It was any given day, on any afternoon. Hmm. Hmmmm. And most of the world was dead to me Except bare, cold, fake smoothness of polished wood finish that tastes likes daydreams. The moments passed as I ate a crystal whisper of your name. Smith got to eat the chicken. He said it was alright. Not good. Alright. It was just chicken after all. And at a second’s burst in and out I thought the bubble popped. It was just another Petunia in the corner of my eye. Or any other flower, on any given day, on any afternoon.