I go to a party. There are beautiful funny people at the party. I drink at the party. I eat at the party. I consume a Jello shot at the party.
I quote Flamingo several times. "There's always room for Jello!" I say. The beautiful people at the party laugh when I say this. I use my tongue to urge the Cointreau-flavored Jello from the tiny plastic cup.
I come home. I have a nightcap (brilliant). I go to bed.
I wake at 5 a.m. and unconsume the last one third of things I consumed at the party as well as the nightcap. Apparently, me and Flamingo overestimated the human stomach's endless Jello capacity.
I go back to bed and dream of Flamingo and Garrett. We are driving down a long Texas road. We are in a convertible. We drop Flamingo at a warehouse. There is a truck in the warehouse. It is full of cherry-flavored gumdrops that are shaped like hearts.
"I am happy to be here," says Flamingo, smiling gleefully. He is large, somewhat misshapen and is wearing suspenders. I smile back and scoop up a pocketful of candy hearts.
Garrett and I continue on.
"You're not the sort of person who nicknames their car," says Garrett. He has long wispy hair that flies in the draft of motion.
"That's right," I say. "I am not."
I wake covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. I rise and float from the bed to the computer, where I find Garrett's latest commentary on my novel.