If you read "The Rejects" in my poetry thread, this is the Joe that I mentioned.
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As I stood in the dried river bed, I watched heat waves shimmet off the distant mountains. My immediate surroundings looked like this: cracked mud, weed, cracked mud, weed, cracked mud, weed... Now, you may not believe me, but when I saw that third weed, I freaked. I forgot about the warm wind at my back, did a one-eighty, and ran.
Consequently, I got a facefull of dirt when I tripped over another weed. As I got up, I took the time to brush off my clothes and shoes. I walked the rest of the way home.
Now that I'm here, I'll tell you the reason that I freaked. I'm scared of weeds more than two inches. If they're less than that, I pull them up, no matter how good the look (Incendenally, they looked beautiful in that setting).The reason I mentioned the breeze is because there was dust on it. here is what happened: I turned, and the wind blew dust in my yes. I closed them, and the rest you know.
My shrink says that I have a very rare condition, which I've forgotten the name of. My parents are embarrassed. Me? I'm terrified. Do you know how many weeds there are?
Joe is not my name.
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Thank you for attending, sorry to waste your time.