I take it all back.
I sit at my computer desk as the Stephen Hawking of the wine internet. The dehydration from the food poisoning I contracted last night has robbed me of physical form, only allowing one hand to ascribe the words of this heavily lidded man. My wife stands, resplendent in her full BSI protective jumpsuit, and inserts a Gatorade IV drip into my arm. The dogs wait anxiously in the corner, hoping for a stray chunk of such delicacy as only dogs know, to leave my mouth. Intermingled with the strands of Lo Mein in my bathtub, I saw memories of my childhood my favorite Oscar Meyer whistle that I accidentally swallowed as a boy Lightbrights, Legos, Pennies and all manner of a childs inquisitive chewing. I understand Hawking now. Space and time intermingled before me, prodding me like the arthritic finger of God. Thank you Lo Mein, for without your stringy Peyote-like toxin, I would never have known this spirit walk(s).
(The sound of typing stops, lights dim, and the curtain closes)
