I Am Ninety. Or Ninety-three. One Or

At This Moment, The Story In His Head Was Perfect. He Also Knew From Experience That It Would Degenerate The Second He Started Typing, Because Such Was The Nature Of Writing.

I Had My Whole Life Planned.. I Knew Exactly Where It Was Taking Me.

Even As Your Body Betrays You, Your Mind Denies It.

Why The Hell Shouldn't I Run Away With The Circus?

...poking A Lump Of Red Jello That Jiggles Outrageously, Like A Breast I Once Knew.