Main Ingredients:
student
server
deer
rainbow trout
freeway

Spice Pack:
1/8 whisper of melancholy
1/4 cup of disapproval


He swore rainbows just were sky trout, a trick of light like on scales headed to be cut away. He distrusted the poetry in college classes even as an English major. It was just so much of the word vomit of human deer along the highways of war, love, history and the evolving world. He was a server at the fish and chips o rama near the college and the irony was not lost on him...no..he saw it on plates, in mouth, in shards between strange teeth. He hated fish more than poets but it was close. The poets hid under the main flow of things in all the other courses he took, in all the majors sure to find jobs. They were the lurkers pre internet, the shy shadow grime of the edges of the active internet before there was one. And the fish were the same, not hurling high like dolphins, sharks or whales. No. Those fish may as well have worn ironic sweaters two sizes too big and smoked some underwater kelp cigarettes together before being fried for 5 bucks with fries.