Godawful Green Beans

Virescent stench. Virescent wrench in the bottom of my favorite shirt. She screams at the top of her lungs; well she screams at the drinking fountain, but does so with the tops of her lungs. I wonder if they're gooey. Her lungs I mean. Saliva, unsmooth and tasteless always poses a challenge to a jogger on a cold morning in where there are clouds, like San Francisco Bay. Their cloudy-soft texture acts like a neighbor I used to adore. But that was in Southern California. Things are different back there. I deserted her sandy embraces like I deserted my soul at a bus stop with seven different numbers; two numbers sided together. This meant that there were six different lines (bus lines or bus routes). And I chose thirty-one.