Native American

I pull up. The past is a grotesque animal. So many different ways to time travel. Lock time and then travel through it again.

Last I spoke to you, I was at that fondue place. But I was actually here in my desk chair. I’m destroying the plan, unlimbering mynkeybpard. Unlimbering my phone. My mind. We are our phones. I am an unreliable narrator. This is classical music. Post modern prose. When I returned to the store, Dick said nothing about The City Barbecue. Just like he said nothing about the rum samples. Mount Gay Black Barrel. Dick is Gay. I didn’t know forever. I like when I have no idea your sexuality. I don’t want to know unless I want to know. This is classical music.

I might never die, but I had to go back to that Cry Baby area. To the pizza place. Cock and Slices, or whatever. Five boxes. The parking spot is open. I’m eating candy. Jolly Rancher sour valentines day hearts.

No one can interrupt me. This is my room. My stage.

There was one other place I went… Topple, and actually Gracious Pasta. 2 places. There was a crazy native American outside the pasta place. She can do whatever she wants. She is in the right. This is her land.

I’m eating too many candies. I need to meditate like Magneto.

I’m hungry though. How do I learn to stop eating?

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