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August 20, 2005
Garbage Pale Middle-ager
I cough a sharp, quick, decibled hucker that could have been mistaken for a meatbeefer sneeze. I felt the thump on the redridge behind my rabbit teeth as has not been uncommon to one degree or another over these past times now. I had just divulged the scale of my economy and the economy of my scale in response to the woman meeting my needsr asking if I could just get a nickel instead of a dime—which was in response to my sudden discovery I’d forgotten that my last arrangement came 5x20 instead of the 10x10 predominantly encountered on that block, and resultingly had just run dry o my dry goods, and conseqly entered statepark mild panic, barometer dropping, a thick layer of conmonkdrum clouds overhed about how to hand el, men chunning smart eye had not wanted to buy again but peter out crutched on CRumbee rum (Flor D’ Cana spoiled and reweened as I am) and a/effecting a start freshly on my bonjour nee in the mourn. It was in answer to that middlin’ ambition her knick-knacker came offered.
I picked up one of the many small, translucent articles comprising the detritus on the couch-my-perch and said, “This is a dime,” paused for not-to-come acknowledgement, then mathadded, “Just one of these little thangs—” Gown two check the face for a sign of a put-together, but mid-up I dubeltake back: “No this is a dub…mmh, oh, the Barbie candies?” “Yeah…” “So, half that…. You know how many of these I go through a night?” “No,” she says. “All those things on the couch?” “I’ve tried not to know that.” “Should I tell you now?” “Yes.” “Well,” prop chin on palmine, elbow on forearm and furrow. I hez a mome. I chortle uneasIness. I say, “It’s embarrassing.” … “And I’m at the end of the line here. Where it’s at now….” . . “In the past 24 hours…. You know when I went out last night? I spent $200.” She went into a shallow half-bent, rolling her shoulders over as her waist clicked forward a notch. She looked like 5:08PM. She mouthed words inaudible.
[Let’s up the pace of this stor-e-counting:]
She sat. I paced a tight diam. I urged the cawf. Felt the soft thub. Thumbed it out. Saw what I’ve seen for some time: a glob (you will) of lung dung, hue-ing toward a grainy gray, lonly this one of the frequentering generation, a touch more solid and shadowy.
Thematically we’d only be gun sever ity. Be sides ide fleeted some concernlings about those old sacks, those tough guys in there—real troopers. Forward on.
“What’s grosser than gross,” I ref the kidshit. Her fingers tumble down the keyboard grade and fluidfall into her lap in her halfturn back tward me. “I don’t know; what’s crosser than gross?”
“You sure?”
“Sure.”
“Turn on your light.” I’d known what I was looking for at my inspection; just a routine examination, ma’am; I assure you there is no cause for alarm. She’s got a trust to drive obedients [stetsic]. Light comes up, decothumb goes under. Yam!,—a delivery of a re-act,-a-shunning! My work: dunn.
I move to ratantom from witch the feelings of undue screen bullets for moisture levs. Pick my mos rees, marveling misel at its mini-, markable heft, and offer it—the hands-on learning experience of it—to…—let’s give this womaning an arguably overdue name, shall we then?alright, wear going with Tracikel Milynda.No.Aggie?Notoo sunfarmponytail. Ow. How bowt Savie Grace?Set telled then…—Savie sayien the culpa mea my my hurryen sCRumblin. Can I get at it in there like that? comes the questyun.
“UaYeah,” eyes do a carriage return. “Snot ass ice butt tits um thin.” I pinch the crispend, dusblacked sCReam tip. “In its super minty,” theen king V.Ace hadn’t a door to that real tase. “End do star gedding
metle thrwo.”
“Ehuahl.” A nutter rants, a squintence. I Ketchumfrum cornerize, scrape ping uh pape clip unwounding lass.
“Owun…” Nigh hole dug lass uh pen now. “This thing’s narrow.” I thought I heard myself say, “This sings.” I turn gay with the mental anguish of my mis take. “Yeah?” she plead send snores.
“Ugawt a jagged end lie kiss, you can’t helput touch it, and, you can hardly see ‘embut, a bittle chiptip of glassle fawlin’. Solong with th e molten met all par tick you let dust ewe get thuh sharpies,” eim Shaken Ed.
Ears what eim gettien gat:]]
“Sheiz,u’re! a superfund sight!”
Posted by peligrito at August 20, 2005 1:21 AM
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