Naked Brunch

He sat by the computer, realized his life is so pathetic there’s nothing worth writing about. Time to write about nothing.

It just appeared, right in a downtown parking ramp, the camper van. A big camper, with urban styling – tagged on the back. Why is this my camper? Where am I going? How can I fit this locomotive-sized thing through the parking ramp exit? Squeeze to get out, must be a weekend day – no one there to collect a parking fee. Driving on the road, going nowhere, why does this look like Parking Lot 60 in Madison, WI? Where am I now? What am I doing here, by Cabella’s in their campground? I don’t even go hunting or fishing. Damn it, fell into another wormhole of the mind. Who would think a wormhole could connect you to western Nebraska. The store closes at 9:00, frantic rush to buy ammo, sandhill cranes flying over soon, begging to be shot. Ancient Japanese scribes wrote that killing a Crane leads to 30 years bad luck. Damn, the secret to immortality! Haven’t killed one in 28 years, time to get to work. Oh no, here comes Jesus, wants to know where he can get his nails done. The end of times is near, careful with that flaming sword, josh. Are you trying to burnt he place down? Who wants to start eternity with a torn cuticle, he asks while sucking the tip of his pinky.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.