Restaurants Outlive Their Customers I

Order basalt then tusk from the Special Deciduous
menu. Name the microcosm of each leaf. Melt icicles
into a glass, turn on your numbers station. An
overturned car is hollow on the shoulder: five white
miles of roadway closed for five weeks. Do you want
static on the glass rim or keep it virgin? Answer
before they change the menu for the next generation.
32,767 points of entry. Enter through the holes in
their brows: Amway died in a bus accident. Our
mechanic was crushed under a car when his garage
jacks gave out. No hydraulics necessary in 1776.
Birth canal stuffed with sawdust: count the clouds
in egg drop soup. While waiting for the school bus
a Monte Carlo opened fire on the kids. Don’t put your
makeup on using headlights as a mirror. Reach into
the buffet and take waterlogged crests. Reach into
the overturned car and tousle dark and damp hair.
One leaf is commemorative while another from the
same bough has disintegrated. Set your alarm clock
two hours early and order the eggs. Pass the pepper
shaker of 52,884 universes. The last dishwasher’s
blood can still be seen on the back door: robbed while
closing for the night. Fetch the turpentine before our
supervisor gets here. How are we to entangle at a
distance when you are using 3G and I’m on 4G. Legs
are sore from all-season radial tread. Quit sitting
on the curb when cars are being chased by cops.
Not until cambrian jaywalking did the cops begin to
issue citations. Fewer people are less tousled by fewer
hands. The bus driver said he’d rather fly out the
window then be strapped into his seat hanging upside
down. Minerals get under your skin. They’ve gone and
changed the menu again. I always used to order Baked
Alaska. Now they don’t have a dessert menu. There’s
not enough interest in desserts anymore; everyone is
accustomed to sand. The vibrations of a jetliner
making a hard landing on the boulevard are recursive.
The waitress offered Mandelbrot glass rims; you said no,
no, too expensive. A foster child played with gasoline
in a dry shed. He used to order from the original kid’s
menu. They don’t serve his favorite hot dogs anymore.
If he was still alive he’d be an old man now, protein
in a banker’s suit. Soil will never tire.

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