23.19.69 Treatment by Mike Philbin / 2006 Who gives a fuck about the Year of Our Krab? "Chainsaws." she barked like a seal, "That's what we need on a day black as eggs like this." "Little songs from the onion girls." I retorted confusedly, the sky turning over, 50degrees per heartbeat. I remembered a song that woke me that night where I said I'll drink ashtray water & you can decide how long the numbers should be taking. Who was I talking to? What was her name? She was like a little girl guide when she whimpered, "We're the kids with no school books, past the ribbons, of sky & dream slur, I need to breathe fern thoughts + shower in starlight." I looked at her, huge pillars of salt pouring out of my mouth, as I revved my chainsaw. From the east...