Fat Noir Serial Post 1

Uncle Ted from a parallel dimension.

I began orbiting my local grocer, looking spiffy in a suit minted before the death of taste.

Perhaps such threads caused their own autopsy, twin embalmment, man and wardrobe, but I was another millennial anachronism still evolving upright, somewhat, like how clocks plash vomit round a catwalk twice daily. Fentanyl jesters thin as TV dinner fine print wer…