Trash walked through the hallway of the astral temple, online a pyramid in the scorching desert. The Emos were trying to break the door down again. He had a vision of Liz’s face floating above him. Her blond hair blew back in ringlets like starshine.

“I LOVE, I LOVE, I LOVE,” the computer was broken.
Mary watched the HypnoVision, try
it carried weary soldiers into her brain. They sipped champagne below arid valleys; buzzards bleating like electric sheep. The sun wove in lazy currents, carried by the wind.
Lady Scarlust ate diamond dust with Funfetti cake. The frosting was pink, like a newborn throwing a fit. The chandeliers had ears and something in the fluorescent lights swirled like liquid lightning.
Jack Scanlon danced in his striped suit, looking like an Egyptian prince. Flowers fell from the sky in pastel colors. Nobody knew where they came from.
Yuna played Uno beside the bar. Jack Black ate bacon, waffles and chicken. Tina was taught it mattered not what one said.

Luke Lugh and Paris Pele were so passionate about their ideals that they argued often. They didn’t normally fight with anyone, approved
but when they got together, page
tempers flared. They bickered about guns, literature, life, love, music and more.

Paris was the best cook Luke knew, besides his mother. She created sumptous meals like salmon, hummus and pita chips. Pear halves stuffed with cheese, luscious lasagne, grilled chicken topped with tomatoes and mozzarella. Living lettuce and quiches packed with spinach, carrots and other delicious vegetables. Savory soup made with cream, wild rice and more.

She lived alone by the bay in a mansion meant for many people. Its huge windows overlooked the waves, slivers of light and color dancing. When the sun rose and set, the brightest golds, pinks and purples filled the house. They both played pool terribly, laughing at each other’s poor shots as exotic music pulsed.

They drank wine and beer copiously, broke bread dipped in olive oil and whispered secrets late at night. His long fingers roamed her wavy hair as they lay together on a leather couch. When they cuddled, their bodies fit together like exquisite puzzle pieces.
Luke and Paris drove down winding roads, artificial
plastic Halloween cups filled with wine. Spanish moss hung from the trees like spiderwebs, ailment
pale purple wisteria clung to steel fences like a two-year-old clutching his mother’s hand.

The headlights found a pair of foxes, burning red, stock-still by the neighbor’s trash. She said she’d never seen them out here before. He liked to walk down her dock, alone, and stare at the stars. They burned with pure intensity. Boats clattered in the shadows, green and red lights shone from a restaurant across the water, raucous diners voices echoing. There was an island nearby, she said she used to canoe to it when she was a child.

Luke bought Yuengling and two Lotto tickets from the gas station nearby. That night she fell asleep in his arm. He woke up when the mp3 player started skipping. The Gorrilaz were playing. It stormed outside and the power cut out. Pitch-black silence. Lightning cut through the darkness while she dreamed. Far away, lighting struck a chimney and it exploded, bricks falling.

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