He was giving the finishing touches on his patented veggie stew hot dogs when he looked forward through the wisps of steam rising from Forman George’s old grill and had a vision, as if on an invisible screen before him.
Another place with flowers besides these exotic ones from the Amazon (store) all around, making it smell like a jungle out here on the patio where he was preparing food for Shelley Marsha and his cousin also originally named Edward. “2 fer 1,” he whispered to himself and himself only, watching the vast field of them wave strong and free in the brisk wind as their imaginary scent mixed in with the others from reality. And then he heard someone running behind him, just like at the beginning of it all, his genesis. Now it can be revealed (sorry).
Common denominator: triangles. Slice to be more specific.
And then he simply forgot the whole hallucination ever happened, attention returned to those finishing touches.
“Stew dogs’ done!” he said proudly a 1/2 minute later, and then prepared the plates.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 