M.K. Hobson

And when the first daffodil opened smelling of Chanel No. 5, many people found it delightful, and began searching out other wildflowers that had taken up the smells of perfumes that had been poured down the drain by bitter blonde rich women trying to eradicate their memories of lovers who'd failed them somehow.

And when ecstatic whiting began to appear off the Atlantic coast with lush, voluptuous breasts, restaurants served them up with glee, and charged exorbitant rates for plates of feminized antidepressed whiting with a side of asparagus bleached neon-green from being buried in soil soaked in antifreeze drippings from a hundred thousand American-built automobiles.

And then, in those days, the most hip and extravagant thing became to lie for hours, motionless, in a coffin of triple-purified spring water until all memories of these abominations faded, at least temporarily.

M.K. Hobson's fiction has appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, SCI FICTION, ChiZine, and elsewhere. She lives in Oregon City with her husband and daughter. To read more of M.K. Hobson's stories, visit her Web site at www.demimonde.com..