I scratched away at a dusty container. The tip of my fingernail ate away a scrawny, erratic line in the film of hardened white crust. Soon I could scratch more deeply - I could pull up on the crust with my fingertips and soon I began to see what was beneath. My mind blanked. I imagined spiraling down the ivory crust, like a drunk mule at the canyon. I hit bumps and jagged spikes, and, no one tells you this, I hit incredibly comfortable little ramps. They propelled me onward, hastening my fall and arresting my heart as my underside lost contact with the cold, white Earth.
I swung around a well-lit street corner, wearing blue and red. Her silhouette was interrupted. I strummed her conciliatory chords, the band played, the white wooden bridge beckoned us back, as the two towers had done before. And then, the turtle pup. The green can, what a novelty! The turtle pup. I tipped the green can and discussed all the shells. The turtle pup moved along. The green family slipped onto my unstoppable train. The turtle pup was nearly replaced, but the garden fire sealed the new union, all the toxic vapor had dissipated. I sat at the river bank and stared up at the immense canyon. Behind me, in front of me, beside me, above me: everything I'd seen before. I saw trains zipping across the canyon on tracks etched by traditional mothers and fathers. I saw giant cranes carrying luxury goods higher and further. In the sky above me, clouds screamed out "be jolly! be loud!" My instincts dictated that I look down at my bruised toes. There was dust on my feet and dirt below them. Small smooth stones speckled the ground. There were no weeds, but I noticed a couple green leaves here and there.
Memorable events occurred prior to this, I recall, and one of them involved a tall muse who may have been composed of curly ramen noodles - certainly she had exposure. I told my comrades, don't worry about this one, you may depart.
