and i went to talk to my friend imaad but he was already dead. houdini used to run my paper route and he was a nice little kid but had the nastiest of

disappearing with my favorite
recipes. they would range from the simplest cookies to
a spot of tea with the man known only as el presidente.
now there was a man. from the hand of god to my ears,
fresh from my oven and twice as delicious as anything
you could hope to fabricate
six times every third tuesday
i would hear the children
calling my name up and
down the hills of
a winter blasted
town. i used to live
there but everyone
i knew was now dead
i wish i had a
point but it was
ultimately
pointless,