He did not remember. We remember because remembering is what we do. Poor us. We remember another night of Laser Interfermometer Space Anteena thrown by the wind gods whose Ripples in Space-time Are Us. They’re coming. They know we know that they are coming. They’ve been traveling for a long time, and they are ravenous to be space-thawed once they have their sea legs learn what to do to as one of their primary functions. He remembered how we met. In a bar in San Francisco.

“You know, you are a lunatic.”

“I know. I’m a lunatic.”

Set against a background of lunatics, hopping like peas on a hot shovel and there it is. You’re still drunk as you were last night. I don’t drink anymore but I can be forced to drink BombBay Gin. What part of Straight Forword Do You Not Get. Just give me the bottle, make that two, it’s my medicine. People down here called it Chicken Scratch Medicine, Herbs soaked in pussy juice as a Rusty Road, or covered his pecker like cone pone bread. Dang. I got to go to see if the dog got fed. I was not in an institution.

Drunk as a fiddler’s bitch. Again. I disremember some things. Immaterial. I fucking forget what I do not want to know. Dirt road bites this bar like appetites. Biting is a red flag. The subsequent infection rate people biting and people not biting was anyone’s hop-shovel of a playground on the Bugs Bunny Slide we used to come out here to sit on the hot concrete in a heat wave.  “I have to go home and feed the cats.” This saved some face, but not all. No one knew I had cats.” How would I, a complete nobody even knew I am so insignificant and you hoped the court thought so, too. Jails in Africa will hold your feet to the fire. Burned alive by a Fuck Wikipedia in the slow moving blood of carnivals. Fuck Wikepedia.  My boat cats didn’t even ask for gas because they could look down at the images of themselves, they has no clue as to who those cats in their territory were.

They figured out, it was mother.