The best fright of our lives.

It's really as simple as just mesmerizing the key board. so when I type for the thirty-third time, you know I love you. and when dick comes searching for his thirty three grand, we'll know exactly which policeman put it into the evidence locker.

We both won a trip to Vegas. and I'm planning on marrying this boy.

You're the heart, the sunglass man. and you have yet to grow into those eyes. Everyone yearns to learn themselves. Everyone. We're not exclusionary, we're inclusionary. Whoa, BIG difference. We're motel muggers, tree huggers, and snotty little buggers. We're an alienation. But we have drinks and they're tasty. We slam. and when we do, they call the cops, and we jump out windows, over fences, or on trampolines. We're prepositionally adequate because we know where we are. but after a few, we forget exactly who, and it's a glitch we're getting fixed. We have nothing of pride, but pride, for pride, for the love of college park.

Or altamonte. We're in foreign waters and purple flashing submarines are anchoring our position. We're vividly on GPS scanners, searching for 7/11, twenty-four-seven. We are born lever-pullers with crooked teeth and empty wallets. People have dreams of us. of "we."

We are Florida stars, wayward teenage angst in velvet tuxedo pressure. We wear ourselves out with satire. We are the talk that mommies and daddies sit their children down for after watching a graphic lifetime movie. We're the General Surgeons warning on the side of cigarette packs, and the tape that holds crumby trailer parks together.

Without us... we're just eye. That's a horrid thought. If we're alone, we're prone to question and that's never a good idea. We're prom night. No, really, we're on the cover of every trucker magazine you ever saw in a rest station public stall. We're the writing on the wall. Or the ceiling, we're not picky, we're friends. We have names. And they're important, because that's what we call each other. We use mirrors like aluminum foil, wrap ourselves up and fold into together. We are on our way to the gether. We're wordplay and innuendo. We are just memory. And we have a habit of fading.