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excerpt 46

When I was away from my granny's house in
the hamlet, and came back to the metropolis,
each morning I woke up in the winter time,
the icicles would hang on my nose hair,
like polar's bear bristles after hibernation.

Inside my bed adjacent to my body,
laid countless bottles of vodka and other no
name spirits.

Those bottles weren't there due to a prior
intoxication, altho many times I wished that
was the case.

Those bottles had a very good purpose
and were put to use, like a water buffalo
used on a rice patty cultivation.

Just before I went to bed at night, with a
little fortune, when the gas stove was functioning
as it should, I will boil water
inside the biggest pots I could find in the
kitchen.

As the water was reaching the culmination
point, like two lovers on a first successful
date, with a helping hand from a nearby
funnel, I would fill up as many bottles as
I possibly could, as fast as I could.

Cork them up air tight, like a well renowned
wine botteling company, and finally embrace
them tightly for the night, like a genuine
mother is embracing her offspring, just before
they both fall sound asleep.

The heat emitted from the bottles,
would probably last for few hours. To be frank
with you my beloved readers, to me it was more
of a placebo effect, rather than practicality.

Although, it did protected me from turning
into a genuine snow man while in suspended
modality.

Every morning I will repeat the heating
procedures, but not for the purpose of
catnap. This time it was a bit diverse
like the universe.

I would do the unimaginable.
On each sleeve armed with a big bottle,
like a disturbed person with bad intentions.

Bottles were filled with luck-worm water
so I don't burn my skin. Close to my ample
bosom, will be few other smaller jars to
make the job complete.

It was a unique mobile heating
system on two legs. Please have respect
for my creativeness, and don't copycat my
ideas. Thanks... A patent pending idea
since 300 AD, patiently waiting
for angels investors.

And yes... my friends were
right when they jokingly told me
that my forearms looked like
Popeye's the sailor forearms.

So much truth in that! The truth
did hurt me at that time, though it
invigorated me tremendously afterwards.
Thank you friend, whomever it may be…

With my thick bombastic heavy forearms,
and a big chest like Arnold, in a hurried march,
I would advance towards the cortex washing
establishment. I did it quickly before
I got frostbites in the bleak streets.

C 2014 SaltShackles.com
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Submitted on July 20, 2014

2:16 min read
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