Stare.
     
 

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5 March 1997
Procrustes Bread
I was originally going to make this piece with baguettes, but never got around to it. The twin bagels and a muffin worked well enough.

The idea is the thing.

6 March 1997
Encrypted Message
This paragraph is encrypted using a complex algorithm developed here in my secret mountain laboratory. You might be able to decipher it with enough time and computing power, but I don't think the results would be worth it.

7 March 1997
Half Millennium Pillow Talk
I spent the night in a five hundred year old farm house. As I was going to sleep, I wondered aloud how many people had been born, lived, and died here.

"I don't think the bed's that old," she replied.

It's generally not a good idea to wonder aloud.

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8 March 1997
Pictures Mothers Like
Occasionally Ali makes nice picture for her mother ... the kind mothers like. I used to do that too, although at the time I'd confused pictures mothers like with art. My mother sometimes asks me why I don't still make nice pictures like that; she has yet to receive a satisfactory explanation.

Maybe I should make an occasional pretty picture; I had fun making one for Ali's mother. It was easy, and I didn't get a headache.

9 March 1997
Iwk Sremab!
Tooga hesp imoz smeovch. Iwk sremab! Ekrig narbov cleedadawd rekka yzhalquw pogedjash timsoji eacpurwad drennarde. Nyhsk oxuntle ni swondik ekrig nypring shewap efripp.

10 March 1997
Waiting
I woke up this morning that something exciting was going to happen. I waited all day, but nothing happened at all. I suppose I shouldn't have waited.

11 March 1997
Mysterious Tiny Brown Spot
There's a mysterious tiny brown spot in the bottom of my whiskey glass. (My whiskey glass is shaped like a small hollow fowl; ideally a turkey. It looks nothing like my whisky glass, which is stout and cylindrical.)

My whiskey glass has a small dimple in the bottom that allows half a drop to remain; by the morning it has dried into a tiny brown spot, maybe a millimeter in diameter. I never thought much about it until tonight, when I was too lazy to clean the glass. I swished a bit a beer into the whiskey glass to rinse it out, but the brown spot didn't dissolve, even after a few hours. It was very strange.

I wonder what's in my whiskey that won't dissolve? Who cares? The question, like the mysterious tiny brown spot, is insoluble.

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©1997 David Glenn Rinehart