megan has a psychological disorder.

megan has a psychological disorder, the symptoms of which include eating, shitting, and sleeping on a regular basis. megan finds out that her mother is dying. her grandmother calls her on her cell phone and tells her this. her grandmother says that her mother is at high risk for conjunctive heart failure in addition to the bacterial infection that is causing her to die. megan wishes she were a microscopic biomechanical nanite designed to combat bacterial infection and heart failure. megan does not exist in the distant future. there is nothing that megan can do to prevent her mother from dying. megan feels that making a mildly destructive series of decisions involving interpersonal relationships is the only form of therapy for the emotions she associates with the possibility of her mother dying (especially her mother ‘dying slowly’ due to bacteria, as opposed to dying in a car accident or of a heroin overdose or something).

megan calls her friend dandelion, a hippie priestess, on her cell phone, and solicits her for sex. dandelion says no, but is intrigued by megan's desperation and suggests that they get really drunk and see what happens. dandelion drives across town to the quasi-suburban apartment complex megan is staying at. it is a place of rampant squalor and degeneracy. dandelion gets out of her car and calls megan on her cell phone. megan answers her cell phone.

‘hey, i'm here,’ says dandelion.

‘good. i'm coming down,’ says megan.

‘where are you,’ asks dandelion. ‘what complex are you in?’

‘i don't know,’ says megan. megan feels confused. ‘there are turquoise doors. the doors are turquoise where i am.

‘i don't see you,’ says dandelion.

‘do you see turquoise doors with piñata lamps above them?’

‘there are piñata lamps everywhere,’ says dandelion. ‘where are there not piñata lamps?’

megan and dandelion walk in the opposite direction of each other on parallel sidewalks and on different sides of the same block. if megan moved exactly fifty meters left, she would be permanently conjoined with dandelion at the brain, and their heads would make a combined head with dandelion's face on the front and megan's face on the back, like a severely deformed transsexual janus or something. dandelion feels confused and unattractive and walks down a street perpendicular to megan away from the apartment parking lot.

‘i'm not here anymore,’ says dandelion. ‘i'm not here anymore,’ she says again for existential validation.

‘what,’ says megan. ‘i can hear you. where are you? i know where you are. i see you. i'm right behind you.’

‘oh,’ says dandelion. ‘talk to you soon.’ dandelion hangs up her cell phone. ‘hi,’ she says emphatically.

they get into dandelion's car and drive recklessly through downtown philadelphia, screaming and cavorting wildly and with no regard for the local police force. dandelion runs eight red lights and honks at passing mexicans. we are beasts, thinks megan. mobile, electric, kinetic beasts. we are beasts that move. when megan thinks ‘move’ she adds a strong inflection on the ‘oo’ sound and extends it indefinitely in her head, knowing she will finish eventually, but is interrupted by dandelion.

‘do you want to get beers,’ asks dandelion.

‘ooooooooooooooove,’ says megan by accident. ‘i mean, no. yes!’

‘there is a bar somewhere,’ says dandelion. ‘there are bars here. do you recognize this place? where are we?’

‘i've been here,’ yells megan. she lowers her voice to almost a whisper. ‘i've been here before.’

‘what is this place,’ asks dandelion. ‘is this a place with new beginnings? can we start over here? i want alcohol,’ she says.

‘i don't think so,’ says megan.

they park and walk with perfectly synchronized movements, like in a sixties musical, to the bar while singing ‘stars are blind’ by paris hilton. they are one block from the bar. dandelion stops singing abruptly and megan gets confused and sings the first verse again instead of the second verse. megan feels embarrassed. she looks at dandelion. dandelion does not look back at megan. dandelion looks forward with a neutral facial expression. megan interprets this as disdain and a complacent disposition as a result of dandelion’s acknowledgment of the absurd nature of the universe. megan nervously lights a cigarette.

‘i'm leaving,’ says dandelion. ‘i'm leaving you here.’

‘okay,’ says megan.

dandelion runs away.

‘even though the gods are crazy, even though the stars are blind,’ says megan. she takes a drag from her cigarette and then smashes it onto the concrete. ‘you show me your love baby, i’ll show you mine,’ she screams. she looks around anxiously. everyone around her looks profoundly judgmental and in control of their lives.

somewhere, maybe angola, a horse runs in circles and repeats ‘i’m in los angeles’ and whinnies and kind of jumps periodically while a crowd of on-lookers drink pumpkin spice coffee and think the words motherfucker motherfucker in a sort of psychic game of telephone or in some perverse derivative of ‘row, row, row your boat,’ in a circular sequence.

somewhere else, almost definitely not angola, a rather fat amoeba is projecting embarrassment and slight intrigue due to the prospect of it going on a weight-loss program, advertised in a gossip magazine it’s reading, that involves rigorous ballet warm-up exercises, conversations that consist mostly of tongue-twisters, and ritually burning sage to appease the obesity gods.

dandelion arrives at her car and becomes highly aware of there being a person inside the driver’s seat. she feels afraid, paralyzed, terrified even. her eyes go out of focus and cross a little. she thinks about megan’s ass vaguely. her heart begins to palpitate. there is no one in the driver’s seat. the day is saved. she gets into the car and drives to her apartment where she has to physically squeeze her car into a small alleyway, through what could be considered a corridor, and into a parking space. she gets a text message. it’s from megan and says, ‘i had fun, or i like you. hehe.’

fucking niggers, thinks dandelion, then thinks, bitch ass, or, motherfucker motherfucker, regarding bagels.

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