This rare about-face
should have placed me
at mere consensus.
Yet here I am, as usual,
clumsily slumped at the
odd end of the parlor,
as if on the dark side
of the moon. But not
in a good way. Nope.
I’m as taut as a ball
of rubberbands and
as parched as a saltine
in the Sahara. Scorched!
And utterly sober. Too
too utterly (as in dry-
humping an Egyptian
pyramid whilst simul-
taneously finishing off
the bottom of a bag of
salt & vinegar-flavored
potato chips). {gasp?}
