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Tripping

Last thing I remember, I was masturbating in the middle of a cornfield. Surrounded by corn of course, for you city dwellers. You know the life you live is casual when you can find privacy out in the wide open. Maybe that’s how they found me.

They are light gray, like butchers paper. And their skin looks to be riddled with spitwads. And feels like it. Just wish they didn’t smell like fish wrapping. Their features appear drawn on, like thick black charcoal strokes outlined in red.

Paper. That’s the only way I can explain them, it’s my only reference point. They move on thousands of tiny hairs, again, like shredded paper, moving soundlessly over the glass deck.

Oh yea, that. I’m surrounded by glass. Is it glass? Remember reader, I only have a certain frame of reference. Shit, all I know is I can see through it.

Floating in front of me, like a fish tank, is a three dimensional map. Somehow I know this is a travel bureau. They call it Tripping.

I’ve never been outside Iowa. Now I’m waaaay out.

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