You have to lie a little bit. Lynch is a great name for an undertaker. Cats do not wear decorative leads. I learn. A shield is a man writing in fragments. His clothes are all socks. She does hard on research. Cats murder butterflies. Just squeeze the bread. I can’t find the birdbath. Poetry is good for you like fruit. Oh and broccoli. Pop secrets are not popcorn. Make shit up. Make it pop. If you put a gun in your story the gun goes off. Maybe. My gun will be a nice bang. Maybe shoot the bible salesman. I learn. How to steal a wooden leg. Or is it bibles. I am the character. Be half masochist and half essay. A hayseed rube douche bag sounds like fun. I want to be that. And what is a benna. Is it a hat. Or an occupation. I will look stupid if I ask. He doesn’t care if he is Stu or Stuart. People have identity on their minds. I can do anything. I can reek of weed like the plumbers of Spokane. Those plumbers tell you how to fix the toilet on the phone. No the toilet is not on the phone. Where is Spokane. Spokane smells of weed. So does Seattle. You can do anything you can get away with. Except graphic sex in YA novels. You should be able to hear your heart. Beat. It’s a poetry thing. I thought an Elizabethan collar was all brocade embroidered with sequins and gold ribbons. But it isn’t. It is a plastic cone. How do you get love. Learn the names of everyone. Here. But I only have one name to remember and I just cannot remember. I am trying to remember my own name. So I fail the name test.