Amy Zug

It

he was examining cigars. through the not locked glass box.
one of them later on the uncomfortable roof as in lawn chairs
side by side they sat he smoked and she was saying everything
disgusts me considering if it was too loud. lemme try it
she said and sucked tentatively the spitsoaked end looking
somewhat similar to a spasticated hormonally unbalanced junkie
fish. it was all so fantastically boring they decided to count
to six thousand. after that they were at a loss. why they
didn't just count to seven or eight thousand remains unknown.
at this time they are experiencing dusk and lung diseases,
tattered peanut butter scented hands, separation anxiety,
whispering in your ear as you feebly attempt to dance to come
on Eileen, oh I swear (unintelligible), at this moment
it begins to fall to pieces of something of which
you remain unable to think, you mean everything to me.