jump to navigation

Spill That Wine Dig That Girl November 21, 2014

Posted by The Typist in A Fiction, cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, The Narrative, The Odd, The Typist.
trackback

Morning will come before you know it pouring through the door like the boiling oil of hash browns on the side. It is not time yet time for breakfast.  Another rum? I could think of a hundred good reasons why not but none of them is rum, the liquor of the loa, the universal Pan-Caribbean elixir of frantic ecstasy, the shuffle and the dub, the wiggle of the skiffle, the because of Carnival.

Bring it dawn. I’m steady, and ready to roll. Sunny side up.

Comments»

No comments yet — be the first.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: