In the lavender I met a mongoose his name was snake he poured me a glass of dandelion wine. "You seem down," he said to me.

"It's all this candlewax, I can't shit anymore," I said to him, "I'm dying," and meant that I had been all along.
 
The wine in the glass spun like a tornado, pulling our words toward the bottom. I sipped, "Good year to be making wishes on dandelion cotton."

"Who, me?" He smiled. "I'm just sitting in your garden, pointing out where you've gone wrong."