I had been in the basement so long the cobwebs started looking like cotton candy. So delicious like the real stuff we got after demolition derbys '82 in the fall when mama was swearin hollerin and Uncle Hervey's third flask was dry.
I guess it's another day here as I lay on the couch. Did the sun come up? Oh, maybe. Whatever. I had 3 diet slices left in the fridge that was more like a rotting dead plastic cooler. I don't even know why I told you that.
There's a knock at the door - No...it was the hefty wind of dead Clemmy. I can almost smell the gasoline on his hands from the boathouse with the peeling teal paint with underslivers and crimped crispo flakes of 1940s white, revealing the smooth cedar as if just newly sanded.
