Haunting Times.

I want to go downtown and drink some whiskey. Or houskie as I like to call it. Get rate fired up and haunt somebody. We can run through the alleyways and see what's behind door number two. The door is red, but you can tell it used to be blue. Nobody like sloppy finish work.

Records, mirrors, Super Mario Kart. Shepards pie made of last nights mashed potatoes. Rotten sausage patties and expired diet Pepsi. Jaded saxophone overtones and overcoats with rubber clashes. Sun dried rainbows; powdered sugar garden hoses. Melted quadraphonics, broken monotone undulations of count downs and jumping jax.

Torn words and broken noises. This all must add up. This all must lay back. This all must sit down; check your oil; what's in the review mirrors? Who called granny to let her know we'd be late for her death.

I died two times and then once more. I surrounded myself with the sound of something distant. I saw in the distance a remarkable sight. Ching-ching-ching-ching-ching-ching-ching-ching. Ching chong me so Charlie wa ew sae?

Mix tape mix up. Up side mix down crumble pound cake. Wax walls. Watermelon eyes. Head made of pumpkin seeds. Sandwich memories with the crusts cut from above. No more tears the fox has gone home. Girl Guides; paper boy; Jehovah whitness; mail man; milk man; ice cream truck.

Sunglasses suitcases filled with poppy seeds. This must be our destination.