Gottaluvapril Apr 2026

He started the car. The heater wheezed but tried. He sat there for a long moment, frozen peas melting against his throbbing head, snow falling on daffodils, and he thought: Yeah. Gottaluvapril.

He’d left his jacket at home.

The story: a rogue shopping cart, a patch of black ice that had no business existing in April, and a physics-defying face-plant into a concrete wheel stop. He’d been trying to rescue a lady’s runaway cantaloupe. The cantaloupe, naturally, was fine. gottaluvapril

He limped to his car. The key fob wouldn’t work—battery dead, because of course. He unlocked the door manually, sat in the driver’s seat, and just breathed for a minute. The frozen peas went on his head. His glasses fogged up.

Leo gave a thumbs up so sarcastic it should have required a permit. He started the car

It wasn’t even ripe.

Now, at 4:47 PM, the sky had turned the color of a week-old bruise. The wind had teeth. And Leo was standing in the parking lot of a grocery store, shivering, holding a single bag of frozen peas—not for dinner, but for the egg-sized lump forming on his forehead. He’d been trying to rescue a lady’s runaway cantaloupe

He typed back: “Just ate pavement in a grocery store parking lot. Shopping cart came out of nowhere. It had a death wish.”