Friday, November 03, 2006


Instead of foam the extinguisher sprayed Boston creme. I called the building supervisor and he said it was cheaper, since a donut shop was down the street and the inspector approved the change, with a few kickbacks and a dozen cruellers. What if a fire comes, though, and I can't depend on sugar to save me? Then the supervisor opened a fat door filled with a purple and red chain of sprinkles and glaze. If you smell yourself burning, take this and throw it out the window. A squad of policemen will catch its scent, the ambulances will run over children to find this sweetness, hydrants will beg hoses to shoot water all over you. He left, satisfied with his answer, and I placed the extinguisher back on the wall. I looked at the glass case that was supposed to be broken. A resident was chewing it, trying to get to the candy center, where a peppermint axe would cut him loose, allow him to open the complex's front doors, pull carrots out of gardens, consume all the lettuce in the world.


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