Why would a monsoon do that to such a sweet child?

Yorba Linda, CA is just shy of the most pleasant place in the universe, save for the Save the Whales Foundation in South Wales, UK. I went bronze shopping three years back with my wax attic. It was a winter's eve and the air was crisp, like a duck hit with a neutron bomb, and I can still remember my wax attic turning to me in the dead of night just days before and whispering "hey, you want to go bronze shopping in a few days? I mean, we are in Wales for Chissake, and I hear the bronze is practically jumping out of its sheath.” How could I deny her? I had never seen my wax attic look so atticy. To be honest, I had never seen her look so much like an attic since I found her huddled amongst the leaves in a gully near the Charles River in New England. The thing that surprised me most wasn’t that she was an attic, but that she was made entirely of wax. Nevertheless, she had an eye for candy and we were fast friends. I stored all my old magazines inside her and some of my high school letterman jackets, of which I have 3200. We would take long walks to the candy store and she would force me to buy outlandish treats like jujubes and licorice whips when all I really wanted was an ABBA-ZABA and three minutes alone.

This brings me to the present, where not only has my friend and attic, Liz Claiborne, killed a marmot and insulted a farmer’s entire patch of rhubarb, calling it “fucking red celery,” but she’s also declared herself the queen of Mars, which I find to be somewhat far-fetched. She quickly clarified that she meant Mars Bars, as in the delicious chocolate treat. We then promptly left that crap scene, went to the grocery store, and liberated the entire stock of Mars Bars, all while my friend, the queen, shouted expletives and declared that by exercising Prima Nocta she would keep the evil Mars corporation at bay by making love to each piece of chocolate individually, after which point she planned to shame it by making it recite the alphabet in brail while gargling salt water (I don’t know how the hell this is accomplished, but who am I to argue with a wax attic who has recently become the queen of Mars?). Then we melted the chocolate down in the tub and got naked and I went inside my friend. Inside the attic. And it was there that I died, in a river of chocolate and wax and fragmented memories.