It’s pretty dark outside right now. I can almost see my soul, but my soul has been through a lot, so it’s still a little bit darker than ambient conditions.
Insects come flitting by, now and then. They zap in the Raid Electra Elite. The noise is satisfying. Seriously, every pop makes me laugh a little. He deserved it. Zir deserved it. All the insect pronouns deserved it.
Every once in a while, “What the hell was that! Was that a bat? It must have been a night chicken!” There was no zap, but it flapped and hollered a lot.
It was a snake or a small horse with tiny wings and… it was way bigger than a large moth. Texas has weird insects. Most of them want to kill you, some of them want to be like you.
None of them serves any useful purpose, vis-à-vis refilling a glass with whiskey, or fixing lame Bluetooth connectivity issues.
In the dark early morning, with the backdrop hum of traffic on the I-35, pensive silence is punctuated by zaps, and the startled query of, “What just touched my leg?!”
Texas is as Texas does. Oh, no! They have found the faintly glow of my iPhone. Attracted to the light, I are becoming death.
—DG
Inside Doug's Head 