And I kept saying, water! water! Not because it was there, but because in LA it’s not there. And it gob-smacked you at first, until you started repeating it too. Our dry, slack mouths moving like little fish taking it in … letting it out. We both colluded to allow any residual word droplets to band together in order that they should rise to the top for a pop(!), blop(!) on the surface, ceiling, or sky… whatever you want to call it in Kansas City. What’s it called in Bangkok? It’s the place most of our un-canned prittle, prattle, gusts, &puffs go to disappear. I can only describe it as a place of complete and inexplicable absorption. Cities, words, life, – everything swallowed up.
for Real Toads