I just spent an hour sipping pure butterscotch from a jar and stalking ants with a little spray gun full of ammonia. Somehow, this may be the closest I ever have come to having a Hunter S. Thompson moment. Dangerous chemicals, weapons, and frightening mind altering drugs. Check, check, and check.
This is for my blonde Bill:
Frank woke up tired. Hot sounds today, long drawn out sighs. The remedy obvious but unavailable. He slipped off all his clothes. Face to face with a laid back reflection, the blistering water always runs out too soon. Side to side, soap in hand, this is useless, he thought. He closed his eyes and let the water run cold. Ice prickles on his skin. I am not alone, he thought. I am not this sorry man, standing alone in the shower, unhappy. I am a god. The water began to freeze on his skin, hoarfrost traveling down his bare legs and into the drain. Molecules began to slow, entropy receding outward to the rooms of his house. He opened my eyes. I’m right, he thought, and the sun stopped.
He gave me, “one day Frank woke up and the universe ended”