Matt imagined a fishing line and cast it into the yard. He wore a cedar bark suit and I gave him the last of my eggs wrapped in a feather boa. Here I said these are the last of my eggs. Matt mixed turpentine with whisky and dipped his bad eye in it. We could tell it worked because the eye went lilac and lit up like a pinball machine. I had the only fingers on the block. Everyone wanted a pair. People wearing hats rode by on the backs of great magpies saying beautiful weather today neighbor and the mouth of the mine has widened. Soon it will consume the earth. When night cut evening’s throat to let the dark out matt and I sat on the patio under the whiteblue floodlight. All around us the fish jumped. I smoked so much my teeth turned raisin and fell out of my mouth. In their porcelain bowl the razor blades looked sweet as pears.