Saturday, April 16, 2016


Hell, I met the bEast. Providence street corner, dappled with orange cones and blistering sunlight. Blistering, truly. The bEast and I, both in yellow caftans, talked even as blisters formed on our pale skin, popping, sending poisonous motes skyward. Glass broke and sprayed like rain onto the sidewalks. Somewhere a baby cried, choked, and went silent. Joe's 'stache was growing, I thought, or else I'm hallucinating. Hell, the thing was the size of a coupla Ford Tauruses butting heads. His eyes rolled around the top of the thing, bright shining marbles. Hell, I met the bEast. He said, "I'll shut up in a minute," but he didn't and I don't ever want him to. bEast, I met the hell. What was I saying? I don't know. Things are Weird. I just know I want to see him again, to fall into his thrall like a glass eye into a rich and steaming broth.