Macaulay Culkin On His Way To Work
I shake a rock from my shoe. A woman adjusts her wig, the color of oil and tar. A praying mantis hops across the sidewalk. Meteorite dust flies in the eyes of the paperboy on the corner and he is blinded. I look at the sun. I throw up. It is dark red (the vomit, not the sun), and I worry for a moment, then remember I had Jell-O for breakfast. The woman with the wig is holding the newspaper boy, who is crying. Her wig blows off and she lets go of the child and runs down the street after the tumbling black mess. The paperboy begins to sob even harder. I walk over to the boy and hold his head. "You will be alright. You've been touched by outer space." He stops crying. I walk to work, but not before throwing up again.