I am in military school. The barracks have been arranged in such a way as to allow the General to see everything at once. On my bunk, I open my blue suitcase and take a nip from my fifth of Beefeaters. My roommate informs me that the General is able to see the reflection of the glass and hear the gin tinkling in the bottle. I put it away quickly just as I am called to see him. I call out that I am getting a drink of water. I do this with my only available vessel: a small brown plastic cup the size of an eggshell. I report to the General. His wife, who seems to like me, asks me if I have made a drawing of a certain soldier, which I have. Another asks me if I drew him on a horse, which I did not. I grow despondent as I realize I will soon be discovered, and will certainly be expelled from the school as an example. There can be no exceptions. I am really annoyed by the horse question. The general allows me to get another cup of water from his large, elaborately-piped bar contraption. "It’s a nice bar, isn’t it?" he says. I can see that I am loved by these people, and I prepare for the moment when I will shock and disappoint them. The general extracts a strip of litmus paper from a small glass tube, wets it, and places it on my tongue.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #203: I Am In Military School.
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