Post by Arret Brown on Aug 27, 2011 23:54:04 GMT -6
A person walked up to the front desk. The desk was covered in wood. The wood was a deep hue of brown like an old sofa that was covered in dirt and abandoned on a street corner after having coffee spilled on it during a nighttime romp.
The person heartily sucked in a breath of air. The air tasted of soap and salmon. It was a mildly revolting combination, he thought. It reminded him of his grandson. His grandson had thick, curly brown hair of the same hue as the streetside sofa, and he had toes like the little piggies of the nursery rhyme, as he used to tell him. The grandson had always liked warm toast. He made warm toast every morning. It was delectably warm. Sometimes, it was covered in jelly. Other times, it was covered in peanut butter. And other times, it was covered in butter.
Yet sometimes, it was not covered in anything but air.
Air that tasted of soap and salmon.
The person took another deep breath and immediately regretted it. He had so many regrets. How many regrets could he count now? Too many for his fingers to take. His fingers had been under a lot of stress lately. From the carpentry, to the piano, to the nightly work-outs at the gym, they were constantly sore.
He soon realized that he was getting slightly off track and resolved to speak without taking another breath.
He choked out his next words like he was attempting to dislodge a bubblegum wrapper from the back of his throat.
"Hello. I am a person. How are you?"
The person heartily sucked in a breath of air. The air tasted of soap and salmon. It was a mildly revolting combination, he thought. It reminded him of his grandson. His grandson had thick, curly brown hair of the same hue as the streetside sofa, and he had toes like the little piggies of the nursery rhyme, as he used to tell him. The grandson had always liked warm toast. He made warm toast every morning. It was delectably warm. Sometimes, it was covered in jelly. Other times, it was covered in peanut butter. And other times, it was covered in butter.
Yet sometimes, it was not covered in anything but air.
Air that tasted of soap and salmon.
The person took another deep breath and immediately regretted it. He had so many regrets. How many regrets could he count now? Too many for his fingers to take. His fingers had been under a lot of stress lately. From the carpentry, to the piano, to the nightly work-outs at the gym, they were constantly sore.
He soon realized that he was getting slightly off track and resolved to speak without taking another breath.
He choked out his next words like he was attempting to dislodge a bubblegum wrapper from the back of his throat.
"Hello. I am a person. How are you?"