2.5 Inches To The Left
I’m having fun. Life’s getting wild. I’m inviting strangeness. People are cautious yet enticed. It’s weird but what’s the alternative? Normal?
Glorious day. A gift from God. It started with thick laughter, hearty full bellied sounds, the kind that heals your bones. We told jokes at the picnic table on the porch sharing the Italian breakfast Maria fixed us (espresso and cigarettes.)
I told her last week during a coffee outing that I was ‘something of a health freak.’ She laughed. I laughed. I finished my 3rd espresso, 5th cigarette and said between sips reaffirmed, “yeah, but really, no gluten. Stay away from it. You need to be fertile and I need to be toned.”
After breakfast I tanned. Not in the gay modern way. Limp wrist laying on towel doing nothing. A waste of energy. I tan by standing. Stiff as a board. I haven’t blinked in 2 hours. Im in the fucking zone and I know I’m there because the soft buzz that is always in my ear, forever torturing me, has been silenced by my oneness with the wind.
I wish my neighbors were in town.
I enjoy the thought of them, standing behind creeped curtains whispering if I’m okay.. thinking aloud between themselves if they should check on me.
Unfortunately they’re gone. Two days ago they interrupted a Mongolian throat singing session to let me know they’re headed to ‘Sweden’ for ‘chocolate.’ I mentioned there is a Target in Union avenue that may help them expedite their quest. They grimaced and said we don’t eat that shit. Admiringly, I nodded in agreence.
“Now Winston, don’t break in our home again”
I wont. I lie.
“We left a key, just check things out, water the plants if you have time. Make yourself at gome, use the pool”
That was a couple days ago. Later, after tanning, I plan to go in and move every object precisely 2.5inches to the left.
The bed to the silverware to their hanging clothes to their coffee mugs. Everything. 2.5 inches to the left.
Suddenly I’m full of zest.
Suddenly I feel invigorated!
I can’t move until my coffee is finished. I’m towards the last sips. I look down to confirm this and see the liquid. Pitch black. Black enough that I grab at my back pocket, making sure my cash wasn’t stolen. Black enough that I should lock my car door while I’m at it.
My black friend said I can say this. He’s a riot.
With love,
Winston
Souled idea
The strings are unraveling
Gods Madman
Look into Phinehas, son of Eleazar
