Fred Aiken Writing

May 8, 2023

ANCIENT TEXT MASQUERADING AS AN ADVERTISEMENT

written in an ancient language that looks like precious art being splattered

across a digital screen that can only read 64-bits of bone and viscera,

while filaments get filtered out,

but that’s okay,

there were never all that important, or at least that’s what we’ll say when asked by

nosey consumers that want to understand every detail

May 8, 2023

THE SMELL IN THE CORNER OF THE CAFE

I’m the man that died in a coffee shop. No one noticed. I think it might have been a stroke, but I’m not quite sure. I was never well-acquainted with the mechanics of my body. I knew what I liked, what I didn’t; everything else was immaterial, or so I thought.

But what’s most insulting is I died and no one called emergency personnel. They just let me sit there for weeks, glossing over me like it didn’t matter. Then decomposition settled in, and no amount of roasted coffee beans could veil the stench. I was a coffee break ornament.