Chicken Farmer I still love you

… even though we ain't got scratch …

Big Inca

To: The Boss

From: Bill

Date: March 31 

They took me with them to campus. Standing in a drizzle as marijuana smoke drifts past, we waited for the doors to open wild music to our evening. Stood in beards and sparkling long hair, in fur coats and Army surplus greens and stovepipe hats harking harking harking back to eras long past but half-told and half-relived in history, in fourth-grade goodness, awaiting Godot or another round of sneezing. Hold me closer, Hilda. Soon we shall dance. Or whatever I do, being moved by you in motion.

Suffer the guards their flashlights in the gym concert. “Smoking isn’t allowed,” though everybody does. “Dancing isn’t allowed,” either.

Then marshmallows rained from heaven.

~*~

All of the story continues by CLICKING HERE.

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This entry was posted on March 31, 2017 by in Big Inca and tagged , , , , , , , , , .
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