The Gullet’s Tenebrous Backwash, as Impatient as the
Tongue Itself
Riding
along with the Vegescriptions in their private compartment in the side of
Enfeebler’s tongue, I found myself thinking that I, too, could have been in a
band, a real rock back, if only I had been either more sociable or more willing
to compromise.
“Or both,”
I added in a voice of reprimand.
Reprimand and regret, sewn to my back like the murdered corpse of my
enemy. That’s the reason for my weight
gain, not prosaic overindulgence.
“Who are
you anyway?” one of the Vegescriptions asked, as if suddenly realizing I wasn’t
a guitar case.
…
