Thursday, February 2, 2012


Upon noticing that I was standing across from a wet-talker inflicted with a severe case of moist-mouth, the conversation quickly became secondary, for it was the mouth that was the star of this show.  As my eyes became unwittingly drawn to the building saliva, the corners of the mouth began to web with dampness.  "Why don't they just swallow?" I asked myself, as small bubbles emerged, becoming airborne, glistening from the overhead light, before morphing into darkened spots on the paper below.  "Is nobody else seeing this?" I couldn't help but wonder.  I looked to my left, then to my right, pausing, seemingly alone in my thoughts, before returning my attention to find the squeegee-like tongue corralling its salivary bounty.  Uneasy, and fearful of being caught within the reaches of an untimely sneeze or cough, I took one step backward, hoping the distance created would be enough.  Forcing myself to re-engage in the conversation, our eyes once again met, and I simply replied "No thanks", choosing instead to stick with my originally intended size of soft drink and fries.

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