This one's also from the late 80s, during the NYC Angst period. I have no idea what the hell was going through my mind at the time this was written. This was actually typewritten — where I found a typewriter, I do not remember, but I left this in Courier just for authenticity's sake. -g

it was finally time to temper his fear of large vegetables. as long as he could remember, they lay just on the outer fringes of his consciousness, poised, waiting. squash. tomatoes. particularly root vegetables. beets were a big one. onions. and vine vegetables, oh god, especially still on the vine: the promise of continued growth was more than could be dealt with. still-on-vine would inspire a thoroughly withdrawn, near comatose non-behavior, even in delicate social situations.

yes, it was finally time.

he set out for the beach to take a crisp walk on the winter sand, ventilate his clogged, dank cavernous cranium.

it was, after all, irrational. although he liked to consider himself a rational person, he knew that this self-perception was based on the flimsiest of foundations.

but, in spite of all, he had a good attitude. even in contemplation of suicide, he had a naive form of class: his major plan, should things have gotten to that point, was to make a bittersweet mixture of honey and rat poison with which to drink away the overwhelming cares of this world, this life.

meanwhile, the vegetables, the ever-haunting armies of oversized parsnips, legumes, broccoli... they had to go. so, as he gazed upon the crystal night coastal waters, he endeavored to squeeze them out of his mind.

looking out over the waters in the half-moon light, he marveled at the beauty of the white-capped waves coming in way off shore. it was an ideal environment for mental-flossing.

a quick delve into the possible causes of such a severe neurosis revealed little. for example, the movie "invasion of the body snatchers" would seem an obvious source, but he distinctly recalled being unimpressed by its vegtabular aspect. he sat through it unflinchingly. whereas his chance perusal of findhorn literature, which bore astounding photographs of some of their botanical triumphs with giant cabbages, etc., caused him to break out in cold sweat and drop the book as though he had opened a chest of maggots. recovery from this experience took days. he realized that the best therapy might be to confront the big things head-on. he had gone so far as to commission a friend that very night to scour the city's Korean groceries for the largest culprits she could find, that she might produce them to him there, at the beach, and comfort him during his ordeal. she was due to arrive shortly.

perhaps a transference of fear would be in order: something less common than vegetables, and hence less obtrusive to his attempted life-style. perhaps midgets might be the ticket. yes, fear of midgets would be less obtrusive. ah, but that would mean an avoidance of airports, he thought, having the obtuse notion that airports were where midgets hang out. no, he would just have to vanquish his fears altogether.

his friend arrived, bearing her hideous cargo, flimsily obscured by the membrane of the plastic shopping bag. she sat beside him in the sand, gently keeping the foul sack behind her, not wanting to overwhelm him right off. her calm, gentle nature served to subdue his anxiety, at least temporarily.

he was ready.