The wind chill factory on the outskirts of town skirted the futuristic realm of the unknown heart of Gavin’s matter, Jeremiah knowing not what the future holds or what fortunes are born.
Gavin transcended the transpondent transformer and reinforced his learning with the bread and butter churned daily low and slow until the hierarchies of amoebas climbed to the tippy top of the skinny dipped dots of horseradish sauce. Sticking around the merry-go-round, the clown took Gavin by the hand, but Gavin screamed bloody murder, because everyone knows what’s to know about clowns and their unnatural births in the kettle of caramel corn soup. Frightened children unite, and all’s well that ends. And that’s all there is to it–for this month and sometimes forevermore.
Gavin lifted the latch on the front gate of the wind chill factory, but it was locked. The factory was closed for the winter, and discontent flavored the kettle of caramel corn soup from that day forth, with a fifth of Jeremiah’s favorite spirit. Intact.
Discover more from Faded Houses Green
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Something I’ve always suspected and at the same time never unsuspected
Sounds suspicious.