Parsnip with Pomegranate Tendencies

Use this taro chip as your viaticum, the priest says.

Where am I?

In a priest driven ambulance, he says.

Good luck, the one in the passenger seat says.

What are you going to do about the primary explosion? the nurse administering my I.V. asks.

Play it as it lays, another says.

No, you did not leave anything on in the kitchen, yet another says.

So I told them: I put on my tight disco pants, and applied plenty of hairspray. I think there were invaders at the gates. I wrote as fast as I could before midnight. Then I turned into a malevolent parsnip with pomegranate tendencies. I didn’t parry her sari because she asked me nicely not to. Remember that. So I repeated it often through the night to myself. I reminded myself to use my inside voice inside my head. I didn’t have to be so loud. And I made a point of not speaking my internal monologues in front of strangers again.

Amen, the priest said.

What I’m Reading:

Everything about today feels a little off.

— Laila Lalami / The Dream Hotel