by Brad Rose
In my numb pajamas and seven league boots, I’m eager to shake off my bad reputation, so I’ve planned an escape route, minus the side effects. I’ve long dreamed of playing the accordion, without any hands, although, like a third rail, I might be on the wrong track. This is neither something I’m presently at liberty to confirm, nor deny. Since Dr. Vitamin gave me those yellow, unmarked tablets, I’ve been hearing voices in my head and wandering around like a wild boar. Now, my thoughts come and go, like stray bullets fired from a runaway train. You know how hammers are always looking for nails. Dr. Vitamin assures me that Rabbits’ feet guarantee a run of good luck. Except, of course, for the rabbit.
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