Tropic of Food

--Hey, so, do you want to come over to my place. With the wind howling in his ears outside of the club. INFINITY II. It would be closed in a month. The velvet rope was shabby. There was no-one waiting to get inside.
--Ok. Well... Somewhat less than interested in anything.
--Oh, come on. You've never seen it. I cleaned... The grit of hair, carefully prepared, would creak at moments when rubbed.
--...I bet you did! Or something such as that.

--Dear me... When light unexpectedly refracted off of that which had not been expected. They moved as one.
--Oh, sorry, I should have warned you that I, well, I mean... At a loss to explain, but what is there in fact to explain when the whole of the condition spoke for itself, or at least revealed itself, as it moved as one.
--I can't; I can't do this. Perhaps choked with fear, but still uninterested in the contours of said fear, but unable to take eyes off of it as it moved as one.
--No, listen. The sound of one moving nearly drownding out.
--Let go of me. But there wouldn't even be a bruise, but only a story that one time no mark was left but let me tell you about how it moved as one.
--They aren't who you think they are. Creeping as one.--I know this is hard for you to understand. Spring would always seem devoid of whimsy.
--I just can't believe tha you haven't told me until now. A curdled milk would waft from father's mouth, but this, not that is what is making skin seem so unreal right now.
--I just didn't want you to think... There is void.
--Think, think! What about us. What about the company we started together. We have a fiduciary dutie to one another. Willows the boys had called some thing foul spored into the air a scent that he'd not ever noticed, but his mother had, often, when he made the crackling sound, night after night.
--Is that the only kind of duty you have to me... Lights are fibers.
--No, listen, stop. I didn't mean it like that. The throat constricts to contain sound so that it might have meaning, though it does not.
--There is something else I need to tell you. Then, bounding 'round.

--Dear God. A dolphin book.
--That doesn't even begin to cover it. Worn pages.
--Who are you? Inscribed.
--I can't say, but I can let you know that there is something going on you don't know about. Returned for store credit.
--What is it? A dolphin book.
--...! 1964.

--Shut the Fuck Up and Talk about Pears!

--I like this, this silence, this hollow sound of nothing. Your teeth there, splayed like light that's tired from traveling the distance from the Sun to here, ancient light, or at least seconds old. I never knew this is what happened to baby teeth. He seemed to jitter, standing there, as he words unspooled onto the floor in a cranberry blast, pooling, and the slits of light dismayed even his own eyes.

--Death. No, not that, but something else. A deep blue. I tend to forget, you know?

--I don't understand. I get up in the morning and it seems as though there is not only one less day ahead of me, but one less behind me too.

--I knew a girl when I was in school with patchy marks on her face. Her teeth covered in mud. My teachers' names.

--I can call her name. The names of girls I used to love.

--Tako? The sidewalk in front of the house, rambled with crucks, chunks guttering owld.

--No, we shouldn't. I florget and them a ramble combles around.

--What would be left? What would be left?

--Of us?