note to guest

When I affirmed that you could crash on my couch for a night or two, it was implicitly understood on my part that you were not to turn it into a Jamaican dance hall. Also the game of what-is-in-this-cupboard? Amusing to none but yourself.

Wait, I think I smell marijuana.

Where’s Havana?

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3 thoughts on “note to guest

  1. also liking the rhythm of this post; it sounds like it could be sung, and with a subversiveness that reminds me of Garfunkel and Oates.

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