Bugs
The groggy recollections of appliances woke me up around 3.
-Rhaahhhuuhhmm. Gerglerglergle. Ussshhh.
-Well, mini-fridge, maybe you and your friends shouldn’t have been drinking on a school night.
-Whirrrrr.
-That’s not an excuse. We’ve had this discussion.
So the power was back and I’d been dreaming. I scratched my shins. I realized that there was a difference between feeling like a bug and feeling like an insect. Feeling like a bug could have positive connotations. Furthermore, feeling good is fluffy lack. Finally, feeling good is all we have. Then I sang a song about bed bugs which scared me soon like Where the Wild Things Are.
I’d been dreaming Elmira, cake flour with round breasts and penciled eyebrows, was driving down Trixie Stix Avenue, a street by my elementary school, in an British omnibus. I was in the far back and saying:
-You look tired.
-You know why.
-I do?
-Yes. You do.
-Is it…
-I spent $4,000 on heroin. You told me that’d make me tired.
She’d been talking about sleeping around. I regretted my comment.
