Thousand: Nine Hundred Twenty

of big-eyed kittens hung on a wall papered with blue and white stripes. A hundred crepe paper spiders skitter over webs of dental floss in a closet built solely to provide spiders corners. A monolith of blue velvet sinks into a mound of freeze-dried tears. A matching monolith knotted into itchy red macramé looms over a base of crystalline fear. Jack Lightning waves from the end of a hall of dusty mirrors. He’s holding a tourguide’s flag, which, it might be noted, matches the flag that snaps in the breeze over the boardwalk at the end of the world. Bernie