Monday, July 27, 2009

"How Many Times?"

Super Joe asks himself such things in the middle of the night upon waking in a cold sweat; clutching an "ultra large" bag of Combos, teeth grinding, eyes dripping of dreams manifested too late. Staring out the window his glare lights upon unfolding smokestacks, parking lots, shit streamers, pink dust punks, and boobs too huge. As if this were the last thing he saw before smashing a brick through a cop's windshield, Super Joe exclaims, "Too Many Times!" The itchy undershirt draped upon his shoulders takes on a deeper shade of yellow and he eats one more handful of Combos. The crumbs fall upon his wasted chin as he drifts off to sleep again. Yes, he has seen the light: it's spilling from the tailpipe of a dump truck slamming through a bridge embankment.