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so when we ever go to a potluck my antistatic glare she always asks me did you remember to bring your coat and i say yes my bonespur and he says how long do we have to stay at this damn thing anyway and i tell them oh the next five thousand years hun this where they're gonna find us in the cold lava rock just ashes in a pocket of air and then just
they always
form into a ball and bark, dribbling butter all over the patio

cut to black, 1.1s
voiceover

anyw** i made this ages ago from a time when i had time and it seemed like maybe if it were on the table then the potluck would look bigger, just by having another cling-wrapped platter, neverminding the food's expired, etc, by a few years, i

pilotwings 64 was a source of solace once now a fond memory, we were driven to build a new one to give someone else that solace in the age of turgid copyright golems and four or less types of AAA game but! of course it's hard, much too hard, and of course attention wanders, ghosts visit us for tea, little nothings crawl out of the floorboards and mumble softly around our shins and knees
i mean
this is all i've made to that end thus far and set down in the soft stinking clay of the internet

and

[ed. note: blinking/possible epilepsy warning on level 2. music credit goes to "Uncle Milk" via the recently-acquired Free Music Archive (http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Uncle_Milk/). game may not work properly if not played fullscreen -- please send reports, though we can't guarantee that the author is still capable of fixing it, what with Unity versions having marched onward by years and months and weeks and evenings, unto the fabled land of Wild Things, sitting by a window, sadly pondering the duty of love, of incompatibilities in human needs, of how many breaths one might need to even finish this sentence good luck]