Harvest Haddock

Decidedly delusional

Queasy dinner aches and full-body spasm shakes, suffering from attention withdrawal kills incentive. To ease the pain of grains in the intestine, it was decided by all that a call to others was in order: message, message, hang-up, hang-up, mild disappointment. Tremolo was heard from above. Harmony was written on the fissured ceiling.

Grains, canola oil instead of eggs, bland stuffing and whipped squash. The coffee was pretty good. Lethargy and lingering laconism. 8:55, a departure to the realm of house rules and how no smoking in the house will appease all. “But if it is weed, it’s alright. Hey, we are not smoking cigarettes. This is a Camel stuffed with cannabis, honest. […] Oh, we are smoking more cigarettes stuffed with weed. Three cigarettes…..four…four cigarettes. They all have weed in them. It’s called a stocking-stuffer on the street. Hit up your local library to get educated, son.”

We saw a sleeping dead person on a broken armchair. He had a small tape recorder on in his right arm. It was a signal for all to depart. The artful frolic of a crack-head behind a funeral home brought the point home. A premonition should never frolic.