Well, well, well. It’s a hazard, that’s what it is. The well. The construct of graham crackers that we built around that deep dark hole we found, that we assumed had water in it somewhere. Or maybe better than water. Wishes. I was watching this old VHS tape we found nearby the deep dark hole, and this delightful girl with a complexion like a nice, corn ice cream, and long stringy hair like not-so-fresh cornsilk climbed backwards out of a mirror and told me that I’d find some wishes in the well. I just had to toss something valuable down there. I thought about it, then just ate my ice cream instead.
The Ice Cream Club 
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