a quality of life issue

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4740 Airport Way South - northbound

February 10, 2010

I’ll find you near the intersection where expectations meet reality, but we’ll both need to wait in line for a while. Together. Separately. For complete instructions and rules of entry send SASE to PO Box 123.

Do you feel that? That’s not a subwoofer. That is 442 cubic inches of displacement. Muscle. Original flavor long-cut between the cheek n gum. Liquid smoke in the eye a poke. As if meeting in the loading dock makes  sense. By design.

If and only if. If then. If only. Migratory six-pack rings wrapped around your finger. An environmental impact statement stated in terms like simplicity, utility and out-of-pocket. Out on a limb like the kitten in the poster on the ceiling at the dentist. You’re huffing so much gas, the kitten begins to speak Spanish and you understand completely.

Paperback reading walker. Walker reading paperback. I’m watching where you’re going, so you don’t have to. Warm shampoo. Cold Turkey. Fingerprints on the glass, compounded daily. Toothpaste splatter pattern on the mirror in normal distribution with standard deviation and occasional outliers. Fat-free vegan organic truck stop. Barstool etiquette. Free refills.

Cauliflower party platter. Roundhouse. Circle to the left counterclockwise here as well as in the southern hemisphere. Losing steam. Solar powered artificial color. 67% majority. Authority. Ponytail pulled back so tight your eyes go funny. Purple mountain majesty. I’m invisible for my own safety. Please ignore me. I dress like this as not to be confused with an attorney. Conversation may be recorded for quality assurance purposes.

They had me going. The entire package, the experience, the atmosphere, the ambiance, the greeting, the presentation, the valet, the hostess, the sommelier, the support staff, the music. They had me going there…but the smell.  The butt smell.  Who smells like doodie?  

Textured vegetable protein American cheese product. Dust-free laboratory. Fingerless glove snot rocket. Tyvek jacket crinkling from Seattle to Portland in one day. That which we call a rose is a Mercury Bobcat is a Ford Pinto is a rose is a rose is a rose.

Terracotta façade undulating in the low angle winter sunlight. Getting all oboe. Oboe all up in your face. Peter and the wolf. Jack and the beanstalk.  Hootie and the blowfish. Puke on the pillowcase spring break. Direct pressure eye contact. Plug n play   they   we all look the same. Are you my Bucky?

She rides around in the drops all day making us all look bad. We’re not in Marymoor anymore. We made the waiting list for the best preschool in Madrona. We got cold feet. Cold fingers. All ears. Captain Right Back Atcha coming out of retirement because he mixes it with love and makes the hurtin feel good.

So firm you could set your beer on them.

She’s a brick house elaborating on an elaborate set of rules. Getting upset when no one else plays along because no one else knows or cares about the rules or the game or the fact that she is still keeping score on that scoreboard that no one else can see. Accurate and precise yet cold and indifferent. Overcooked and cranked up to Asperger’s level. Horizontal stripes stack up like binders full of courtesy copies to C-203.

Quilted patchwork piecemeal. 650 front wheel. Campagnolo cranks BMX anodized fade to pink. Red turtleneck sweater February candy office party glazed high fructose corn syrup distraction delivered floral arrangement calling in sickly sweet.

Individually wrapped. Intermittently rapt. Instinctively instinctual. Little fuzzy gerbil.  Lavish Broadway musical.

and then what happened?  


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pilderwasser said...

Do not assume the narrator’s voice is that of the author. It seems to be a rather safe assumption in this context but I’d like to remind you to keep that in mind. And when I say “I” I mean “me”. This time it’s for real.

Posted February 11, 2010 08:45 AM | Reply to this comment

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