Lemon Tarts

"Stop stoking the embers, Fredly....or should I say Fuckly?"

"I don't follow."

"You couldn't."

Things turned from sour to patchy sweetness. Fred cautioned his thoughts. "Thoughts, I'm warning you. There's only two ways out and nobody so far has been of any use to me. But I love you, so let's not forget that."

It was raining. Fred smelled the rotten stench of milk that's six days beyond it's own salvation. "Why is this always happening to me?" he wondered as he walked by his intended destination without a moment's thought. "My mother has been dead for twenty years. I hated her when she was alive. I stopped recognizing her birth by the third grade. And I HATE lavender."

Darkness turned to light turned to seedy brown. Fred was remiss.