Cheetos
Hanging out in my art studio and it is much larger, somewhat like a warehouse floored with bare concrete that slides against bare feet. I look down upon the street that houses parked cars varying in shades of vivid blue, red, green. This place is much higher up than I remember and vertigo passes over me as I move away from the paneled window. My bed is uplifted and supported by thin bamboo rods that resemble brittle, malnourished limbs. I blank out into a sea of gray and pink, not knowing what to believe.
Here is a backyard closed in by a rotted wood fence; the colors of decaying brown and green accentuate the drab. A friend approaches and shows me an aboveground pool that has indented the grass with its weight. The haggard tub should be filled with the bloated corpses of insects, but the pool is filled with water and a truckload of cheese puffs, some of which have disintegrated. The pool water looks fluorescently tangy. Instinctively, we dive in, fully clothed; my friend even keeps his glasses perched over his ears. After floating around for a bit, we dunk under the soggy orange, keeping our eyes wide open so that we may view the floating specks of the puffs that had the strength to survive in the water.
I look across the muddled water, through the slowly melting orange bits. My friend looks back and we begin to create fluorescent orange bubbles as we laugh uncontrollably under the water.
