This Is a Disgusting Personal Story And a Poor Metaphor

A Letter from The Editor

I woke up this morning and vomited. It wasn’t booze-related, though I did watch last night’s election at a party sponsored by the Scotch maker Dewar’s, and I did partake heartily of the party favors.
The vomit came as a result of an illness I’ve been battling for a couple weeks now. What started as a fever and flu had become acute bronchitis, largely a result of some poor personal-health decisions I made during the original illness.
So I awoke Wednesday with a belly full of swallowed lung mucus. It sat indigestible at the bottom of my stomach like a lump of new concrete.
I knew — don’t ask how, but I knew — the only way this plague would ever leave me would be through my mouth. I stood up and thought about vomiting. I walked around my apartment, thinking, “Yes I can.”
My cat followed me for a few laps around the premises. He knew something was wrong. He’s known all along. His blue eyes looked up from his flat, gray face and said, “Yes you can.”
My eyes watered. My mouth watered. I walked quickly to the bathroom and bellowed out a yellow-green ghost that dove into the toilet water then swam back to the top.
I looked down at its cloudy ghost-face and said, “Fuck you.”
And I felt GREAT.

Signed,
Travis Lee Hunter
Editor and Publisher