The Odd Thing
Copyright© 2023 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 3
She was fine ... mighty fine ... perfectly fine ... fine, fine, fine.
Except.
Except is a classy form of Murphy ... Murphy uses ‘but.’
Except ... her feet were skimming the newly mown grass. (I’m not sure how mown grass figures in the plot ... at a beach ... but this is not my idea ... not at all. I have a feeling I’m going to find out.)
“You’re not in Chicago,” she said.
“I see,” I said ... and I did ... see. The pruned Scotch-pines were a poor substitute for the coconut palms of the sunny beach. The vistas present were a truly poor substitute for the sunny beach. Sonnytbitch. The vast vista was prairie ... with accompanying herds of not buffalo. What the fuck? Dinosaurs do not run in packs ... do they?
Velocraptors ... well ... that’s what they were doing ... running like mad and shitting everywhere. Running at ME.
“Pay attention,” said my mighty fine hallucination ... only I was watching ME being eaten by Velocraptors. WE were above the galloping mass ... they passed under the Scotch-pines and away.
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