Thursday, April 19, 2018

That which smells, does not taste like watermelon bubblegum.

I exhale a cloud of vapor, which smells, but does not taste like watermelon directly into his face.

This is met with dumb silence, I can't decide if this is thoughtfulness or ignorance. I wait for a reply, like this.

Eventually, he mumbles something, about the smell, or the nicotine, or my irreverence, it matters not, it's not as if I listen to him.

So I wait, and I wonder what he's got to back that up with. I consider him. Is he my mate. My lunch? My companion, or my friend.

If you work that through, he could be my mate, my companion, and then my lunch, couldn't he? Though that might leave me lonely on the other side of lunch.

It's these sort of loopholes and exploits he's fond of, that's why he's still around and breathing. Sometimes I find that tiresome, but then he finds another loophole or exception.

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