Tuesday, March 31, 2009


"What is Dr. Pepper if not some peculiar strain of root beer?" Terrence paused and stared at his last cigarette, willing it to grow. It was now almost gone and the process of smoking it was barely a specter in his mind. He continued:

"The world is composed of a beauty so wild, it's not difficult to imagine endless varieties of root beer, each flavorful and complex in its own way." Strains of an opera rose from the bushes. Terrence tried to relax his erection.

Nearby, Penny sat on the police bench with a pained look on her face. Terrence approached her.

"I'm sorry for not paying attention," she said. "I had another... vision."

"Tell me about your vision," said Terrence.

"It was the future. It was hip to have acne." Penny paused, removing a cassette from her Walkman and flipping it. "Sorry. Black mass."

"Go on, little one, go on" said Terrence.

"The trees looked different... but not too strange. Yet, all were concerned about the environment. Someone said, 'We have to begin thinking about what kind carbon footjob we're leaving for future generations.'"

"What else, Penny?"

"I remember a salad bar of locusts. I remember a lot of hoopla about an unearthed Doors demo with the working title 'The Crystal Pimp.'"

Terrence was silent. Shit, he thought, she thinks about way more interesting things than I.

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