.

“Hey, Tram. I got—”

Just at that moment, Kien appeared at the doorway like a damn final boss waiting behind the loading screen, hands holding also the passion fruit teas.

“Tram! Look at what I’ve bought for you!”

My eyes immediately snapped into a pair of bullet point that spiritually and physically tried to turn Kien into a rat.

But as I put my focus on him, I didn’t pay attention to the banana peel (that was totally not there 5 seconds ago) lying on the floor.

I tripped.

Arms opened in the air. Both cups flew upward in slow motion, exploding mid-air like sugary grenades. I was instantly drenched in sticky orange liquid from head to toe. A passing uncle clapped slowly and said, “Nice shower, Loc.”

Second attempt: I left a small potted succulent at her door with a simple note. As I turned to leave, the pot somehow tipped over in perfect slow-motion, dumping wet soil directly onto my head like a flowerpot booby trap. I stood there blinking dirt out of my eyes while a group of aunties walked by, whispering, “Poor boy is trying so hard to grow something… even if it’s just on his head.”

Third attempt was the elevator ambush.

I finally got in alone with her. The doors closed. For three glorious seconds, it was just us.

“Tram, listen, I—”

The elevator lights flickered dramatically. A pre-recorded voice (sounding suspiciously like a dude faking a terrible AI impression) blasted from the speaker:

“Warning: Passenger Loc has a 92% chance of emotional constipation and a documented history of hiding in the closet due to nervousness. Please remain calm while he attempts not to run away again.”

The doors opened. Kien was standing right there, holding two movie tickets and looking like he just stepped out of a magazine.

Tram gave me one long, exhausted look — a mix of pity and amusement — before stepping out with him.

I remained in the elevator, listening to the faint sound of Kien’s evil cackling somewhere in the ventilation system.

At this point, I had accepted that the universe itself was being sponsored by Kien.

Still, I wasn’t giving up.

I spotted Tram walking through the courtyard alone and decided this was finally my chance. No drinks. No gifts. No elevators. Just a normal conversation between two normal human beings.

I took a deep breath and started toward her.

“Hey, Tram. Can we ta—”

A mechanical voice suddenly erupted from a nearby bush.

“CREEP DETECTED.”

I froze.

“…What?”

The bush rustled violently.

“CREEP DETECTED. ACTIVATING DEFENSIVE COUNTERMEASURES.”

Before I could process the fact that the shrubbery had apparently become self-aware, a hidden machine gun turret emerged from the leaves.

Not bullets.

Bubble gum.

Thousands of them.

The thing opened fire with the fury of a military-grade candy dispenser.

PAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP!

Gum pellets blasted into my face, hair, shirt, pants, and somehow the inside of my shoes. One hit my forehead hard enough to leave a perfectly circular pink mark. Another glued my left eyebrow to my bangs.

I staggered backward.

“What kind of psychopath builds this?!”

The machine answered immediately.

“PROPERTY OF KIEN INDUSTRIES.”

Of course it was.

Meanwhile, Tram stood twenty feet away, watching the entire disaster unfold with the expression of someone who had long since stopped questioning reality.

I attempted one final desperate advance.

Three steps.

The turret rotated.

“WARNING. CREEP ADVANCING.”

Four more steps.

“WARNING. CREEP IGNORING WARNINGS.”

Five more steps.

“LETHAL EMBARRASSMENT PROTOCOL AUTHORIZED.”

A giant gum ball the size of a baseball launched directly into my mouth.

I choked.

Coughed.

Tripped over absolutely nothing.

And crashed face-first into the grass.

The turret played a victory jingle.

Somewhere behind the bushes, I heard someone yell before covering their mouth:

“Direct hit! Let’s go!”

By next day, I had accepted my new reality.

I was no longer trying to win Tram back.

I was just trying to survive the personalized chaos simulator that had apparently been designed to mock every single one of my attempts at growth.

And the universe was really, really good at it.

That night, I sat alone on the rooftop balcony, legs dangling over the edge, a crow flying lazily above my head like it was judging my entire life.

I had failed spectacularly for days.

Tea explosions in the hallway.
 Dirt showers from innocent potted plants. 
Public elevator humiliation with a voice announcement of my greatest hits. And the gum turrets disaster.

Each attempt to get closer to Tram had ended in increasingly creative forms of cosmic comedy. I was running out of clean shirts and dignity.

I pulled out my phone and opened our old chat again. My thumb hovered, then scrolled up before I could stop myself.

There it was — the photo she sent weeks ago. Her in that oversized hoodie, messy hair, soft smile, holding the ginger tea I’d left at her door. The caption still hit the same way: “Still warm. Thanks, ninja.”

I stared at it for a long time.

Then a new message from Quan popped up.

Quan: Hey Loc, just heard from a friend. Tram and Kien are going to watch that new movie tomorrow night. The one everyone’s talking about. Thought you should know…

I locked the phone and leaned back, letting the cool night air wash over me.

For several long minutes, I just sat there, replaying every humiliating failure. Every time I tried, something ridiculous slapped me back down. Every time I wanted to say something real, the universe turned it into a joke.

But as I looked at that old photo again — her quiet smile, the way she had trusted me even a little — something stubborn finally ignited.

I wasn’t going to win her back by being responsible. 
I wasn’t even sure I deserved to.

But I was done hiding behind excuses. Done letting fear or chaos or polished imposters write the ending for me.

Tomorrow, I was going to do something real.

Even if it ended in complete and utter disaster.
 Even if she laughed in my face.
 Even if I ended up covered in tea, dirt, and humiliation again.

At least this time, it would be my disaster.

I stood up, decision settling heavy but solid in my chest.

“Alright,” I muttered to the starry night above me. “Let’s go make a fool of ourselves. One last time.”

~~~•••~~~

I woke up like a ghost oversleeping at its own funeral.

7:48 PM.

The movie started at 8:00.

“Fuck.”

No shower. No changing clothes. No dignity left. I exploded out of bed and sprinted.

I rushed through the door, pumping into Ms. Lan who happened to just stand outside, knocking off a bunch of mail letters into the air.

“Hey! You piece of—“

“Sorry!”

The stairwell door on the 4th floor betrayed me instantly. A hidden bucket tipped the second I pushed through — a wall of cold water crashed down like a personal waterfall. I twisted mid-leap on pure instinct, sliding across the wet floor like a panicked breakdancer, arms windmilling wildly to keep balance. Water soaked me to the bone, but I didn’t stop.

I kept going, even if it meant rolling down the stairs like a piece of wet potato.

The 3rd floor hallway somehow turned into a death trap. Marbles rolled under my feet like invisible landmines. My body reacted faster than my brain — I planted one foot on the wall, vaulted forward in a desperate, adrenaline-fueled leap, barely clearing the scattered spheres as they clattered behind me like mocking laughter.

Sweat stung my eyes. My lungs burned. But every failure only made me faster.

I burst out the main entrance like a human wrecking ball, shirt half-buttoned, hair a disaster, one shoe already missing from the chaos.

Ten meters.. seven meters.. five meters away from the main gate—

“Whoosh!!”

Awaiting me there was the vicious gust of wind that ripped my remaining shoe clean off and hurled it into the bushes.

I didn’t hesitate.

I ran barefoot, feet slapping painfully against the cold pavement, determination drowning out the sting.

I exploded through the gate, chest heaving, vision blurry, looking like I had just survived a war.

And there they were.

Kien was pedaling a cute bicycle with a flower basket, calm and effortless. Tram sat on the back seat, one arm lightly around his waist for balance, laughing softly at something he said. They looked like they had stepped out of a romance movie at golden hour.

The little bell on the bicycle rang cheerfully as they glided past me.

Tram’s eyes met mine for one devastating second — surprise, then something softer. Almost pity.

They kept moving.

I stood there, barefoot, soaked, covered in dirt and water and pure humiliation, watching the girl I liked disappear into the distance with someone who looked like he belonged in her world.

A broken, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips.

“…Well played.”

My shoulders slumped.

I almost turned around.

Go back in there. Get cleaned up. Throw my body onto the bed. Anything but embarrassing myself even more.

Then a thought hit me — sharp, stubborn, and annoyingly persistent.

My fists clenched.

“No,” I muttered under my breath. “Not this fucking time.”

I started running.

Barefoot on the rough pavement. Shirt half-buttoned and flapping wildly. Hair a disaster. Looking like a madman who had finally snapped.

Kien and Tram were moving at a relaxed pace ahead, chatting and laughing. The bicycle bell rang every few seconds like it was laughing at me.

I pushed harder, ignoring the burning in my feet. A motorbike splashed through a puddle and drenched me again. I didn’t stop. An old lady on the sidewalk yelled, “Young man, are you okay?!” I kept running.

But the bicycle still slowly faded away as I desperately tried to catch my breath.

They turned a corner. I followed, nearly tripping over a stray cat that gave me a disgusted look.

And then an absolutely terrible idea appeared.

Which, unfortunately, was still the best idea I had.

I sprinted toward the crowd of families, tourists, and food stalls spreading both sides of the street.

“Watch out!” I suddenly yelled at the top of my lungs, pointing dramatically at one corner.

“Uhh.. Snake! Big snake!”

The reaction was immediate.

People screamed.

Several shoppers jumped aside.

A fruit vendor dropped a basket of oranges.

Half the crowd surged toward one side of the street while the other half froze trying to see where the snake was.

Within seconds, a chaotic wall of confused humanity had formed directly across the road.

Right in front of Kien’s bicycle.

“What the—?”

Kien squeezed the brakes.

The bicycle slowed sharply.

Tram turned around, trying to figure out what was happening.

Meanwhile, I ran straight into the crowd myself because I hadn’t actually planned beyond this point.

“Excuse me—sorry—coming through—sorry!”

Someone stepped on my foot.

A child hit me with a balloon.

An old woman smacked my arm with a shopping bag.

But somehow I stumbled through the human barricade just as Kien finally managed to steer around it.

By then I was only a few meters away.

With one final desperate burst of energy, I lunged forward and grabbed the back of the bicycle seat.

The bike wobbled violently.

Kien let out a startled “Whoa—!”

Tram grabbed his waist to steady herself.

And just like that, I was being dragged behind the bicycle like a deranged trailer, bare feet skidding across the asphalt, shirt half-open, dignity completely annihilated.

Tram looked back.

“Loc?!”

I looked up at her, panting like a dying dog.

“…Wait,” I gasped. “We need to talk!”

The bicycle swerved dangerously. Kien tried to steady it while Tram let out a surprised yelp. I was still clinging to the back seat like a deranged hitchhiker, bare feet dragging across the asphalt.

Kien finally stopped. He turned around, still trying to maintain that infuriatingly calm expression.

“Loc… are you okay?”

I let go and stood up, chest heaving, looking like I had just crawled out of a dumpster.

“No, I’m not okay!” I shouted, voice cracking. “I’ve been watching you two for days! The tea, the macarons, the stupid romantic bike rides — you think you’re so cool, don’t you?!”

Kien frowned, still trying to be the mature one.

“Loc, I understand you’re upset, but this isn’t—”

“Upset?! I’m not upset, I’m furious!” I stepped closer, pointing aggressively at his chest. “You’re too perfect! Too nice! Too everything! You open doors, you remember her favorite drinks, you make her laugh like it’s easy! Who do you think you are?!”

Kien’s calm mask finally cracked. He crossed his arms, voice rising.

“And who do you think YOU are? Running after a moving bike like a crazy person? Clinging to the seat like a lost puppy? You call that trying? That’s just embarrassing!”

I jabbed a finger at him.

“At least I’m real! I mess up! I panic! I drop coffee on my shirt! You’re just… just a walking filter! Fake smile, fake charm, fake everything!”

Kiên leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“Oh yeah? Well at least I don’t need my little brother to write my lines for me! At least I don’t run away every time things get hard!”

“Take that back!” I yelled, voice going embarrassingly high. “You don’t know anything about me!”

“I know enough!” Kien shot back, equally childish. “You’re just jealous because I’m better at this than you’ll ever be!”

We were now nose-to-nose, both red-faced and breathing heavily like two kindergarteners fighting over a toy.

Tram stepped between us, face flushed with pure exasperation.

“Enough!” she shouted. “Are you two done acting like absolute children?!”

The street fell silent.

I looked at her, all the frustration, jealousy, and exhaustion finally boiling over.

“…No,” I said, voice shaking. “I’m not done. I’m jealous, Tram. Really fucking jealous. I hate seeing you with him. I hate that he’s better at making you smile. I hate that I keep messing everything up. But I’m here — running after a damn bicycle like an idiot because I don’t want to lose again without at least trying.”

Tram stared at me.

The silence stretched.

Kien quietly took a step back, a faint, knowing smile appeared on his face.

Then Tram frowned.

“That’s it?”

I blinked.

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

Her arms crossed.

“Of what?”

I opened my mouth.

“Tram, I—”

“No. Answer the question.”

Her voice sharpened.

“Are you jealous because Kien is better than you?”

I hesitated.

She immediately noticed.

“Because he’s thoughtful? Reliable? Because he actually remembers things?”

Each word landed harder than I wanted to admit.

“Or are you jealous because of me?”

The street suddenly felt very quiet.

Tram looked genuinely angry now.

“You chased us across the city and started a fight over this. So tell me the truth, Loc. Is this about him… or is this about me?”

For a moment, I wanted to say it was Kiên.

That would have been easier.

The guy was basically a walking romance novel. Perfect hair. Perfect sunglasses. Perfect everything.

But standing there, covered in mud and road dust, I finally realized something.

If Kien had been dating literally anyone else, I wouldn’t have cared.

Not even a little.

The problem was never him.

My shoulders slowly slumped.

“…Damn it.”

Tram didn’t say anything.

I rubbed a hand over my face.

“It’s you.”

Her expression froze.

I laughed weakly.

“God, that sounds terrible.”

“Loc.”

“I don’t care that he’s better than me.”

I pointed at Kien.

“Okay, maybe he’s a little better than me.”

“A little?” Kien muttered.

“Shut up.”

He shut up.

I looked back at Tram.

Then all the excuses I’d been carrying around for years suddenly felt stupid.

“I thought there would always be more time.”

My voice softened.

“More chances. Another day to talk. Another day to fix things.”

I shook my head.

“But then I saw you riding away with him.”

The knot in my chest tightened.

“And for the first time, I realized that maybe one day you’d stop waiting.”

Tram’s eyes widened slightly.

“I wasn’t scared of losing to Kiên.”

I met her gaze.

“I was scared of losing you.”

Silence.

No one joked.

No one moved.

“I know I screw things up,” I continued quietly. “I know I’m late. I know I run when things get difficult. But when I thought you might actually move on…”

I let out a breath.

“…it scared the hell out of me.”

For the first time all night, Tram didn’t look angry.

She just looked at me, eyes sparkling with something I haven’t seen in weeks.

‘I said it.’ I murmured to myself, then the thought came back as if wanting to land a final punch in my guts. ‘I want to die.’

The silence lingered for exactly three seconds. As I stood there questioning my whole existence, a voice suddenly exploded from somewhere behind me.

“LET’S GOOOOOO!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Quan came charging out from behind a parked motorbike like he’d just won the lottery, pumping both fists into the air.

“HE DID IT! HE ACTUALLY DID IT!”

My brain took several seconds to process what I was looking at.

“…Quan?”

My little brother pointed at me, laughing so hard he was struggling to breathe.

“You confessed! Holy crap, you actually confessed! I thought you’d panic halfway through and fake a heart attack!”

Something felt wrong.

Very wrong.

I slowly turned toward Kien.

He was smiling.

Not his usual calm, mature smile.

A weird smile.

The kind of smile people have right before revealing they’ve committed several crimes.

“…Kien?”

The smile widened.

Then he reached up and removed his sunglasses.

I frowned.

Next came the hair.

Not his hair.

A wig.

He pulled it off in one smooth motion.

I stared.

The street spun slightly.

“No.”

Then he reached under his jacket and casually pulled out what appeared to be two small pillows.

One from each side.

His impressive shoulders immediately shrank by thirty percent.

“No.”

Another pillow.

Then another.

His entire romantic-drama-protagonist physique began collapsing in real time.

“No.”

Finally, he looked up and grinned.

The grin I knew far too well.

“Hey, Loc.”

My soul left my body.

“MINH?!”

My best friend burst out laughing so hard he almost dropped the wig.

Quan collapsed onto the sidewalk.

Tram covered her face, already losing control.

I pointed at Minh with the horror of a man witnessing reality unravel.

“WHY ARE YOU BUILT LIKE AN IKEA SOFA?!”

“The pillows were Quan’s idea,” Minh wheezed.

“They were NOT!” Quan yelled. “The shoulder pads were my idea. The abs were yours.”

“You had fake abs?!”

“Three layers. Gotta make it look like the real deal, man.”

I staggered.

“So I’ve been fighting a man made of pillow?”

At that point Tram finally gave up and started laughing too.

Not the polite laugh she’d been giving Minh all week.

A full, uncontrollable laugh.

The kind I hadn’t heard from her in weeks.

When she finally caught her breath, she folded her arms and looked at me.

“Now that the performance is over, I think you deserve an explanation.”

I pointed at Minh.

“He deserves prison.”

“Maybe later.”

She smiled.

“A few weeks ago, Minh and Quan told me you were still doing what you’ve always done whenever feelings got involved.”

I immediately looked at Quan.

“You betrayed me.”

“I absolutely did.”

Tram continued.

“So we made a plan.”

“A plan?”

“A revenge plan.”

The words hit harder than expected.

She tilted her head.

“Ten years, Loc.”

Fair.

“You disappeared whenever things got difficult. You avoided conversations. You pretended everything was fine. So I figured if talking honestly wouldn’t work…”

She gestured toward Minh.

“…we’d recreate a problem so ridiculous you couldn’t run away from it.”

Minh bowed dramatically.

“I was the problem.”

“You were a very stupid problem.”

“Thank you.”

Tram shook her head, still smiling.

“The tea, the gifts, the bike rides, all of it was fake.”

My jaw dropped.

“The traps too?”

“The traps were real. We tested it.”

“You monsters.”

“We’re not monsters,” Quan said proudly. “We’re artists.”

I looked from Quan to Minh to Tram.

Three traitors.

Three absolute psychopaths.

And judging by their faces, not a single one felt guilty.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Minh snorted.

Quan started laughing again.

Tram tried to hold it in and failed immediately.

Within moments all three were doubled over, laughing so hard they could barely stand.

I remained completely still in the middle of the sidewalk, covered in dirt, soaked from head to toe, barefoot, emotionally devastated, and freshly manipulated by what was apparently an organized criminal conspiracy.

The laughter only got louder.

I stared into the distance.

Somewhere far away, a bicycle bell rang.

The universe was laughing at me too.