25th
Strep Throat, day 1.
He lies on the couch, adenoids or whatever swollen like, I don’t know, maybe water balloons, reading about The Dark Ages and wondering when speaking of oneself in the third person may first have come into vogue, all the while unaware of the healing powers flowing, from the Michael Brown painting, on the wall behind him, until, finally, he peekaboos the Internet to find photos of his friends on Tumblr and a total dearth of evidence in support of the use of “peekaboo” as a verb, and, in a backlashy defiance, against the spirit of the previous day’s punctuational particularity, he abuses, a nearly endless, string of commas, not to mention, the poor, unfortunate, people, who read, this far, but you can always, blame, a fever.
