33. Thinking of You

I was walking to the convenience store with plans of purchasing the appliances of sin when I saw a plastic grocery bag tangled up in a bush by the sidewalk. It made me think of you.

I was driving to the future with a packet of dry roasted peanuts riding shotgun. I was in the middle lane, and suddenly I noticed the white dashes of paint that demarcated the lanes. The dashes on my right were closer together than the ones on my left. It made me think of you.

I was digging a hole on my way to China when my shovel struck a rock that was exactly the same shape as Elvis Presley’s head, circa 1954. It made me think of you.

I was writing a lullaby to quell Cold War anxieties when, through the window, I noticed a pair of foraging groundhogs under the apple tree in my back yard. I went out to talk to them, and we ended up playing some three-way euchre. It made me think of you.

I was pointing out the lunacy in cellular transition when I abruptly realized that I wasn’t making any sense. It made me think of you.

I was brushing my teeth when a small goblin climbed into my medicine cabinet and hummed tunes to the rhythm of my scrubbing. It made me think of you.

When I slept in the belly of the monster that had devoured me, I dreamed of days I’d spent in the light of the sun. It made me think of you.

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