I apologize already for the lack of quality in this post. I'm as tired as a SMURF, and I already took my nighttime meds, so I'm grogged out, too.
Here's an art:
[Digital drawing made on my phone...so I'd have SOMETHING to share tonight...]
If I wasn't so driven by compulsion and neurotica, I would have just not posted anything tonight and slid right off to bed, but I live by habits and ritual behavior, and before I go to sleep, I'm supposed to write a post. So I'm writing a post.
If you're still reading....silly person....you deserve a story:
One day a boy named April was walking down a pastel lined country lane. He stopped to smell the lovely flowers, which rose up, in mass, like a swarm of Easter piranhas, and stripped the flesh from his bones in a few scream soaked seconds. The end.
I take back my apology. This post now has literary value. Thanks for stopping by!
---Richard F. Yates (Holy Fool)
