Jazzmin Flush (3)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (3)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush awoke to the sound of the soft scramble of Swiss atop her dreaming vertebra, feeding a brain straight and with luminous visions of the enchanting Otherworld.  Yawning comprehension of the day amid the darkness of her basement habitat, she picked the cat boogers outta her crusty, chocolate-brown eyes and peeled herself from the multi-colored futon thingamajig.
   Sponged clean, brushed by mint, and dirty-blonde pulled back into a tight, neon-pink ponytail, Jazzmin ascended from the concrete depths and into the Los Angeles Day.  Her eyes adjusted to the risen daystar, offering a glimmering, imperial-white perspective of light to further her awakening.
   With a velcro-sealed, purple purse full of her poetic pamphlets, she sauntered through the back alleys of the blessed bums and hookers hell-bent on making love's frustration, passing out the prophetic pseudo-prose, wending her way to quasi-industry, where she would wrangle soft tacos filled with chicken, cheese, tomatoes, and healthy heapings of lime-green guac.