June sat in the chair with her head in the hedgerow. I had to go out in a car wrapped up in old curtains and I walked out the door (which has a slight lisp) with a boomerang for a head - it hasn’t been reported if it ever returned. The remainder of my body went on the long journey, tracing a route around a pearl necklace and then a gold bracelet. My friend and I stopped at the point where the minute hand of his wristwatch pointed due South - although I still insisted on looking West as this was where the bad weather usually came from. I put a mix of conscious and subconscious utterings on a pristine wall, sullying it with my imagination, and then came part of the way home on the needle of an old fashioned record player.
Crazy Pasta Child 