draining camp*

feeling all alone in this world mike d. reaches into an old bookshelf half-filled with The Little House Cookbook, a seventh-hand copy of L’immoraliste and two lunchboxes of non-rarity basketball cards.

in this alternate universe Patrick Ewing can fly is fly the shit.

but really what he really wants is Sophor really.

but as always in times like this people you need are always needed elsewhere.

Sophor, datanglah, aku tak ingin menjadi seperti orang-orang di lagu Flaming Lips itu. he hasn’t forgot them? but why hasn’t he just come? the wall is always open.

what (strange) language is that (strange) man speaking?

don’t you know? it’s mike d. le poète fantastique!

Aramaic? doesn’t sound like it.

you’re impossible.

impossible is everything.

including Sophor coming here to rescue me today.

why, i only need her to sprinkle Krispy Kreme original glaze coating on the dough of this earth so everything sticks and stays and my rubber boots can carry me through to rob g.!

those boots, monsieur, are made for waddling.

i know, i know. an eskimo gave it to me. i could hardly see his face for all the fur.

you mean on his windcheaters?

actually, it was her …. the fur? it was antler’s. a fourteen-pointer.

you know a lot about the world m. d.

i know, i know. an eskimo gave it to me. i could hardly see his face for all the fur.

didn’t you just say that?

i know, i know. etc.

*part three of four, the first here, the second here

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