Wednesday, on the way to the carwash, my car caught fire. And not the good kind, either. Sheila came running up to me and said, Everything is getting worse and worse. I told her the main problem is there’s no solution. Everything has a life of its own. You keep trying and trying, but no matter how hard you try, before anyone knows you’re gone, you’re back where you started. Say, what ever happened to What’s-His-Name? You know, Mr. It’s-on-the-Tip-of-My-Tongue? Yeah, that guy; the one who hardwired the software and debugged the earworms. Before he disappeared, didn’t he buy that bogus kidnapping and ransom insurance? I guess these days you can’t be too careful. No, don’t pay any attention to the venom-colored sunlight. I just painted the windows. They only look like they’re snakes.
Appears in streetcake, No 68. August, 2020
