Incapacitated,
he lies chewing at the open throat of an already empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s
adjacent to his face upon the carpet. As if independent of all conscious will,
his tongue pokes thickly at the bottle, pushing it away as a sated baby might
reject the nipple, slurring
Skunk:
Hi-yo Silver...
Entire
minutes now rise up around him, and disperse. The whole summer engulfs him, and
passes on.
Skunk:
..away.
the
spread of carpet beneath him continually soaked through with his own waste.
