Daze Inn

…Over on the hotel television a comedienne handed out thousand dollar Bulgari pens like they were Snapples. I've faced the facts that my waiter is gone. I waited for him to bring home the bacon but he never came back. I’ve saved the last voicemail on my cell—even made a call to Verizon asking them not to erase it after the standard ten day period. In the message he’s telling me he’s going underground, where the angels can’t find him, and that he’ll be back soon. Strains of pop music and static chop up his words until all that can be heard is the amplified whirl of a modem. Or maybe it's his phone going out of range, a typical event out here. I pretend that he's been run over my an 18 wheeler. I press the phone against my ear--the impact and subsequent explosion sound like a tornado.

Got my spine, got my Orange Crush.

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