Outside my building, down there in the parking lot, I noticed a man with a bristling red beard and he was wearing one of those big yellow sleeveless ponchos, even though it wasn't raining (yet—it would rain later that day—the man was prescient!) and there was a large hump on his back and I figured he had a backpack, like he was on a long journey or something but then the hump started to thrash and scream (it sounded like a chimpanzee scream) and he swatted it with a sawed-off hockey stick and the hump relaxed (if that’s the right word—it fell still anyway) and the man looked around (real furtive like) and kept on walking (quickening his step like the guilty do) and I wondered, what on earth did he have strapped to his back? What was under the yellow poncho? I considered calling the police but it was too late, he was gone. It was none of my damn business anyway.
"This tastes like radishes."
"I know what it is, or what it's supposed to be but it tastes like radishes."
"Time tastes like radishes, not sole."
"Wait, are you saying thyme or time?"
"Are you saying sole or soul?"
"I don't know anymore."
"Me either. Pass me the sodium chloride."