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mere helpers, are now informed as policies of order. Rules. Seething, a criminal inside; that familiar little turn of the head that indicates it’s time to go crazy. Marked on a map in pencil lead were fine dots. Time and statistical data all permitted the use of the mind at that time in its early beginning. Pencil fingers. The gift of life for those who can’t. Early track systems assisting modular social problems of the day. Pop trend, bending a can with the toes and throwing it away secretly for fear of a Pop Cop scanning the trash cans, open to the public.


        Pushing a door that says pull when you really meant to not even go in; sudden climaxes mark points of interest in a life. Carpenters unions warehouses as storage rooms for your begonias make useful decorator items in miniature form. Papers on a floor, many scattered upside-down and folded, get eaten by bugs. Menaces that crawl for days, then strike. I screamed, I think.


        Short hot pants, silver, on the baby crying. No makeup yet though. Packs them in every night. A goose got electrocuted. I cured his depression. Now he’s dead. Traveling people across the state in Fords to get to another town where the grocery store is not more than a closet. What goes on there? A delivery boy delivers. Ring up men ring up. Gimmicks work everywhere. My shoes got worn down at the ends. Rubber soles. No good. Bazooka Joe sold there. Holding them up for fun and profit. Without expensive movie cameras taking your picture.


        Get the gum off the shoes or the shit from the dog tied up outside. Like the son of a bitch who takes out fat insurance policies on his old mother. Tie in with a stranger in the sake of humanity. Device to those less fortunate. For gratitude in material. Laughing at a funny joke that wasn’t funny in truth.


        Listening to the words on a phonograph over and over to find some help, paint the same songs to build ego, plump and juicy were the covers creeping out into the open world. You catch one. 


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