Willow tree wains in its own wraith vision. Sun waves give their steady surmount. Sprouts of lively colors exalt from the earth. And its beautiful in its own right--the lot of it, the summation of it--the fixture of it. So scenic and serene--homely in its inherent righteousness. Take your picture for your post card for your footnote for your photo-album for your deathbed.

Stubby, angsty fingers step away from a turquoise typewriter. Smooth and curvy and compensating--175 dollars exchanged for clattering jangles--oh, the authenticity! Cigarette reached, grabbed, ignited, puckered. Exhumes trail across the page. A bite taken out of a nutritious snack that starts out fine and strangely ends up tasting like fish. Phone rings (Bob Dylan harmonica harangue)

An offer to go to Santa Monica--dutifully declined. 3 revolutions of an office chair. Then the return.

She did not love him anymore. These things happen. And are going to happen. And this is the reason why everyone is exactly who they are. Clingers and stingers and fifth dimension reptiles who run the world. She did not love him anymore. And suddenly Willow trees are more authentic and such flowers are liars and those in happiness are idiots. And somewhere Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens) is singing Wild World. And it is.

He had one bar of service and it killed him. Because it meant she hadn't called or texted and he couldn't even have a false illusion of hope. Oh, but sad lover, remember the transience of life! And he did. And he didn't give much of a shit. Pain is pain, and heroin is heroin. Not that he did heroin, he just thought about it, sarcastically. Same with offing himself.

He laid flat on his back and felt the oh so wonderful transience of his tears. And turned his phone off.

He turned his phone off and put his hands to his face. Cigarette reached, grabbed, ignited, puckered. Exhumes trail across the page.