melted toothpaste, like glaciers, conform to my toothbristles
that i lay flat as a horizon to a plastic orange cup sunset. the tempermental rain provokes Thunder and
screams and yells and curses boom the city
while fading figments of faeries or spiders
scurry across the floor.. the walls.. the lights.. i rarely beckon the lights before supper;
natural lighting has always been my preference,
yet this sixteenth hour's torched the room fourfold. the faint smell of smashed and processed tomatoes
lingers on a nearby napkin simultaneously tempting
and disgusting my dear friend, appetite. no serious work could be done today in this drearhole. the carefully churned misery from Rain and Thunder's
bickering blankets the city in such a cold and wet blanket. c'est moche. from personal experience:
seven and a half pounds of ground turkey
and two dozen eggs all juggled down the
heterogeneously stewed streets in four sopping
paper bags with one or two spare fingers
for that last gallon of milk. Stoeumpf and i press together under our
better-than-snuggie slanket for warmth and comfort.
"stay young... stay young...," they wail. i close my eyes, and the glum glow on my eyelids
faded to a flicker as the reel reached its end. | 
