Answer-question.

The smell of shampooed carpet squishing under my feet. What, the smell or the carpet?
The grey fedora on your head pushed firmly down. What, the fedora or the head?
Listen as I tell you something almost nothing. A missing hyphen?
I've always been fascinated by the 'over there, something moving to the right' but I've been utterly unable to recreate
this mystery
glimmer-
fate.
I walk faster than you know how. Who?
I trip on Sundays Tuesdays and most Mondays on a carpet of fate, on a pebble in life's way.
I didn't mean to write a sad story; it just came out.
and I forget how much fun it is, and I forget just what I am, when I put down words that don't make sense.
I drivel like a shooting guard. I take my lumps. I recount the numbered memories 2.3.9.prime.
I laugh loudest on the inside. I smile too. I cultivate blackheads in my nose garden rose garden.
I like to have agoodtimepeacequietfriendsspaceconnection.
Nothing stops nothing from coming except me.