One fine day I sat out on my balcony reading

One fine day I sat out on my balcony reading book after book. Hour after hour went by without me noticing the change in weather.

A kitten plopped on my open book. Puppies puddled at my feet. I am allergic to cats and dogs.

But I thrive on metaphor. Drink irony and piss excellence. Barkeep, bring me a triple entendre, with a non sequitur back. This place was a zoo. I opened an umbrella, to shed the

shade on a little lemur curled up in my lap. If I'm the lemur then my lap is the primevial sheltering earth. The shade is not-knowing and the umbrella is the seventh galaxy. It all

was beginning to make sense. The Lemurian trance left me wide-eyed staring into the Madagascar rainforest, back to the dawn of primate mythology and the gift of opposable thumbs

that kept getting "regifted" at every baby shower. The thing about Lemurian hypnotism is that it makes one feel super thirsty. So I drank from a puddle in the Madagascar rainforest

And my fur coat grew thicker so I blended in the my adopted family of lemurs. Life in the forest was better than where I lived in my previous human incarnation. Tree to tree, I was

convinced that was the way to let me forget her. I even took to playing that I could imagine a better life for her without me. But somehow she always discovered my absence. I took

the knife out of my holster. Time to end the misery. "George?", she gasped, "What are you doing?" Paraodoxically, I had to smile. "What I should've done a long time ago, honey..."

and I sliced the sage Darby and we went out on the patio with glasses of wine and watched the fireflies and forgot about everything else for a while. We really needed the break.