The god who revealed the glittering underbelly of the universe to our dilated pupils disappeared in the Chemlawn haze of daylight—with sprinklers churning and hangover headache pulsating. The disappearing never ended out in the suburbs, where everything real and honest seemed to evaporate like souls from a dying body—only instead of making it to heaven it would hang there and taunt us. It was a zombie corpse, lust for life kinda world.
What was that, I’d think, notebook open, pages blank across my lap as I held my oversized head in my hands. What was I thinking last night? That shimmering glimpse—how can I put it into words before it’s gone for good?
