creatured acoustic shadows.

the continuing dance of self under the imaginary canopy of indiscriminate memories now presented with the grace and ability to sustain life just slightly beneath and to the left of the visual surface.

“checks aren’t allowed here sir, only cash.”

“god damn it, all I got is this book of stamps. this god damn book of stamps I’ve collected over the years as a hobby brought on by having too many god damn stamps.”

he opens the book…

pieces of squared sticky sided miniature papers, stained torn, corners disheveled on a black page for added contrast. he wonders how he has accumulated so many over the years. are they even worth the book value he believes them to be? 

“this one, this one here. see it? do you? it’s my favorite. no wait..this one…this one here…”

“sir, you’re holding up the line. that will be forty five dollars and thirty two cents sir. cash only.”