I yell. Miss a bus; the last one home. Faced with a choice. There's no money for a taxi, and surely no way to bluff out of paying once you're there. Massive doses quipped the ordinary stew. Pots of it were made. Sterile from batches made quickly. Avoid stirring until done. Then pour into a pan big enough to simmer in comfort. Have a cup of coffee and bite of lunch. Have more coffee and talk while everyone isn't home. Carrying mosquito infections. Gradual blessings.
Hear a report from the neighbor, get it confirmed from Congress. First. Belong. Instead a definite flavor from the speaking wrens. Their speeches were often bland. Covering corners in the shelves. I tore them apart last week. Subtleties flavor from the stew. Mulligans stew. Or even a stone soup made with vinegar. Ginger a clove into the pan for good measure. Who knows it may turn out better than perfect. Be sure to invite others over. Then send the story to the papers. For full headlines.
Massive degenerative complexes were discovered for them in a covered garage doing up their weekly rituals of carrying on a meeting in their underwear. Decorated interiors suggest wrong doings. People gauged them.
Celebrating in the streets the proclamation for retaliation. Good news. Singing a bad song out of key. Parades waved and threw candy into the street gutters for children to pick up and eat. Accountants noted the amount and price of each, in a notebook were the facts noted carefully for the shape and size. And flavor. Good write-offs for the company.
Power the rough callouses I browsed in a store. I did not need help. Sales ladies. Fuck their bosses who put them up to it. Bounce from department to department. The finishing songs played from the parade outside. Marching bands worse than ever. Forming a "P" for Parade. Binny and Smith crayons kept me going, to color the pictures at the toy department where I usually find myself. To see outrageous prices. A salesman stared at me, his mustache twitched. To find my way out, I got lost.
RIVER BED 34
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