Burning Man

Don’t forget, we could always do it your way, with paste and glue and warm guilt. That’s what you want it to be, anyway. High pitched thunderstorms, red-hot clouds, dark stars and the like—these are not fantasies. Watch. I wake up in a sweaty panic. The hum of the air conditioner filters from your lips and hot air, like a dragon, from your nose. A fire breathing, flame eating, burning man. There is a slideshow of this evening’s events on my bedroom wall. These things will all be forgotten, the way you prescribe. I hide under a holocaust cloak and wait for morning.


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