50x365 #127: C. McLean

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl..., he recited as he followed me down the hall between classes.

Stop following me, I said.

...worms play pinochle on your...

I stopped short.

Quit. Saying. That. Poem.

...and spit them out. He grinned.

People are staring.

He looked pleased as all hell.

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Elan Morganx365Comment