Wednesday, November 21, 2007

The bathroom floor shines brighter now that they've done something to it. I wasn't there when it happened; I was tumbling down a hill that was covered in dandelions in Missouri. I hadn't intended to tumble, I was merely using the hill as a go-between on my journey from Arby's to Delaware, the water gap there. There was hair in the air and despair. It was my hair, I found out, and then it didn't seem so bad. I am my hair. A pear was there too, in the grass, with the revolver. In fact, you could say there were two of them: a pair. Scumbling the state line between Kansas and Colorado, I stumbled into Stateline, Nevada. I was too far from Delaware to be happy. I was looking for a bathroom. I would settle for a boardroom. I would be grateful for room and board, unless I got bored. I was still looking for a bathroom. Barnes and Noble was sadly no longer an option. It had disappeared the day I lost my sublimity, which had been merely subliminal anyway all along and therefore not missed by me when gone. Did I tell you about that day? (I think it was a day, but I could be wrong.)

No comments:

Post a Comment