The psychedelic dentist

I fancied that the large sign mounted on high along Jones Boulevard advertised for a cosmic dentist. A streetlight had obstructed the “et” in the word cosmetic.

The doc himself was pictured alongside the enormous text, laughing, seemingly at me, as if I had purple skin and multiple heads, maybe six eyes.

I sat at the red light and imagined that the doc provided magic mushrooms or peyote to his patients in lieu of laughing gas or procaine.

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