Art sat down on the couch and searched for the television remote. After finding it between the couch cushions, he pressed the power button and blinked as the sudden burst of light caught him off guard. Why the hell did the TV have to be that bright he thought. After adjusting his eyes, he began to scroll through the 200 some odd channels he subscribe to. This had become a nightly chore which ended with him simply using muscle memory to press in the numbers for ESPN.
Halfway through surfing the channels, the doorbell rang. Art looked at the door warily. Only pizza deliveries and his brother showed up this late. And since one, he hadn't ordered a pizza and two, his brother was in Mexico, Art did not like the face that his doorbell was ringing at this hour. Didn't like it so much as a matter of fact that he decided to ignore it. But the bell rang again. And again.
Art pushed himself up off the couch and walked slowly towards the door.
"Im coming, I'm coming" he shouted.
When he reached the door, the bell rang again as he opened it. Standing before him was a man about five years senior to Art. His hair which was jet black, was parted slightly to the side and full. He stood at 6 feet exactly and had a broad smile on his face.
"Can I help you?" Art asked the man.
"I''m so sorry to bother you but I wanted to talk about the problem with the Chevy Spark." the man said to him.
"My Spark? What's wrong with it?" Art said developing concern that his car might be damaged somehow.
"You fucking drive it!" the man said while delivering a blow straight to Art's face.
Art fell backwards from the force of the punch and tripped over his own feet, falling to the floor. The man entered the apartment and shut the door behind him and he proceded to close the gap between himself and Art.
"Who the fuck are you?" Art screamed at the man. "I think you broke my nose."
"I'm the devil. And you're fucked."