The C had this little spit curl curling into its mouth. The u blended softly into the two T’s and the Y had a big loop under it. The sure strike through the T’s streaked like a jet trail across the yellowy envelope— the final act of the writer before sealing. I almost smelled it, expecting the lavender-rosemary blend I was used to, but stopped. My belly groaned like it needed to be fed but I knew better. I stuffed the letter in my back pocket and held onto the top of the box. A fetid sour-smelling mash came leaking through my teeth. The tinkle of my neighbor’s hose stopped. He was just staring at me with his finger off the trigger, his mouth all agape. I took a moment to look him in his eyes before I went ahead and purged again. The long trail of chunky liquid darkened the gutter as it made its slow crawl towards the drain that’d take it to Lake Miccosukee. Maybe a couple old coots were out there, drinking beer and talking about the nasty things they’d do to the old biddies and the young ones too. I liked the thought of that. I gave the two-thumbed-A-OK to my neighbor and waddled back towards the house. Viscous liquid bubbled into my throat. I opened my shirt pocket and spit into it. Wet warmth spread across my breast and I went inside the cool, darkened house. +++ I opened the tap and ran some water over a half bowl of dry cereal. I stopped buying milk because no matter the use-by date it always tasted sour. I kept going back to the market to return cartons I was sure had gone bad. The last time, the manager opened up the paper fold and slugged one right in front of me to prove it was fresh like straight from the udder. I can still see the skinny trickle of white liquid working its way down his laugh lines. I had to find a new market to shop at after that.
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