8/2/08: Chapter 2

A diner sits atop a steep hill, awaiting the arrival of an old, tattered man. He wears his coat backwards. He claims it helps him to better experience the world. "When I wear my coat backwards," he claims, "I experience the world in such a better way..." He reflects on cold, distant memories of his years in the Ozark Flats, where he first discovered his favorite game: twittlin' sticks. Twittlin' sticks consisted of a pain-killer infused with four ramblin' oat bags. A cocktail of these things. Twistin'.

The befuddled pilgrim scratches his head with vigor, and decides that he needs a nice, sturdy new house. He thinks twice, and then sets off to work with his family in mind. His family has helped support him through these times of need, but he often complains because they make him pay high prices to consume dead production fats. Everyone knows the pilgrim as a man of his word. He buys property with the flick of a clip.

A tired pharmacist decides to set down his old white hat before leaving his long-endured position at the pharmacy. He struts around, taking in the cold air, milling about. He finds comfort in knowing that someday he will return to the pharmacy, regaining all his formerly appreciated pleasures. Thump! He clumps down on the floor like a brick sinking to the bottom of the ocean. His coworkers say, "What can we do?" The man who runs the place, eyes like ovens, whips out his big ol' flamethrower, uses it like a toy, sad pharmacist turned to dust and charcoal before sets of wary eyes. Employees help carry the body into a van shaped like a hot dog, which is the custom. Ideas flow into their minds, and they form a plan. They bury his body in the sky, deep within the largest cloud. He is safe there, they say.

Fat, sullen boy in an old trailer park. He wants to live a life of pain. He sets out to live his painful life with strong values. They weigh him down like a toaster, but he feels his way through. The boy wishes to live like a king. He takes a quick stroll around the perimeter of the park, but his friends wander lazily, fishing out stories to tell. They tell stories of their times in the trailer park, each exchanging their best anecdote. A subtle switch to the ways of the men who live beside the park, they come to the conclusion that they should build a farm. They purchase animals of all sorts. Big, small, tough, weak, extra fat, extra chunk-filled, oil-rigged, manufactured with pride, etc. I know, it's a lot of that kind of thing. Millions of children flock to the animals and store them within their chests.

A college student rustles leaves by walking down a walkway, creating a path that was already there. He thinks to himself while chewing. He chews on a small piece of something from his past, denying its existence and spitting it out quickly. His mouth forms the words "Alpine Forest." He is as sure of himself as a cat is sure of a kitchen. Newfangled piles of dirt and crescents. He ties the string to a strand while bellowing and growling. His fortress falls to the ground. Plummets. To the ground. Mmmm... His muscles bulge as he slowly lifts the delicate wrench, but he only needs to set it down before playing resumes. Belt cautious belt. These games are only for the ones of us who desire to chip into it. The time we have is limited, let's stick with other times, when we are not as recreational like other kids. I tried to break out of the household, but we managed to track down a belt. These muffins are overdone by a lot, Fred. Oh, same here. Let's enjoy a cooked steak with beef juices and salmonella atop a mound of meat and sausage. A steamin' favorite, and let's not forget that jf kk; shabby chairs.... and stools close by... How 'bout a nice, quick, rhythmic dance, it's s Let's earn a bachelor's degree in such a fine art as canoeing or tennis. Who can store us inside his small pocket Let's form a rotisserie, and chop it well. NICE and well. How can it be so well? How can it stay inside the lodging area for