August 30, 2008

DOG-EYED SUBURBAN NIGHTS [PT2/2]



The roaring car with its frequently shifting gears arrived in front of my house like a lucid dream. Luckily the radio had been turned down and I stepped out as we all spoke words of how we'd reconvene sometime in the near future. Just as "Biotch" floated out one of the windows the car sped down the street.
1:32AM: I enter this two-story house among a village of bungalows, which I am generally comfortable in during common waking hours but now I must remain perfectly still. I am an ant and I must crawl carefully over this worn sand as to not disturb it. I must be certain that my exoskeleton does not make any creak or cracking sound. I must use my antenna feelers to scope out the perimeter of these narrow shafts through the darkness that has left me lost in a familiar place.
O' no, hunger has stricken at such an unfortunate time. These late night snacks are becoming more frequent and I am now prone to eating breakfast before I sleep.
Make yourself a bagel, that should be easy, cream-cheese, sounds delicious, and not too heavy before bed. Just slice it in half, put it in the toaster, we've turned off that nuisance of a bell which reminds us when things are ready. No squeaking of the microwave door no running of that radioactive hum-drum motor no screaming water needs to flow no sizzle of bacon no stove-top hood fan to drone no kettle to shriek out a train whistle no mixer to whirl and take off whisk hum slap scrape stumble on commas then devour, none of that nonsense, none of that dreadful and delectable nonsense which you crave.
Just slice, pop, toast and--
What's this, it's burnt? Quick now, I musn't be a fool and waste this. I begin to scrape the charred top, removing as much of this blackened toast as possible in speckled pieces like pepper into the sink. I throw all surgical precision to the wind and flail my wrists violently, losing my stealthy persona as I become an over sized pepper mill producing charcoal bagel pieces for the spice starved masses who need to accentuate their commonly bland meals of mashed potatoes and tomato salads. I grind and assimilate the top of my snack only to hear a door open and footsteps down the corridor.
I've awoken the sleeping giants and all this surreptitiousness has been in vain.

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