EPTA story:
Felt between my fingers is like the grass you play in when you worry more about catching caterpillars and slugs by either their head or tail.
Caterpillars, fat as pie, making their way across the rancor.
Slugs, leeches and lovers–they all suck, suck good and hard.
Babies suck. But first you suck me in. Then, we suck the goddamn bugger out of you.
There’s a man sitting next to me. He raises a white stick to his mouth and out comes smoke from every orifice of his body. I ask him to wait. He pauses. Then he pretends as if he hadn’t heard.
The stack of chips in front of me dwindles into nothing but felt. I guess that’s what they mean when they say “make a molehill out of a mountain.”
Or was it the other way around?
The window opens. So does the mouth of the man next to me. Out pours smoke. I ask him to open wider. Then I peer inside.
A big fat caterpillar dangling from his throat.
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