By The Way

"February is the tree popping month. Bitter cold. Horses snort white fog. Snot. Love. Hair," Dick smiled and then said. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

I shook my head.

He smiled and continued reading the piece of paper.

"River ice runs through me like cherry sno-cone juice with a packet of pop rocks poured in. Pop. Pop. Pop. I like you."

Dick shook his head. Stopped. Bit his lip. Smiled. And then continued.

"Captain Crunch smell on my fingers. On you. In my pants. Which I rolled up. So they wouldn't get stuck in my bike chain when I rode my bike through your garden. Grease. Slippery. Safe."

Dick bit his lip again, smiled, shook his head and said, "Seriously, what the fuck?"

"I was messing around."

"You messed around alright. You messed around so the freaking production artists doesn't want to work on your account anymore. You scared the poor guy. He thinks you're nuts."

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Seriously." Dick said.

"The file did say (DON'T) Read Me." I explained.

"Yeah. But who's going to honor that request when you are working a production file?"

I smiled. Bit my lip. Dick started reading again.

"You type at me. But don't talk to me. You do my ads. But don't do me. Horses are herd animals. You're not. You type. On a computer. And make my ads. Thank you."

Dick bit his lip. Shook the sheet of paper. And asked for the third time.

"What the fuck!?!"