And these are not the Elysian Fields

Last night, while watching Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) at ericmvan's with gaudior, rushthatspeaks, nineweaving, eredien, raxvulpine, sharhaun, and captainbutler, I discovered caffeinated root beer. This was not a good discovery.* The film, however, was spectacular, as harrowing and funny and no-holds-barred as I had imagined from the words on the page; no one is innocent and no one is unsympathetic and the camera work almost never lets you get enough room to breathe. When it's over, your ears are ringing. And that's how you play Get the Guests.

My poem "Plague-Bearer" has been accepted for a future issue of Lone Star Stories.

Outside, the sunlight is as thin and brilliant as autumn. Last night, I slept under an extra quilt. When I was in seventh grade, I wanted to live in an ice age.

*Barq's. I didn't even think to check. This was root beer, like ginger ale or cream soda; what did it need caffeine for? In the very unlikely event that I want to imitate a character in Scanners, there are more than enough caffeinated drinks in this world, thank you.