novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- monday a giant thunderstorm filled last night. after four hours of laundromat laundromat folding half-wet towels and playing ms. pac man i drove home and it felt like the sky was too full, flashing every thirty seconds, rumbling and burping, compressing, like i was in a room with a very, very low-ceiling. claustrophobia piled on top of all of the traffic that seemed to explode right when i drove onto the freeway. i pulled off onto park and took surface streets, winding through tiny neighborhoods and people staring at the sky behind me. creepy. i wanted to take pictures of their faces, the fear and the astonishment. they looked like babies. so open. the sky broke just as i got my thirty four pounds (rough estimate) of laundry inside. bubbles. bubbles is afraid of thunderstorms. bubbles was nowhere. i put my fireman's parka over my pajamas and wandered around outside calling for him in between thunder bursts, meowing, rattling my keys. bending to look under cars. checking between the wild bamboo. the four year old boy's house was lit up, so i walked over to it and knocked on the door. he and i share bubbles, but the boy calls him "orangie." it's such a lackluster name. nobody answered the door. every single light on in the house and nobody's answering the door. "bubbles, bubbles where are you? orangie?" on my way out of their yard i slipped and fell on their driveway, soaking my legs and slapping my hands hard, palm down, onto the concrete. 11:00 pm - 09.25.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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