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Kream & Kone He found me eating alone at the Cape Cod Kream & Kone, a pitiful potentiality on a summer vacation. I was an 'old' maid, an oxymoron, geared up for endings, not fresh beginnings formulating from three tables away, across a plastic plate sloshed with tartar sauce. My lips, greasy from fried clam strips. My ears, deafened by the drum of time, thumming, thumming, a twenty-four hour timpani, and constant cacophony of scornful song. "Old maid," old... maid. Yet, there he was. His Elvis eyes played me like an electric guitar. I trembled, in sync with cosmic chords. High overhead, flutter, as dozens of big-bellied, bug-eyed cupids strung their bows, beholding this accidental moment, serendipitous, yet so right, I didn't care at all if my onion rings got cold. |
Additional Notes:
A rewrite of an earlier piece...
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