Karma Graph

1. Bill sputtered out on sunset, the heat was unbearable. "My oh my, world." He thought, "how you have raped my mind. Molding me like clay. If its not the boss, its the tv, or flowers on the armoire, or my father." A car turned the corner as he paused at a crosswalk. The place on Sunset was listed in the phone book as 'Peggy Sue's Burgers and Malts' It was all vinyl and pomp and reeked of novelty. His waiter never shit on Wednesday and Thursday. He would save it up then use the restroom over at Venus Coffee on 15th. It made him satisfied to know the little baristas would have to clean it up. He looked down at his masterpiece and would let the stench waft into his nose with a wolfish grin. Bill ordered a Big Burger and Coke. The service was bad and soon enough the hot mess was dripping in front of him. He had finished the coke by then and was sweating, even with the AC. The mustard and relish speckled the corner of his mouth and in no time it was all over. He thought, "I need to see Eddie and deaden up. He's probably off by now."
   

Walking with Rooms

No more cash, after squandering it on his last few motions at night. Bill Booth once again found himself in a bottle. "you know..." "Bill" "right Bill, anyhow you know that last broad sittin' over by Mickey?" Bill paused and splashed out onto the street, a figure of vomit and piss and blood and guts. The world was full of barbeque men and sunday hat woman fettering over spoiled meat on a beach covered in goose shit. He was tired of them all, jabbering on about interesting things and boring things, space and woman, and men and happenings, and he was tired of waking up at the crack of dawn to idiots who would fuck him in the ass first chance received. But mostly he was tired of all the light that fooled him to think things and then fell into obscurity and routine. He stumbled and tripped to a curb vomiting bile. He had always been spoiled.

JOE CAMEL

looking under a microscope is fascinating

Woke up and fought off the idea that waking up is a dull experience.

The Drive

At first glance the road smelt like roses. Cynthia's' blouse settled by Jerry's' magazines in the old ford as the clutch burned and the car spun around the corner. Soon they would realize the swell smell was a travesty. Amos Mclain settled the town Points View in 1834, nestled on the highest hill for miles, his ancestor Perry Mclain sold Jerry the car a few years back. It was Perry's nohow that closed the deal. Perry always laughed saying, "I could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves." Cynthia had gotten Jerry to go on the trip. Her sister lived across the Cascades. Jerry wouldn't have gone if not for the drive, he hated relatives, his, hers, the whole business was a bust. Rockpoint was a busy tourist destination in June too, especially with the local bicycle race. Another turn, his father had always taught Jerry good; slow into it beforehand, speed up as she breaks. But this time Jerry didn't listen to the lesson, or he was preoccupied. His hand rubbed Cynthias inner thigh and he saw the bicyclist at the worst moment. The car smashed through the side rail right off the side of the mountain. It was a bright day and the biker was far from anywhere. He had always loved a good ride.