Food Chain.

by Jason Nelson

I‘m never sure exactly what you should expect. Therefore, maybe you should stop expecting me

to expect for you. These short fiction paragraphs, the surreal little tales are all I can offer. That and

maybe a few coupons for fish and catfood. Every week a new odd adventure will appear in this

space. After a few weeks, if the response is green and spacious, I’ll even start playing off the

words of your e-mails. I begin with snowchains.

Food Chain.

Mornings live in the ocean. Most people don’t realize this fact. Most

people don’t realize most facts. Most facts

don’t realize people, but then I’m moving away from the point, and I only

have the rental for the weekend. Mornings live

in the ocean. There at the bottom of some deep riff are the hours between

late night and early afternoon. They’ve set up a

city complete with schools, convenience stores and over flowing detention

centers. It isn’t so much that crime is a problem,

but rather that certain minutes like to switch places with each other,

throwing the morning time off kilter. Sometimes these

minutes try to blame the troubles on the carelessness of fish or

crustaceans. The various organisms are put on trial, accused

of fumbling with the balance of time, or charged with making people late.

After a series of proceedings, the truth is always

discovered, and the animals are let go. This, however is only a short lived

reprieve, because mornings have made lucrative

deals with the fishing boats. In exchange for releasing the fish into easy

catching spots, the mornings have been promised

fresh new bikes. Sure mornings can’t reach the pedals, but that’s why dogs

made training wheels now isn’t it.