you don't remember me do you

For this story you will require a shoe, a thimble, and a top hat, though you can also use beer coasters in a pinch. It would be great if you could tell the story with food ala Spaulding Gray, in which case you could be the lobster, because we're all the center of our own true stories, but beer coasters will do or whatever other game pieces you have around the house. It's not like anybody can follow the story to the end, even with elaborate props and a third hand.

You say it started HERE and that's as arbitrary as anything. Nobody is going to land on free parking, or get a quiet night, or pass on the next round, which it is your turn to pay for anyway. It started with a kiss, you might say. Never thought it would come to this. The person who breaks the rules first is interestingly involved in the cure later, though you haven't revealed that card yet.

What happened? Not just then but now, right now. Then was back when you weren't interested in forgiveness, remember. And you still aren't, remember. The stories are put into small ziploc bags to prevent mold and pests, like the person who wanted to know what happened was a pest and the person who didn't want to know ate through your carpets when you were distracted. Boy are we off topic now. But everything I tell you is true, except the part about the carpets.

All I mean to say is that Shelley and Byron had nothing on you in the day, not least because you knew how to pronounce a J in the periodic European language, which European languages are cool to know. All I mean to say is just because the world was shown to you in a handful of dust, recently stirred, it shouldn't confuse you: that particular housecleaning can never be done. A red velvet rope was placed across the door for a reason. Take pictures and post them on Facebook if you must, but nobody wants to go there, except some tour group of Japanese schoolchildren maybe, with their fingers in a peace sign because they don't remember the war.

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[ozma]

I remember you!