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with that red dust that blows up from creek beds, and my lungs pushed out cold air that melted onto my sneaks the dog comes inside and shakes munger shrieking mites into the air and smells in a way that requires he be sprayed with lysol, as in the tarry black african days of summer the trees are in slow motion and my eyes close all day the children drift down cave halls in single-file lines wearing white diaphanous sheets they want to dissapear with a BANG and some SPARKS or hold their hands to their face and say, there is blood percolating in me and this keeps me alive and i am warm and bent on survival because it is so cold i want more hair more hair more FAT -- AALLIIIIIIIIIIIVVVE!!! GREEAAHHH!! (triumphant gnashing of teeth.) they will fall into a bank of snow and live there as the wolf-man in the classics or a family of beavers with rosy butts and baked apples on their cheeks. grumble grumble.
by The JavaScript Source
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