BoomFuzzy's Chowder Dilemma

The Godforsaken City was a ruin of dripping steel and crumbling stone, a haphazard maze tangled in webs of rusted pipes and steaming vents. Once known as Boston, it had long since surrendered to entropy, rebuilt by desperate hands into a dystopian patchwork of crime and survival. 

Rain hissed against cracked pavement, pooling in murky puddles that glistened under flickering neon signs.

King Gwallmaiic, Phookan Lich King of the UnSeelie Court, known to his friends as BoomFuzzy the Unicorn, had taken advantage of this cold, wet muggy, drizzle filled day to make his best warm, comforting clam chowder.

BoomFuzzy's robin egg blue 1968 VW Bus hunkered against the gloom like a bright relic from some happier timeline. The food truck's awning sagged beneath the persistent drizzle, and the chalkboard menu beside the serving window boasted Clam Chowder - Creamy, Hot, Best You'll Ever Eat! in sprawling white letters.

BoomFuzzy leaned out the window, his long grey dreadlocks damp and dripping, tied neatly behind him with purple silk ribbons, his goggles fogged from the steamy interior. 

A thick pot of chowder simmered behind him, filling the air with the rich, briny aroma of clams and cream. But despite the tantalising scent curling through the damp streets, the first customer of the day wanted only coffee.

"Coffee? Not soup?" BoomFuzzy asked, incredulous.

"Coffee," the man insisted. He was gaunt, pale, and jittery, like most of the survivors who scuttled through The Godforsaken City.

"But I made soup." BoomFuzzy's voice dripped with disappointment. "Thick, creamy, hearty clam chowder. Warms yer belly. Soothes yer mind. Perfect for a miserable day like this." 

"I said coffee," the man snapped, impatient. "Strong. Black."

BoomFuzzy grumbled under his breath as he poured a scalding black cup from the ancient percolator. 

"Customers always think they're right," he muttered, handing it over. "But they're too bull-headed to know when they're wrong."

The man shuffled away, clutching his coffee like it was salvation.

No sooner had BoomFuzzy cleared the counter than a second customer arrived, dripping rainwater onto the slick pavement.

"Welcome!" BoomFuzzy greeted with forced cheer. "How about some hot, creamy chowder? Dug the clams meself from Silent Moor. Fresh as fresh gets. Cream fresh squeezed from the finest Faerie yaks, straight outta me enchanted pasture of the Noodle Beach BioDome - "

The customer blinked at him. 

"Just coffee."

"No chowder?"

"Coffee."

BoomFuzzy's jaw tightened as he poured another cup, grumbling louder now. 

"Humans. Damned bloody fucking Humans. No appreciation for fine Fae cuisine. Buncha uncultured louts, the lot of ya."

The second customer hurried away without a backward glance.

Rain pattered against the pink and puce striped silk awning as BoomFuzzy wiped his hands on his apron, scowling into the mist. The third customer approached - a tall, broad-shouldered man with a hood pulled low over his face.

"I suppose ya want coffee too?" BoomFuzzy snapped before the man could speak.

"Yes."

"No soup?"

"No. Coffee."

BoomFuzzy slammed his hands on the counter. 

"Coffee! Damned fucking coffee! I make the best damned chowder on this damned planet, and all ya bloody Humans want is coffee, coffee, coffee! Why do I even bother cookin' hearty hot stew when no one wants any?"

The man took a cautious step back as BoomFuzzy stormed off to fetch another cup of coffee, his muttered curses blending with the rain.

Just then, GhoulSpawn, a Satyr-like Sheep Demon, loped up, his green velvet coat flapping around his cloven hooves. His golden fleece glimmered faintly even in the dreary light. He carried a bulging sack of scavenged goods slung over one shoulder.

"Hey, Fuzzy!" GhoulSpawn called cheerfully. "Smells amazing in here. Got any chowder left?"

BoomFuzzy's scowl softened. 

"Aye, for ya, Ghouly, always. On the house."

As BoomFuzzy ladled a generous portion into a ceramic bowl, he continued griping. 

"Humans don't know good food if it bit 'em on the arse. No class. No taste. Just coffee drinkers, the lot of 'em."

"I love your cooking," GhoulSpawn said through a mouthful of chowder. "Best chowder I've ever had."

"Damn right it is! Fuckin' Humans don't know what they're missing!"

Quaraun appeared beside them, his long pink pink robes trailing damply behind him. The ancient Moon Elf's twelve foot long prehensile silver jellyfish hair gleamed in the rain, tentacles coiling restlessly.

"Find anything?" GhoulSpawn asked.

"No. I went through every single book they had. Not a thing."

"Well, there's more shops on the other side. We can check those when the rain let's up."

"Shops owned by Humans," BoomFuzzy scowled.

"What are we complaining about today?" Quaraun asked as he sank onto a stool beside GhoulSpawn.

"Humans," BoomFuzzy grumbled, handing Quaraun a bowl of chowder.

Quaraun's delicate nose wrinkled. 

"Uncultured savages. They never appreciate fine craftsmanship, be it food or silk."

BoomFuzzy arched a brow. 

"Ya don't even know what I'm talkin' about, do ya?"

"Does not matter," Quaraun said, dipping his spoon into the chowder. "I am hungry, I hate Humans, and I will gladly join any conversation about how terrible they are, especially if I get to eat clam chowder while doing so."

BoomFuzzy laughed, the sound warm and hearty despite the gloom. 

"That's me wee JellyElf. Always knowin' what matters."

The three of them sat together under the awning, sharing bowls of thick, creamy chowder as the rain drummed steadily around them. The world beyond was harsh and unforgiving, but for now, they had warmth, food, and each other.

And that was enough.

| ©2025 Wendy Christine Allen | All Rights Reserved | Cross Published on Medium |