pretended
the
bus
was
an
airplane
slowly
losing
cabin
pressure
and
the
cracker
box
was
oxygen.
When
the
Super
8
tail
started
flapping
against
the
projector
I
took
the
platter
into
the
living
room.
The
discarded
coupon
pile
had
overtaken
everything,
like
the
Alps
squeezed
into
a
manufactured
double
wide.
Mom’s
head
poked
out
of
a
hole
on
the
south
face
of
Mont
Blanc.
"Put
on
Johnny
Carson!
It’s
almost
midnight!"
"Johnny
Carson
is
dead,
and
he
never
worked
on
New
Year’s
Eve
anyway.