Random vandals.
The snarl of twin turbo diesels heralds the approach, yet one more time, of Leslie Zeppelin. I wish Mom was here to be terrified of this, because, frankly, I'm tired of it. Now please excuse me while I vanish into my secret underground bunker.
Ice stars. I saw some last night. They wear skates and burn with a cold sweet beauty. Vanilla is my favorite is vanilla.
Engrossed with personal affairs I forgot who I am. -- Janwillem van de Wetering
Van sauce.
First I dream my painting, then I paint my dream. -- Vincent van Gogh
The snarl of twin turbo diesels stops me mid-bite. But the snarl is not overhead. It comes from a Zeppelin Brothers moving van. But just who is that driving?
Frantic boiling air tuna shoals. A vague, dark skyward unease. The faint snarling rumble of twin turbo diesels. Neck hairs tingle. Leslie Zeppelin, back, is back. I duck. I run.
Parting the 5 a.m. curtains chills my blood. The street is taken by a Zeppelin Brothers van, its twin turbo diesels snarling, even at idle. The sky, however is clear, and I am safe for now, I hope.
