Who could’ve guessed? Phillip had quit his teaching job again and rounded up Dog-Hair Dani
Who could’ve guessed? Phillip had quit his teaching job again and rounded up Dog-Hair Daniel for the purpose of getting blazing brunch-drunk. (Dog-Hair Daniel didn’t have dogs’ hair, but he was never one to refuse a little hair of the dog.) At the wine depot emporium, the wines had esoteric names known by the inner cabal only. “Petroleum Hurter”. The bottles were very much label-lacking. “And then,” Phillip said to Dog-Hair Daniel, who was holding his alcohol more gracefully, “the board offered me ten-thousand in bills to grind my heel on a first-edition Paradise Lost.” “Crazy,” said Dog-Hair Daniel, who really did like Phillip, but had mostly tagged along for the wine. Vines and other suspicious-type plants riddled the wood ceiling, looped and tangled down to tall-people scalp level. A breeze moved them, quietly. The depot emporium only had one wall, and it was a riverbank location, so the breeze happened a lot. One last detail: there was a horse road running noisily behind it all. In another town, super far away, people were happier, school boards saner, wine more labeled and things a bit better just in general. “That’s where I need to be,” Phillip said, or maybe thought in his own mind, as he paid for his drinks and walked into the sun. Still Eating Oranges -- source link
#flash fiction#experimental fiction#surrealism