Red Hat on Lampshade on Box

It had been almost thirty hours since he had slept. He stared at the brown cardbord box without really seeing it. The computer on which he had been working had arrived in the box. There was no furniture in his apartment, and when he unpacked the box, in his excitement, he had forgotten about the Ikea lamp he was assembling and had placed the lampshade on top of the box. Upon the lampshade, the Red Hat installation instructions lay, incomprehensible to him. He was tired, and was slowly beginning to admit to himself that Red Hat had beaten him. He had tried to call James to ask for help, but James’ phone had been disconnected.

His floor was a mess of ethernet cables and hubs and discarded pizza boxes with half-eaten crusts. The monitor glowed coldly, almost mockingly at him and the Red Hat lampshade box suddenly struck him as funny, and he sat with his legs crossed on the floor an began laughing.

He laughed so loudly he startled Abby from her sleep. He had acquired Abby when James and Shelly had split. Shelly moved to Texas, and James had stayed. They sold the house and James’ new landlord did not allow pets. So Hank kept Abby, a Healer mutt, until Shelly sent for her. It had only been a month, but Hank had grown to love Abby. Now Abby sat on his lap, her paws on his chest, then pushed him down, licking his face.