IN WHICH PLASTIC BEARS ARE MISSHAPEN

Yesterday evening I smoked fags on the back porch and watched the Chipping Sparrows dart around the yard. Every once in a while they would sound dry territorial trills. I also heard a soiree of Rock Doves cooing and purring on a neighboring rooftop, talking shit about house cats and radio wires.

This morning I found the honey, a coagulated lump in the belly of a Mello-O Honey Bear bottle. Fumbling for the most instant gratification, I stuck the poor fuck in the microwave. For future reference, don’t ever do this. His head shrunk into the shape of a drinking straw and his facial expression is now forever frozen in vertical horror.

What a terrible way to go.