The rattlesnake turned into a deadly jumping lizard and Christine ran back into the car, shrieking. P showed up to my restaurant and I quickly let down my hair, then descended into the house and slept as a deep sense of amnesia came over me--was I supposed to be working? Did I even work at all? My body was so heavy and tired. I grasped P's knuckles and reassured him he was good. The man held us at gunpoint--me and another woman. The knife hadn't been a sufficient fear tactic. He laughed at me as if my terror was unnecessary--of course he wouldn't shoot if we did everything he said. The barrel of the gun was dark and hollow, an endless rabbit's hole pointed directly at my face.
A five second commercial for Stephen Beachy's "living jelly." It was blue-green and gak-like, wiggling to an audial background of found recorded sound footage.