[DeP has read that book she got from the Free Bin at the old library. What was the title? Yappers and Yangers she thinks. Its chapters rife with run-on sentences and made up words has invited her to speak less/dance more. She hums now, the tune she made up to accompany the mean little verse set out in a fanciful font at the front of the book. Non, it's not one she made up at all. Plagiarized. Oh well. Alien Digital Dirt is free for the taking. Reach for it, mes freres et soeurs. Tomorrow it...and we...may be gone gone.]
Found an old dog and it seems to like me...doesn't matter you haven't lived in the gutter... [she notices the full tumbler of amber placed on the sunny side of her desk, sips and smiles with satisfaction and half-closed lids]
I've got an alien contact. Gonna let him fly. Steve Bates, Rescue Me shook the tail of the Monkey but maybe not the whale. Terminalize me but don't bury me when I'm dead. Fred. Daid.
Hey now...isn't it far too muggy in here to struggle and fight? She looks across the room, raises the tumbler at fair Carol. Somewhere a shutter opens, closes. We hear the heaving breath of Doomey and Jesus, sniff the sweat from their collision.DeP A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer of The Floor