Mooslim

Still having strange dreams, strangely. A past love keeps fluttering by, attracted to the glowing lightness of sleep, moth-winged and dancing in the dusk of quiet repose. Each time I wake I find another hole has been eaten in time's veil, allowing to shine through the light of old memories and forgotten feelings. I'm not entirely sure what it means, but when am I ever.

Last night I had perhaps the best burger I've ever had in my life. It was at Umami Burger, with the Profuser. We had been en route to Roam, another burger joint, but quickly decided to change course for Umami. We each got different burgers, cut them in half and shared them, like lovers do. You cannot judge a book by its cover, nor can you judge a burger by its name. Mine was called the manly burger, a testament to manliness and an affront to my arteries, while his was called the royale, dignified, esteemed and bilingual. I'd eaten my half and felt pleased with my choice, until I bit into the royale.

Holy cow; it must've been.

My taste buds knelt in supplication, like a mass of Muslims at mass. My mouth had become a mosque. A beard sprouted and hair grew in rivers, falling from my face like Wookie waterfalls. The meat and bread and sauce were drowned in surges of saliva, great waves which sent them crashing, shipwrecked, against the stony shores of my teeth. I felt ecstatic. I chanted my mantra: wow. The burger was orgasmic, it made my eyes roll. After the last bite I was hit by the painful realization that I had no burger left. I begged the Profuser to split another one, urged him to do this favor for me, told him I needed just a few more bites. I felt like a junkie, a fiend, inconsolable and needing. He wouldn't budge, the fat fuck. So I just walked outside and got pumpkin ice cream, in a waffle cone. Then I went home and ate pumpkin pie. I might have a problem.