Winston and Taffy

I am listening to people who never travel talk about traveling.  Is that backwards?  “The box cars are air tight and if you get locked inside them you might starve.”  Don’t worry you won’t go there anyway, so you won’t get locked inside.  I am sitting thinking about how I could be thinking about thoughts while I daydream about having more time to think about things.  I really don’t know what I am talking about.  I hit myself in the face with the bathroom door as I was examining the blemishes on my face; I created a new one in the process.  Mirrors scare me:  They show you what you look like to others and if you hit them they give you seven years of bad luck.

Winston and Taffy, you may think cigarettes and sweet soft stuff, but I am thinking about sex and dead pets.  Winston and Taffy existed (exist) to me as childhood pets, rather dogs, of my grandparents.  They were white and black, one was mostly black, they got along together in their little habitat of my grandparents house.  They are both dead.  The dogs are.  They were obese, my grandfather mostly gave them a diet of bacon and cheese puffs.  Who knew that all that bad food would kill them?  I didn’t.  I figured they would get hit by cars or get the cancer.  My face, my neck, my heart, and my chest hurt today.  My face is sore from frowning, my neck is sore from shaking my head in disbelief of the what’s going on, my heart is hurt because you broke it, and my chest hurts from screaming about it.  Can you save me?  I can’t breathe; I think it’s just a hangover.


About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks:
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