The Dying Person

I put the Dying Person in a grocery cart and pushed them around a grocery store for an hour or so whilst humming Bjork songs.

I said "whilst" several times, somewhat obnoxiously, to the Dying Person.

I read many of the sentences in Spanish on products to the Dying Person, who doesn't understand Spanish.

I pushed the Dying Person in a grocery cart across the snowy parking lot outside the grocery store.

The grocery cart started drifting into traffic before I realized because the Dying Person didn't say anything.

I think they were concentrating on dying.

The Dying Person was attacked by a flock of seagulls who I guess hoped the Dying Person was going to feed them fluorescent orange cheese curls like another Dying Person was doing in another part of the parking lot.

Starvation had made them obnoxious, and I told the flock so.

The Other Dying Person gave me dirty looks whilst I moralized to the birds.

I believe this Other Dying Person might be bird-identified and have felt a vicarious pique of dudgeon.

And then I saw the other Dying Person was working its mouth furiously as it gave me a dirty look but the wind picked up so I don't know what The Other Dying Person was saying.

The Other Dying Person had even stopped throwing Cheese Jax whilst it worked its mouth furiously like an itchy anus.

I yelled across the parking lot, telling the Other Dying Person that whilst the Other Dying Person was addressing me through wind, no Cheese Jax were being disbursed to their Avian Following.

It was a perfect picture of a fight in the Blogosphere.

The Dying Person had drifted off in that grocery cart while I was singing "Shake Ya Bum Bum" by Lil Kim and putting the grocery bags in the car. The Japanese girl part. She rhymes "shaking my anus" with "I'm about to be famous."

The Dying Person didn't want any ice cream when we stopped at the kiosk.

I asked several times because Dying People don't always hear well.

I got mine. It was mint chocolate chip. I licked it through the sighs from the Dying Person.

When we got home I propped the Dying Person at the computer and put Google up but when I came back later the only thing the Dying Person had typed was "akkadghksd."

I pretended to punch the Dying Person and the Dying person juked. That was a good sign I told them.

The Dying Person didn't want any kidney beans, any wine, any Mika songs, any amaryllis, any chutney, any straight porn or gay porn or tranny porn, any avant-garde poetry feather dusters or any jaunty toques.

The Dying Person was becoming a nuisance but I pretended otherwise.

I bought plane tickets for the Dying Person and the Dying Person and I flew down to Florida.

I left the Dying Person on a deserted and rather rocky stretch of Florida beach where the Dying Person was attacked by very lively flamingos.

The Dying Person's crochet blanket was a mess after the flamingo attack, so I threw it in the ocean, accidentally throwing the Dying Person in the ocean as well by mistake.

The Dying Person had lost a lot of weight by then.

The Dying Person wanted to go to a Buddhist shrine so I searched the Yellow Pages for hours and finally found one, and drove the Dying Person there, but when we got there the Dying Person clarified that what they had really said was that they wanted was a "clothesline."

The Dying Person had to repeat this word several times as we drove back to our hotel, rather obnoxiously I must add.

The Dying Person said "no" and "yes" and "no" and "no" again and "yes" when asked if they were suicidal.

The Dying Person might have eaten a slice of canteloupe I left out but the Dying Person denied it.

It seemed very dodgy to me.

There were no canteloupivorous birds or rodents in the immediate vicinity.

Was it just a coincidence that the Dying Person rubbed the back of the Dying Person's hand across its gleaming lips whilst it denied eating the canteloupe slice?

I was walking across the street in front of our hotel when an ice cream truck driven by an escaped convict going 78 m.p.h. killed me dead without allowing me the luxury of Dying.

This is where the Dying Person takes the wheel in the narrative.

But what happened next I can't really say.

I suspect they are off somewhere. You know. Dying.

Luxuriously.