I’ve been having trouble sleeping. You see, not too long ago I saw a man wearing jeans. Nothing strange about that, is there? Well, what if I told you that every single one of the belt loops on his jeans were broken? So of course he wasn’t wearing a belt.
Somehow his pants stayed up around his thin hips, but all I could see were the broken loops. How on earth could that have happened? And now I am up all night, every night.
I consulted with a man over on Centaur Street and he said I should try warm milk. “Does warm milk help you fall asleep?” I asked.
“I couldn’t say,” he said. “I sleep very well.”
“But you did say,” I said.
And he stood there, blinking and chewing his lower lip for awhile before wandering off.
Still, I couldn’t get the suggestion out of my head. I had tried running in place until I dropped of exhaustion. Counting sheep, lavender on my toes, cutting back on caffeine. Nothing worked.
So I snuck into a convenience store and got a bottle of milk. I couldn’t afford to buy it and I didn’t have a heater at home under the bridge, so I was quite sneaky and I put it on the hot dog rollers for about ten minutes and then sneaked out with it under my shirt. The pain was excruciating.
When I got back to the bridge the sun was setting and as I laid down I was thrilled at the thought of a good night’s sleep. Then it hit me. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the warm milk.
By the time I rubbed it in my hair, dipped my toes in it, beat it like a drum, tossed it from hand to hand, whispered into its cap, threatened it with severe puncturing, and finally kicked it against the wall, I was more awake than ever. And the milk was no longer warm. Does warm milk help you sleep?
When the sun rises I will find that guy and he will regret his lies.