A.G.E's Joint

Atlanta Highway seemed surreal. Asphalt and concrete stretched for miles in all directions and dimensions.   Sensations of elevation and descent alternated as light posts and warehouses floated across his vision.   The Toyota wasn’t a car, but a mutant space plane rapidly traversing this so called reality. The Pigs created this illusion of “Reality”. Jeremy smiled at the thought.   It didn’t matter how many substances the Pigs put into him, he rejected this concept and had since the fire. All he saw was the illusion aw it was projected from the central location. Even this train of thought was a delusion. He knew that. It was never mentioned in polite, or any other, company. The small, white room was too close of a memory for him to relive.  A gnawing sensation began to rise up from his gut. Hunger? Time won’t let me eat. There are things to do and plans to make. When did he eat last? At 3 sheets, whenever that was. He remembered absent mindedly gnawing...

In the early years of our marriage, my wife and I loved to go out to eat.   It was just something we did every Friday night after work.   I’d pick her up at the train station and we would head out.    One fall Friday, we chose one of our favorite places, Good Ol’ Days .   It was a bar with an outdoor patio that we loved to sit on cool nights. It was a converted Dairy Queen that sat between a tire store and another bar on a very busy road.     I’d had been a regular customer and an employee of this place long before our marriage and the management always extended the best in southern hospitality to us.   Even to the point of a cold pitcher of beer being at the table any time we were seated.     But this night was going to be a bit different. As he handed us our menus, our waiter, Karl, nodded to the table behind us where two very drunk guys were sitting. They had a hard time keeping their heads erect and It looked like they w...