At the bottom of the hill, the streets were cracked. Weeds straggled the base of the stop sign. The sky was just a purple bruise. At the top of the hill, a lone child screeched. The baby was what I remembered. His face was an unnatural beet-red, like he was choking . I stood there, watching the baby stumble between two glaring headlights. He was barefooted and bare chested with his tiny fingers wounded around a light blue blanket., The baby made his teary-eyed way down the hill, the headlights making his small, tortured face look unworldly.
There was a man and a woman at each other’s throats, literally choking one another. I thought of waltzing. The man and the woman looked like apes, pretending to be ballroom dancers. There They crushed tiny tablets into powder with their heels as they danced. An amber-colored pill bottle without rolled down towards me .
My legs started pumping and time began to hiccup. I was at the bottom of the hill and then, I was at the top. My hands held groceries, then they held nothing and then, they snagged into the man’s shirt.
Time caught up with itself and the man was on his hands and knees. The woman chased after the baby and cans of soups scattered down the hill. The woman snatched the baby up in her arms, but the baby wouldn’t stop crying. He febily thudded his tiny fist against the woman’s breastbone. His blanket rested in an oil streak on the side of the road.
“Stay down,” I said to the man. I didn’t sound convincing and he ignored me. My hands were shaking and I felt my bladder fill. He stood eye to eye with me and I blinked. He shoved me to one side and started toward the woman.
“Hey! Hey,” I said to the man, but he ignored me.
“Get the fuck in the car,” the man said to the woman and she got in the car while the baby screamed. Two doors slammed and I was standing alone in the headlights. The man honked the car’s horn and I stepped out of the way. The car tore down the road, running over my Chicken Noodle Soup.
And it occurs to me that I haven't explained the logic behind this stupid series. Well, I've never since a dog who was happy to be dressed up. At best, dogs are willing to roll with it.
They're all like, "okay. I don't know how to take this off my body. I don't have thumbs. So, fuck it."
(So, I've noticed that all these people are white and, for some reason, make the humping so much worst. Natalie Portman said it best in Garden State: " Kick 'em in the balls." That shuts that nonsense down immediately.)