The clouds had a rippling effect on the air he breathed. He was the presumptive nominee for his own pity party. The wind blew his money out of his hand. He chased it like a forgotten dream. Covered in dust, he found it under a car. The birds chirped their congratulations. He needed the money for food. He had nowhere to go. Nothing was open. He didn’t know what a car was. The clouds didn’t exist. His party had cake. The money didn’t exist. Birds were plastic. He awoke. The silence had a rippling effect on the sanity he breathed. He chased it like birds at a presumptive dream.
He smiled. The drug worked. He had forgotten her name, and soon he would forget her.