The Trouble With Morning Is That It

In The End, I Take My Shoes Off And Stick My Feet In, Letting The Lukewarm Water Lick At My Ankles. It Feels Good, And Not Just Because I’m Stoned. I Make A Mental Note To Add This To Dulcie’s List Of Things Worth Living For. For Some Reason, I Keep Seeing Her Rolling Her Eyes At Me, That Big, Goofy Grin Stretching Her Face Like Silly Putty. On My Private List, I Add Her Smile. She Doesn’t Have To Know.

Our Mouths And Bodies Speak For Us In A New Language As The Trees Shake Loose A Rain Of Petals That Stick To Our Slickness Like Skins We Will Wear Forever. And Just Like That, I Am Changed.

I Run After Her, Not Really Giving Chase. I’m Running Because I Can, Because I Must. Because I Want To See How Far I Can Go Before I Have To Stop.

The Vicar, Whose Name Is Reverend Waite, Leads Us In Prayers That All Begin With 'o Lord' And End With Our Somehow Not Being Worthy-sinners Who Have Always Been Sinners And Will Forever More Be Sinners Until We Die. It Isn't The Most Optimistic Outlook I've Ever Heard But We're Encouraged To Keep Trying Anyway.

With Each Shimmy, The Bugle Beads On Their Scandalously Revealing Costumes Swung And Shook. It Was The Sort Of Display Evie Knew Her Mother Would Have Found Appalling—an Example Of The Moral Decay Of The Young Generation. It Was Sexual And Dangerous And Thrilling, And Evie Wanted More Of It.