Dr. Pepper on the Brain
Dragging his thin frame though the thick weeds, he emerged from the painting on a dark mysterious night. An owl asked him why, and many present sniggered and took deep sips of Lethe's waters with wise winks between them. Bottles stacked in perfect pyramids loomed above it all, yeehaw! He approached wearily, and warily sized them up, saying "I'm here for one reason only - and," he coughed briefly, " uh, wait, I've forgotten the way Dionysian revels in the carbonation bubbles frolic. I'd.... I'd... forgotten.
The crowd stared unblinkingly, amused at his discomfort, dry-eyed and heedless, ever mirthful and laconic, frozen in calm panic, tempted to hysterics, but mouths full of soda so they couldn't respond, and didn't. He dragged his bone-tired dogs to their feet and looked at the painting he'd come through. It seemed a hostile moonscape, pools of Dr. Pepper rippling, shored by thick reeds like a forest of straws, rhythmically swaying to ether winds, like incorporeal sucking mouths - Boy that painting reeked! He held his nose, the crowd held their tongue. I held my piece. The owl spoke again, but all he heard was nanoo, nanoo, like distant calls of Mork on Nick at Nite in the background, after the Dr Pepper commercials finally wrapped up.
