Law & Order

We ripped the bong and my mouth was unbelievably dry— I needed water but there was only seltzer. My throat was flesh on fire. Passing the church, I saw Mary on the half shell. Her stone fingers sculpted into a strange sign. An ancient fuck you or a signal to steal third. I don’t get sports. The fog was thick. I think we smoked up the whole town. We had a fire in the back yard. Green flames devoured junk mail—an electricity bill and five million dollars from Publisher’s Clearinghouse. I was high, and my contact lenses bonded to my pupils. I think my eyes changed color recently. There was a tiny boot on the sidewalk, a doll’s shoe. Jesus Christ, Barbie’s been raped and kidnapped and murdered and they’ve left her boot behind! “We have evidence that Barbie may have been turning tricks.” “That doesn’t make it right.” I ring the doorbell and slide my badge out of my coat pocket. A dreamy dirty blonde answers the door. His jaw is strong and his ensemble is impeccable. “Excuse me sir,” I hold up the Ziploc bag containing the evidence. “We found this and we think it may belong to your girlfriend.” I rattle off a list of questions, standard procedure. He is our number-one suspect right now. “When was the last time you saw her? Could she have been using drugs? Weren’t you concerned when she went missing? What’s in that deep freezer?”

Actually, it may not have been a boot.
It could have been a leaf.
Television has poisoned my brain.
I’d never join the force.