Verse V: Off the Wagon

Sanctuary inside of text messages. Emptied out prepaid mobile plans that have unlimited kilobytes of data if you call the provider’s call center on a Tuesday as the sun’s dying rays race across the Pacific and slip like ambrosia into petals that bloom only once a year; tell them you have the paperwork in front of your face and that the occular receptors in your skull state different terms and conditions to your cognitive faculties. Tell them…

“That was boring.”

It usually is so underwhleming that the psyche enters a fortnight’s worth of depression at the fact but Laertes had doubled up his Wellbutrin prescription and was flying high on the backs of great whales in the throes of minor lack of gravity. “I told you to bring a book.”

Cairo scratches the back of his cranial appendage with a random digit. “I do not understand why they assigned you to my care. Everyone before me stated on record that you are in better physical health than most PhD holders in North America.”

“I don’t see what a fucking piece of paper has to do with my biological constitution,” Laertes snaps. “Why can’t you people just drop the whole fucking subject; maybe you’ll see some improvement in my so-called ‘condition’.”

Soliloquy of avian creature.

Downstairs, they still talk about Jeff but say that they don’t care.

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