Exchange

It started with a name on my mind drifting as I read an email. A message. Someone’s shit I wish I had never borrowed. Dusty notes where only archaic doodles interest me. We met in an ally behind a bookstore.

Now it was a kitchen where a box radio was the only thing that worked. It was green with plastic posing as bronze. I was thinner with the beginning of a mustache. I had just thought of actually wearing such a thing. Ice with my drink, a sip. Directionless, I could never hear a single thing in the kitchen. My companion toyed with a paper box, a poorly pasted dragon on it’s side, in it a mixed up order of rice which I couldn’t eat.

I had a question, so did they. Spoon feed familiar nothings that rush to my stomach so fast I could feel it through my skin. It works, I stay hungry all through the night.

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