meet my pal, ette.
colors from left to right:
1. steak
2. activ8 [sic] orange
3. sea fog
4. lip smack
5. her
you sat alone in your bungalow, seated at a low table, sawing irritably into your overdone steak.
when all at once they activ8ted the orange cheez dust used to coat cheez curls. you see this through the kitchen window and even when the safety voice in your head says dont you open the door to the back porch and watch. and you wait. the cheezie powder trails
curl and drift and build density in the atmosphere above and beyond your head. it begins to resemble sea fog, but the sea fog that builds up on a coast in a clown planet. you breathe the powder in,
smacking your lips as you do so. it becomes harder to breathe, but the inhalations are cheddary and delicious; for a moment you swear you can taste bacon in the back of your throat. but it also makes you dizzy, and you stumble off of the porch into your kitchen, collapsing to the floor, coughing up orange foam. the stench of cheddar cloying in your mouth overwhelms you. your lungs are pumping desperately, trying to expel the orange crud gunking up your lungs. the skin of your face is flashing magenta, your eyes protrude, glassily coated with tears. you are choking and choking and spitting and coughing. gasping and snorting and the entire time you are trying to catch your breath, the phone keeps ringing and ringing, rattling your already oxegen-deprived brain. spitting out a large clump of cheez goo, you pick up the phone and clear your spongy throat.
"huh-ah-ahuNHH hello?"
it was her.
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