No A, B, C, D, or E
On this snowy moonlit night, I fish upon my wish. I’m joyous in my triumph. “Your turn,” I shout.
Not-so-smooth shuffling turns unskilfully to fifty-two lift-up, though I’m still in high spirits. How? I sniff yummy provisions; oh how ripping hot pots of soup or hot pot stink things up so gloriously.
“I’m stopping our romp,” I stomp. This hour of jiving is now run out. Four portly guys slurping pints of rum, whisky or gin stop sipping. “Why now?” grunt our unruly louts.
“Shut up Tom!” Gulp. Tom’s gun pops off six slugs. Two fly into Milo’s hip.
“I’m shot!” Milo howls, frothy spit oozing out of his mouth. Gross. “How low will you thugs go — won’t you hoist up your jugs in my honor?” Milo slumps.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry my kin, fruit of my loins,” sulks Milo’s pop, tipsy.
Look on now to Tom’s son, Milo, fully not living, his soul flowing into nothing to join trillions. No point in spotting symptoms. No holy truth, only mistrust.
It’s just two of us now. Lo, this kook — lunging full tilt through our hot room, hostility stirring within him, spurring on this springing motion, jumping out groping for my thigh — fist pumps plus hip thrusts my shins. Shin splints loom from his hit.
Hmm, I miss this story. My first fight, my first injury. Ho hum, this is foggy history now, fuzzy visions of nothing of import.
To sum up: for now, my lust for Go Fish is in flux.
///
You know what to do next, Michael.
///
To follow our correspondence:
No A (Jeremy)
https://medium.com/@jeremy.ullman/no-a-69b82ebeb369
No A or B (Michael)
https://medium.com/@michael.smilovitch1/no-a-or-b-62109b2ff04
No A, B, or C (Jeremy)
https://medium.com/@jeremy.ullman/no-a-b-or-c-9fc2465c3bfe
No A, B, C, or D (Michael)
https://medium.com/@michael.smilovitch1/no-a-b-c-or-d-7d4c148a637
