A sea cucumber crawled out of the salad, in the middle of the night, caught a cab back to the sea. Haunted by nightmares of sliced tomatoes.
The cab driver got paid in croutons. The service station demanded cash for gas. He waited, in a hopeless state, finely seasoned with garlic and herb.
Someone drove up in a hybrid electric. They stepped out before him. The sunlight was clearly absorbed by their personal microfibre solar paneling. Purchased at REI for some exorbitant amount.
He could see and almost was moved by their aural pre-eminence. Still, he had not forgotten the sun, with whom he shared a deep m-path.
The sun was never paid for its efforts, either. And the sun never complained, neither.
The inroads mazed and became single track, breaded, unleaded, in a dirt road so dirty in the woods there were wooden signs painted and tacked to trees pleading “please drive slow! no wake! save our road”. So dirt clean the nature of it all.
This was the one. He and the sun had traveled long and far to the extra wonderful place of great and even renewal.
They saw and they knew. The sky turned red, from blue. He followed then into the lesser known.