FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Powerful bass, cool air, beer, and a crowd to enjoy it all with. In college, you would've probably been dragged to a concert like this by a few of your friends to enjoy a night out. You would enjoy it by yourself, even if as just a reminder of your time spent in the past. However, as a janitor barely paid any better than a schmuck sitting at a gas station, it's anything but enjoyable. You've been sent out with a few other coworkers to clean before, but this is easily the worst gig you've had to do so far.

It isn't just one thing that makes it the worst, it's the culmination of it all into one awful package. You've cleaned puke before- same with ankle-high mounds of trash and food, puddles of piss both in and outside the restroom, and even the odd pool of blood and shit. But even with a small team of other cleaners, the sheer amount of disgusting filth you've had to clean could only be described with words that are better used for ludicrous exaggerations. You've actually started to become used to the awful acidic scent of vomit. And as you view two more concert-goers opt to toss their trash onto the ground, you can feel the anger within you boiling even hotter.

Previous places you've been sent out to were just the one mess: You clean it, you go home. Simple. With a live gig, you're left running all over the stadium to play nanny for the hundreds of drunk assholes with an entire piercing stores catalog of metal hanging off their face. Trash cans aren't even filled before trash is tossed to the floor, and you don't even want to start thinking about how bad the floor outside the stage is when they all finally clear out. Maybe if it was any other day, you would better handle this. It's not that anything has happened or will happen today, it's just the steady flow of awful work has started to wear on you.

The others either have a much better tolerance to it than you do, or they just haven't been at it long enough to really start thinking, "So this is what my life's lead up to?" Hell, maybe they have and they're just one more shit day away from exploding. You look down at the tilt truck as you let out a long sigh, noting that it's only half full. After a quick glance around the hall at the smaller, less offensive pieces of trash littered about, you decide it's an apt time for an unofficial break. You're just doing your job and emptying out, that's all, and if anyone comes by, you can just say you were about to empty out before throwing yourself back into the hell pit again.

You pull the trash bin along to the service door and step outside, thankful for the cool night temperatures. Even outside the stadium, you can still hear the steady thumping of the band within. You roll the truck along towards the dumpsters, only to notice upon your arrival that you're not alone. Sitting down with their back against a wall looking at their phone is an anthro. White furred along the face, has a long, naked tail reaching down their legs, a pink nose at the tip, and-

Holy fucking shit, those are huge tits.

All previous details about the anthro are forgotten as you're left in mild awe at the sheer size of the undeniably female opossum. They almost look to be about the size of your head, and you had to double-check just to make sure it wasn't a trick of the light or her smuggling something under her hoodie. But with the low-hanging zipper, no doubt unable to go any higher by the obvious passengers, you can very easily see the skin- er fur peeking through. While it's not enough to see the full extent, you doubt she'd be able to easily fake stuffing her bra or whatever might be around her breasts. Now, as to whether they're plastic-filled Barbie mound implants, that's a whole other line of thought. Shit, she actually probably could have those bra-stuffer things-

"Fuck off, dick-ass. I'm not a streetcorner whore, even if you want-" she spits out, forcing you out of your line of thought and focus on her tired yet angry expression. She stopped herself as she turned her head to look at you, her face softening slightly as she mumbles, "Hmm. Thought you were someone else."

With that colorful introduction made, you feel all the more inclined to do anything else other than hang out here with the pissed trashrat.

... Well, anything other than going back inside.

...

Fuck.

"Someone inside mess with you?" you ask, deciding it would be better to strike up a conversation than just standing in place quietly.

"Eh, no one to really give a shit about. Just another fuckhead among the other hundred or so that wanted to fuck around. Thought he came out to be a dick again."

Another awkward silence. Dammit, time to wing it on topics: "Not going in for the show?"

"Nah. Not really my speed; listened for a bit then decided to dip. They won't let you smoke while inside," she says, tucking away her phone inside the pocket of her jeans as she fetches a cig and lighter from the other.

"Funny, considering all the shit on the floor, you'd think the last thing they'd care about are a few smokes."

"Right?" she responds with a smirk, placing the obviously self-rolled stick to her mouth before lighting it. As she takes a quiet huff, the potent scent of the smoke betrays its actual contents. How legal is Mary Jane in this state again? She lets out a puff of smoke and looks up to you as she says, "Sorry, not in the mood to pass."

"Not really interested in the stuff, anyway."

"Oh yeah? So what're you doing standing around with the trash, trash-man?"

"What's it look like? Just want a moment not busting my ass cleaning up after these anim- Uh, people."

She lets out a hoarse laugh, coughing slightly as she expels a few puffs of smoke. "Almost said it, didn't ya?" She lets out a few more laughs before clearing her throat. "Can't believe the mayor tried holding a whole serious meeting about that shit. Not like anyone who actually means it says it anymore, y'know?"

"God, no kidding. Had a friend from high get dropped from his job after calling a dog woman a bitch, and this was after she started screaming and throwing shit, too."

"Shiiiit. Lemme guess, was he a cat, too?"

"Nah. Frog."

"Heh. Anyway, was just wondering. Not like I'm gonna tell on you for not cleaning up shit or how you almost started talkin' mad shit about the people inside," she says, giving you a sharp-toothed grin before taking another puff.

"Well, if you did, I'd make sure to pay you back and tell someone about those sticks you're carrying," you respond as you point to her almost finished blunt.

"Fuckin' narc," she teases back. "Alright, alright. Secret's safe with me, lazy ass."

You let out a few chuckles of your own as you lean against the wall, craning your head up to look at the night sky. For a few moments, a comfortable quiet was shared between you and the opossum, only broken by the last few breaths of her joint and the muffled bass of the concert. Curiosity winning over, you decide to ask, "So is the show that bad?"

"Eh, was OK. Only stepped out because of that one fuckhead I told you about, but I wasn't really liking how the songs were going anyway."

"Not into... I dunno, I guess whatever Krunkilo Don is."

"Just rock. And no, just figured I'd see what they were about, y'know?"

"You always go to concerts of bands you didn't listen to before?" you scoff.

"Heh, that's implying I paid," she says with another grin as she flicks the depleted blunt out to the ground.

"So now you really do have to keep your word about being quiet then?" you shoot back.

"Yeah, yeah," she answers, her tone becoming more somber and aggressive. "Just don't fuckin' expect some porno shit just because y'can get the bouncers to kick me out."

"Woah, hold on. Where's this coming from, I wouldn't do that shit," you respond, eliciting a quick roll of her eyes. "You're saying people've said this?"

"Yeah. You'd be fuckin' surprised. Course it's not every time, just... Y'know, you don't forget the times it does happen. Got right the fuck out when it does."

"Christ. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," she says dismissively, breaking eye contact to look to the side.

Once again dipped back into an awkward silence, you embrace it as a reprieve from the sudden minefield she welcomed you into. You pull out your phone and check the time, wondering if you've been out long enough for anyone to notice. You look back to the trash in the cart and question whether you should take this as your way out. However, before you could entertain the thought, you think about the friend you've mentioned from high. You haven't heard a peep from him in a few years ever since he got kicked, and fuck, you don't really have anyone else to talk to.

Sure you got your co-workers, but they're about as disinterested in you as you are with them. As pathetic as it is, the opossum is really the only person you've talked to in this length in a long while. As much as you want to bounce, you know you'd regret not taking the opportunity while you have it, just like you've done before. You let out a quiet sigh before speaking up, "Well, I think I need to get back to it before they scream at me again."

"Mmm," she responds.

"But hey," you start, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat and ask, "It was nice talking to you. And, I was wondering if you'd be down to-"

"No, I'm not going to lunch with you. Or dinner or whatever," she spits back, giving you her full attention. Before you could respond, she continues, "Only thing that pisses me off more are dickheads who think just being friends for a bit gives them royal access to fuck me. Like just because they hang out with me they get to rawdog me or get free access to these fuckin' things." She gestures a hand down to her chest for emphasis, briefly breaking eye contact before resuming her glare.

"Wait a minute, that isn't at all what this is," you return, already regretting your decision to ignore your social awkwardness.

"Yeah, right," she mocks, "It always isn't until it is, dickass."

"Look, I just wanted to ask to try and make friends. Thought it was actually nice talking to you. You can just say no instead of airing all this shit out on me."

She huffs before coming to a stand, revealing her height to be just below your nose and causing her very sizable chest to wobble slightly as she moves. You ignore the urge to look down at the motion, if not just to prove your intention to her out of spite. Despite her slight scowl, she answers, "Fine. Can't afford shit anyway. But the MOMENT any creep shit happens, I'm running out."

"Fine," you answer.

Another awkward silence.

"Well? What's the place then?"

Right, shit.

"Yellow Scalies, down on 53rd. You know the place?"

"Yeah, saw it a few times. Coffee joint, right? Alright, what time?"

"Well... I don't know, what about 11?" you shrug as you decide on a time.

"That early?"

"You want to deal with the lunch rush?"

"Fair, fair. Alright. Yellow Scalies, 11."

"OK...." you say, resisting the urge to let out the breath you were holding in a long sigh. Before you could think about saying goodbye, you suddenly realize, "Damn, didn't even say my name. Name's Fred."

"Sam," she introduces.

"Cool. Oh, and should we exchange phone numbers, or-"

"Yeah, nah. Last thing I need is another weird-ass who has my number."

"I'm not-" you start, your train of thought interrupted as the exit door loudly creaks open. "Shit, gotta work. OK, tomorrow at 11."

"Yeah," she says as she takes out her phone and leaves through the open door, walking past one of your co-workers with his own truck full of garbage. You start emptying out your own before he could start asking questions, keeping your impromptu break a secret between you and Sam. However, as you finish up and wheel the cart back inside, you can't help but feel anxious and regretful as you think about tomorrow. You were too deep in to try to back out and a part of you wanted to prove her wrong, just out of preserving your pride from her insults. Then again, you still don't have anyone else to really hang out with...

Dammit, of course you had to listen to your Dad and actually try to follow through with being friendly today of all days.

---

You check your phone again, the clock reading 11:17. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised she flaked out. Besides, she probably isn't the kinda person you really would want to hang around just by judging her attitude. You're still a little pissed you got here so early after working your ass off all night for nothing, but at least you had a cup of coffee to mull over while browsing the web. Might as well go ahead and get something to eat while you're here, especially while the cafe's still relatively empty-

As you were looking around for a waiter, you caught a glimpse of the opossum outside the window on approach. Even though you couldn't see much of what she looked like in the dark back-end of the stadium, you could quite easily tell it's her just by her "assets" alone. Once she eventually enters, you wave her down from your booth for her to join you.

"Sorry, woke up late and almost forgot about this whole thing," she says as she sits across from you.

"You're good."

"So... What d'you recommend's good here?" she asks as she looks at the menu.

"Well, I guess the stuffed omelet. They don't skimp out on the extra bits."

"Nice," she says as she continues looking through the options. As she's busy, you take the moment to make use of the morning light to better take in her details. Despite your previous intent, you couldn't help but be drawn to her chest by the random spots of color and detail you see from the corner of your eyes. With a quick glance, you can see that she has various patches and decals strewn about the fabric, with the odd few looking ready to fall off. You see what looks to be an anthro skull, a few band logos, a knife, and other symbols you don't recognize. Some are sewn to the fabric, while others appear ironed on.

Not wanting to draw her easily prompted ire, you break sight with the two behemoths and look up at Sam's face. For all intents and purposes, she looks exactly as you'd expect for an opossum. White and grey fur, a pink nose decorated with wiry whiskers, and two black ears poking out past the sea of white. Speaking of her ears, they're about as well-decorated as her shirt with each edge adorned with at least two rings or piercings. A few metal rings reflect the sunlight peeking through the window brightly, while others betray their plastic material. All and all, you reckon there's a good dozen collectively from both ears.

Finally, the last two details to catch your attention are her hair and eyes. Her hair is cut at a half fade, with her remaining hair reaching down to her eye. The hair is dyed a bright neon red, with her one visible eye matching its color. You're not an expert when it comes to opossums, but you don't think there are any that have red-colored eyes, let alone ones that are that vibrantly colored. You'd call it into question, but you don't feel comfortable asking about anything regarding her appearance. Or hell, maybe she's just fine with those details; it's just the two submarines stapled to her front that she gets pissy about.

Eventually, a waitress arrives and takes your and her order, making sure to refill your coffee before leaving. Now it's just you and Sam, once again left in the always fun environment of awkward silence.

"OK, look, I know you got questions about them so just ask already."

"Huh?" you ask, once again caught off-guard by her sudden voice.

She raises an eyebrow and pats her breast with one of her pink-fingered hands. "What do you think, dumbass? And 'fore you ask, no, they're not implants. No, I can't afford a reduction. And no, I... Fuck, been a while can't remember the other bullshit people would ask."

"Stop, stop, stop," you interrupt, desperately hoping to claim some stable ground in this conversation. "I wasn't going to ask anything about that. Stop thinking I'm going to, like... Just start suddenly talking about them, especially in public."

"Mhm," she mumbles, taking a moment to take a drink from her cup. "Feels like I should have it all written on my shirt or some shit..."

Now without a good bed for conversation, you're left stranded without a hope of finding a proper icebreaker. If anything, it's making you regret this meetup even more. Before you could catch yourself, you find yourself saying, "Look, if you're gonna keep acting like I'm about to... Christ, I dunno, do whatever I hope you haven't gone through, then I might as well leave."

She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. "No, look, I'm sorry. Just tired of that kinda shit where things look like they're going fine, and then, y'know, real creep shit happens."

"So... What, you say that kind of stuff to anybody that talks to you?"

"Heh, well, more often than you'd think," she responds with a smirk. "Shit, I even had to tell off some girls, and THEY were easily the worst with how bitchy they acted."

"But it can't be every time," you say, the conversation momentarily broken as the waitress arrives with your and Sam's food. You quickly thank her and take a fork to your omelette, though you're quick to pick back up where you left off. "Like, yeah, it sucks ass you had to deal with that kind of people, but I don't think it's good enough of a reason to expect everybody to have it out for you."

You wait for her response, though you see that's she's currently busy taking a large scoop of eggs, meat, and veggies into her mouth. She chews on the clump of food for several moments, finishing it off with a swig of her coffee. "Damn, that is good," you hear her mutter. She clears her throat and looks back up at you. "I know. Doesn't mean I can't expect shit to go down. Better than being surprised way later, y'know?"

As much as you want to answer that, no, you don't know; you decide to end this topic with a quiet, "Sure." You pick at your food, though past the scent of breakfast you can make out a familiar scent. Something close to whatever she was smoking last night. "Did you smoke on the way here?"

"Hmm?" she mumbles past a mouthful of food. After clearing her throat, she answers, "No, I just forgot to take a shower last night. Then I woke up and had to run over here. Or, uh, I dunno, pace real fast here. But no, it's not like I toke up every day or every few days. It's just when I'm... well, when I feel like shit and want to stop feeling like shit."

"So... How often do you feel like shit, then?"

"Ah, fuck off," she responds, giving a small smirk as she looks at her plate. "Trust me, if it wasn't that, it'd be hemp oil in a vape or something." Speaking of her plate, you couldn't help but notice how she has to shift herself at an angle away from the table just to look down and eat her food. If she was fully facing you, she'd probably have a good half or more of her plate obscured.

"Hey, do you need me to move the table towards me?" you offer.

"Huh? Oh, no, you're good. Just about done, anyway," she responds as she takes the last of her food up to her mouth.

You look down at your plate, realizing you're just about done too. It's only now that you realize you and her haven't really talked about anything. Hell, you feel even more lost than before on what to talk about. All that really comes to mind is just the concert last night. "So... You said the... Crap, already forgot their name, the... band from last night?"

"Krunkilo Don?"

"Yeah. You said you didn't like how the songs were going?"

"Yeah? What, you a fan?" she asks with another toothy smirk.

"Nah, just wondered what you meant. I don't listen to that kinda music much."

"Oh," she says, her smile going away as she brings a hand up to scratch at the fur on her neck. "I dunno, just thought the music was... kinda shit? Like, the guitar and bass were alright, but the guy playing the drums was just... Oh, God, it was shiiiiiit," she explains, stretching out the last curse with a barely restrained laugh. "Like, I couldn't focus AT ALL on the guy singing. All I could hear was the drummer banging away off-key, sometimes going too fast or too slow in spots, and others I genuinely couldn't hear the other bits of the song."

"Wow. Was it that bad?"

"Well, for me it was. Everyone else seemed to like it. Other guys were fine, it's just... Oh my God, the drummer was so shit," she says with a laugh as she rubs at her visible eye.

"Is it, uh... A thing you could pick up with the sensitive hearing, or...?"

"Nah, nah. I took a bit of drumming when I was in middle and high. I didn't have a set, but I did use a friend of mines before she moved."

"Ah. Too expensive to get now?"

"Yeah, among other things," she says, her expression souring ever so slightly. Without wanting to risk her anger, you avoid looking at the two culprits that most likely prevent her from enjoying her instrument.

"Sucks. Kinda the same for me too."

"What, you drum?" she asks as her interest is piqued.

"No, but I played piano. I didn't have one and now... Hell, I think even if I could afford one I wouldn't know where to place it."

"Oh, shit. That's kinda cool, though. So, what, you play classical bits or what?"

"During practice, but I sometimes printed sheets of other songs I wanted to mess with."

"That's cool," she says with another smile. Before you could ask what kinda songs she played, she reaches inside her pocket and retrieves a surprisingly plain, black case phone. "Shit, I should probably bounce. Got to get some shit done before today."

"Ah, I got you," you say as you finish the last of your coffee.

"So...." you hear Sam speak up, "It was actually kinda cool talking with you. If you want to do this again, I can give you my number. I mean, I still will go fuck off if you do something weird, but, y'know."

"Yeah, sure. Though, I hope you're not gonna use me as your personal lunch card to get free food," you say as you take out your phone.

"Hah!" she laughs, "Alright, alright. Next time, I'll cover then. But I'm picking, then. Not gonna have you order a thirty-dollar meal and fuck my wallet dry. Here, gimme your number."

As you exchange numbers, you can't help but add in, "I'm fine for whatever, just as long as it isn't cheap, two-dollar hole-in-the-wall trash joints that give me the runs."

She makes an exaggerated gasp and brings a hand to her collar. "Why, the cheap cunt protests? Say it isn't so!" She gives one last toothy grin and says, "Look, I know my trash. I'll pick a decent spot, and if you don't like it, then you pick and cover Mr. Rich-Taste-Bastard."

"Alright, alright. So, you ring me up whenever?"

"Yeah. I'll try to give a day's notice. Anyway, gotta go. See ya, Fred," she says with a curt nod as she stands and leaves the cafe.

"Bye, Sam."

You watch her as she leaves through the door, her long pink tail following behind. As you pay the bill, you feel a little relieved at how smoothly things went. You hope things continue to go well, but you can't help but wonder about the massive chip on her shoulder. Or, if you want to be crude, the two chips hanging on and off her shoulders. While they do rouse your attention in more than one way, you aren't exactly in the market for a girlfriend. Hopefully, she'll see it that way, as you aren't keen on dating someone who's quick to go from zero to one hundred without any prompting on your part.

Still, it was nice actually talking to her.