Floater

Good morning! This is Carl from Marketing USA!
How’re you doing today? I was on acid Fffine
as was Martha, whose gigantic Muppet smile
had started to fold. My boyfriend left two hits
on the counter when he went to work. Aw
I thought Martha with the feathered hair was
square but she’d been dosing since 3rd grade.
His bed was a parade float we piloted with our
minds, backs against the headboard, legs stuck
out like pencils, waving at people on the TV news.
It started out stupidly funny then morphed into
legit feelings of helpfulness like shoveling coal
in an engine to keep the talkers ringed in light until

the phone rang. Uhnho M said because she had
a fiancee and a graphic design job already lined up
and ambulances were dopplering all over Rochester.
But I picked up because people call on phones. That
was my free acid to the world, and I hope Carl won
a prize for all the questions we answered that wintery
afternoon. What’s your highest level of education?
One First grade? Yep. I passed the phone to
Martha, and she absorbed it. Rent No Yes One
million dollars I saw I’d underestimated Martha.
She was ballz deep and knew when to hang up.
I wished I’d high fived her more. I mean
I wished I’d high fived you more.