Cake
I am four feet long. I am no bigger than a dust mop. I won’t bite you. That is something Tom would say. Tom would want to blurt it out.
When I got here, I said to myself, “I hope he’s here.”
He fed me cake which is particularly bulky, medium to large, covered with rigmarole, quality good, pleasant, striped with carmine.
He is medium, pleasant.
He cleans stains from the two quart aluminum saucepan. He does not show undue concern.
He is as beautifully browned as the beautiful girls in fancy bakeries.
So many times he was heard to say, “I wouldn’t mind being here if I only knew I was supposed to.”
I am comfortable at a table or desk, eating.
The table is by the window. This is not a nightmare view of life.
I was filled up. I was bubbling one day. I am changing. I am changing. I am different!
I want to gratify my little cock, but I do not want to be thick. I do not want to thicken up the way Diane Williams did. I talked to her. She said the services are not as good. Well, she said, they are still as good, but you have to ask for them. It used to be you didn’t have to ask.
Actually, he stood by me while I was bathed. The flattened hollow of my back is where there is a spot to brush the edge of.
I eat cheese on toast most mornings. What would Diane Williams think about me? What?
I’ll find out all about it at dinner and then I may change my mind about my life.
What a triumph to have food placed before me for me, so long as you and I meet.