I couldn't lift my head. As she used vintage curse-words to refer to Budd in a fashion that stunned me in regard to her creative use of the art of vulgarity, she told me about the time she resigned her commission on the submarine. She went on to provide me with details of her stint as a librarian. It seems that she fell hard for the janitor there.

Vivian was a librarian consciously. But subconsciously she was fathoms below the surface, cruising moxie knots. Sometimes, when I would look over my deluxe Dewy Decimal card, to gaze at Vivian, I could see her eyes piercing through her mind-feel periscope.

The same window. The same seat at the kitchen table. The same coffee cup emptied of endless cups of coffee. I knew that if I waited long enough, it would have to come out of the cornfield.

Coffee became extinct after the last Peruvian ice shave last week. All coffee slurps are now made of maze, straight from the Iowan cornfields. Just add spoon.

Budd stopped by the corner diner to purchase his first coffee of the day. Budd had corncob teeth and whenever he smiled his creepy smile, Cora wanted to wretch. "For fuck's sake Budd, a toothbrush wouldnt go unloved."

We weren't going to extend all that... they got theirs, and we pay taxes, and they should have known better, they didn't get to be 600lbs by accidentally sipping someone else's cup at the party, you know what I mean? But if they can lose 25lbs is 30 days, then we can sacrifice some time and dough to show some love and save the life of a family member.

And then there was the time when everyone on Speer St. had ice cream cones which they held upside down and yelled into them. I hid then, too. I like to blame it on Budd.

If you were an icecream cone, first I would tell your parents. Then I would put you in the freezer, to keep you from... to keep you from... from melting. But being to the freezer wouldn't keep you from being eaten. But that might be the least of your problems. You'd be in the most horrible state of isolation. No lights, no one to talk to... you can't even move. I think you might want to try... melting. It's another state. Don't be afraid. Forty thousand cones and cups every day. More cowbell.

The shoes that my soul is wearing are being held on by duct tape. My middle parts all feel like they are sinking inside. I found a phone booth with coins on the floor in the urine. This is my best night. Her number is part of my brainstem. If the deities are with me, she'll answer the phone.

Her kitchen and the Pyrex collection. The harvest wheat and the green. The short sun coughs behind the grey. The Pyrex again, and there's one making thick coffee on the counter-top. This has the same odor as a tape recorder and god's bicycle horn. I've applied a little bauxite behind the ears. There is a smell of aluminum while a man with a speech impediment is putting siding on the house. I'll hide again.