Goblin
From behind the ornate bluish panes of her eyes, something small and evil lurks. I wish I knew more about demonology and optometry. She keeps itching her nose and grinding her jaw. The tall thin businesslike building across the street yawns and stretches toward the sky. A man at the next table is smearing ketchup (or possibly marinara) on his wife’s face and giggling like a cartoon villain. I wonder if this wine is drugged or if I should be listening for Gabriel’s trumpet. I’d complain, but the manager’s mouth is the size of an oil tanker with nicotine stained teeth painted starboard. The issue is bound and gagged and buried in a box, and nobody’s coming to save us. Honey, take your shirt off. We’ll flag down a Coastguard vessel and explain why the sea is on fire. Quick! I think that tricky little goblin in your head has put a spell on us!