co-op

stumbling down to a float over tile aisles, hand reaching for the dish liquid and that lemon spray for the air. no one has a straight forward answer. their answer is that they like to hear themselves talk, everything else is milk pouring into the black coffee. color values. where the hell is my swatch book? my eyes are foggy. mistaken brain. I’ll fall asleep like this before I even get to the register. shot by a death ray, slowly falling with each letter.