VONN BLINKS A LOT to see what it does. With each pop he tries to think of a different part to a story. This eliminates boredom while he waits to sleep. His mind does not turn off. He is a narrator when the narrator forgets to provide the parts for him. He blinks a lot.
At first, Vonn sees only a man with dreadlocks, blistered skin and deranged eyes standing in the middle of Lankersheim rd. with a roller suitcase staring up to the sky. The sky is mottled. It’s belly filled with the guts of a storm. Then it begins:
A man with dreadlocks, blistered skin and deranged eyes is standing in the middle of Lankersheim road with a roller suitcase staring up to the sky as all the approaching motorists slam on their brakes and watch him get really close to becoming a stat on a traffic fatalities spreadsheet. Two of the 9 cars sport future suicides. 3 out of the 9 vehicles carry virgins. One houses the physical remains of a virgin. I am in the front row. I have just finished a morning dream three streets before that included an unhinged pediatrician and turkey bologna. While in the real world there was no such thing as turkey bologna yet, in the morning dreams, into work, anything could pop out the slit of our imagination. When I say, our, I mean the collective workforce that is not in a career but rather a hunt for a paycheck. It was all we had those days. That and a terrible case of the Mondays, everyday, except for when we were balls deep in an inflatable mattress that had been done up as a girlfriend. Two motorists back from me is a pregnant secretary three weeks away from maternity leave. She is breaking California's newest new law by texting. Her head is down. She has a bit of dandruff. It will soon be shaken off like snow globe's glitter under the full impact of her parts smacking into the vehicle ahead of her, which contains an overworked State Farm agent who silently wishes, as he sees her car not slowing down in his rearview, to pick up speed and completely rearrange his thoughts for life against the front windshield. Accomodating: he split-second pops his seat belt off.
He will live another 39 years, receive a full pension and be loved by his fellow State Farm agents. They will secretly admire different qualities they had a chance to witness.
The result of the collision causes the future mother, present criminal, to make her text read, "i love hell" followed by a horrible string of random letters and numbers.
It was supposed to read, "i love her" but the impact of her fingers, body and belly into the steering wheel made the situation adapt to gravity. The recipient of the text message is masturbating into a commode at the time of the accident 19 miles away in a rented apartment with the windows open, the breeze is stiff from the Santa Annas. When he reads the text he becomes confused because his wife knows it's fantasy lesbian day and he needed to concentrate. He thinks all of this as his load squirts all over the toilet paper rack next to the commode. He had missed the entire event.
An off-duty police officer leaving a vagina bar that only allows full nudity because of the lack of alcohol being served sees the whole near accident taking off after the insane blistered man, who by this time had fled the scene and was now half stuck on a metal fence by the LA river having multiple random thoughts run on top of each other in the vastly empty place behind his eyes.
The officer will not receive a medal for this heroic, off duty action, but rather a Staph infection from a row of punctures his knee cap sustains from the same metal fence 8.3 seconds after the deranged man had untangled himself and kept going like a turnpike. The Staph infection will turn into a blazing fire inside his body that creates a situation in a hospital that leads to 5 pounds of his body being cut away.
Two old people quasi-consciously waiting to die stand close by silently as the officer goes to jump over the chain link fence, failing. Getting a miniature impalement five times over by each little pointy run.
They hope for the police officer's death. Just like they will hope for his victory after he gets loose. They smile later on as the cop runs by, bleeding from the leg. His body, a contained shell, superheated, wet and ready for the disease to creep in but he doesn’t know it. All he sees is a giant feeling of electric fire driving him to stop this person.
He’s almost forgot what the man has done to make him give chase. He wonders if the empty flask in his pocket has anything to do with it. Catching the man might jog the officer’s memory. He won’t catch him.
The growing baby does not die in the texters body but does develop a small lesion on her brain that will result in a specific form of genius for piano playing but also only allow her to orgasm when three fingers are placed directly into her asshole, a Bach Sonata is playing at medium volume and thirty percent of the visible sky from the bedroom window is splattered with cumulous clouds. It's a terrible burden to carry with your clit. The geniuses boyfriend develops a complex due her specific needs to achieve climax and soon begins replacing his lost confidence with violent tirades against anyone he perceives as being genuine. He enrolls in a university to somehow justify his lack of success with the girl genius girlfriend that now sits at home all day developing operatic music.
The world will not end from some amazing turn of events but rather just keep going like this for the next 3500 years.
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