radioman comes over and i havent anything to serve him. its such a shame. i have run out of pink creamies which i have made myself out of honey, cream and of course pink maggits. it is sweeter that way. i serve all my guests pretty things. pretty things are usually made of very vile things but they do great cover ups and when presented nicely, go a long way. anyway, all my guests love it. radioman is agitated it seems. the sky is turning again. a deep hue of greens and blues reflects on my eyes and onto radioman's. he seems happier now. i let myself wonder outside for awhile and did not offer an invitation to radioman. i close the door behind me and i float towards the large oak tree. it is purple and soft, just like the streams here.