Permanent Leftovers

as the klax­on did its thing, the bed erupt­ed into a flur­ry of fur and feath­ers. i emerged into the blar­ing half morn­ing from the con­fused ball and stum­bled over to the off switch. in the fol­low­ing silence i exam­ined myself to ensure that all my parts were intact and that my head was screwed on cor­rect­ly. a feath­er float­ed oh so qui­et­ly to the floor. lat­er, i had an ounce or so of met­al removed from my head and then trad­ed pieces of paper with num­bers on them for oth­er pieces of paper with dif­fer­ent num­bers on them. life was good until i hit the din­ing hall. per­ma­nent left­overs.