Now please, fellow awesome blog readers, make your own contributions to the awesome writing prompts so I don’t look like such a ball hog.

Fat drunks crowd the dance floor, large happy planets orbiting the jukebox. A strobe flower blooms above, illuminating a disco ball. Each of the facets flashes its hexagon magic, an artificial satellite with very real power.

Burgers and fries appear in baskets at the pick-up window. Big Sam puts the grill in bar-and-grill. He takes it seriously, his tiny fortress of fire. He manages thirty orders at once, and nobody ever complains.

In the far corner, two underage kids play an ancient knock-off video game, Komodo 3000. They use plastic guns to shoot digital lizards, each one exploding in a critical blast of reptilian goo.

Captain Ed emerges from the men’s room, vapor trails following. He sits at the bar a few seats away from Susie Cue, the local pool shark. She is complaining about her Saturn battery, which always has trouble on hot nights like this, for some damn reason.

Shoulda bought American, Captain Ed says. He belches, a barbarian blast of beer-fueled biology.

It is American, she replies. Disgusted, she returns to the pool table with her stick, a custom-made beauty she calls the Glitterator. Pink and purple sparkles glint from underneath its lacquer as she lines up a shot and executes it with otherworldly power, sending the colored balls into cometary chaos across the felt.

It’s just another Friday night in Fiery Cloud, west Texas, halfway between Pecos and Fort Stockton on Highway 285.