12% BEER
Flies- A Shitload of flies

So I walked into my apartment.

Went straight to the back to shed my fake work clothes and put on my real life clothes.

Heard this humming sound coming from the front living room/dining room/rec room/library/where my couch and TV lives-room. Walked in.

A cloud of flies. Like, a swarm of them moving in a mass cloud around my Salvation Army interior designed apartment. About 40.. no 50.. no, dammit, like 124 of them all buzzing around. I even think there was a siamese twin fly.

I have no idea how they got there. None. I freak out and start waving my arms in the air, running to close the rest of the doors in my apartment as to prevent their mass exodus into another section of the apartment. Everytime my arm swings, I end up taking out about 4-5 flies, their little insect bodies hitting the ground making a slight muffled 'crash' sound as they hit the carpet- tiny clouds of smoke ala the Road Runner everytime one hits the ground.

Some of the stupid ones decided to hang out in the window- their shadows reflecting onto the wall across. I hold the bottom of the blind down with one foot and start smacking the entire window with a flip flop. Smack! Smack! Buzz! Smack!


Smack smack smack.




Smack smack smack smack smack smack.

*spare me*

NO! Smack!

smack smack smack smack smack.

*I never learned to read*

No time for regrets! Smack smack smack smack smack.

Whack smack smack smack.

Smackity whackity smackity schmack.

*Wait- I carry the genome that could cure a rare disease*

SMACK! smack smack.

smack smack smack.

I finally don't see anything moving behind the blinds. I lift them up and my entire window is smeared with fly bodies, blood, wings, grey manner. Completely covered in fly decay.

I sit on my sofa to breathe. 4 or 5 are still flitting about the apartment, but I'm not going to go after them quite yet. Let them sweat a little. Sweat you little fly fuckers. Sweat.

I'm wondering if this is a sign of some sort. I'm wondering if I should read into this occurence as some sort of higher power telling me that this time it's flies, next time it'll be locusts, and, if I'm not careful, the next time it'll be sparrows. A shit load of sparrows. Sparrows with lice.

Of course it could also just mean that I shouldn't wait four days to take the trash out. But that'd be too obvious. Way too. Obvious.

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Copyright 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004 L.Leroy