Pomegrante

You can have... all the life you can stomach. Dig right in; it's
okay. Would you like a drink now? Something hard, I hope? Drinking
guests are a vicarious pleasure for me. As you sink into drunkenness, I
can feel it too... come closer. I need vibrations from you.

There was a time when I knew pleasure, too. I ate pomegrantes and
richly, the juice dripped off my chin. In the morning, I'd drink
coffee, black and sound. In the afternoon, I tore a smoky piece of
jerky off my hunk. In the evenings, I'd sip margaritas. Oh, sweet
alcohol, sweet stimulation, sweet Epicurus...

I had all the life I could stomach... This poor stomach of mine is
acidic and gaseous. It shudders at the pomegrantes. It's queasy at the
black brew. It shrieks at alcohol. I'm afraid, sweet pleasures, that I
am not long for you. This stomach of mine swells. My mind is growing
dizzy. I pray Epicurus...that you wait for me in the next world...that
I might again taste a pomegrante.