novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- saturday with pickles and extra lettuce the stoner neighbor who paid me thirty bucks for all the clothes i don't want says she loves the unpacking phase of moving. it's like re-discovering parts of yourself that you forgot about. i call it trauma tinged with clutter. old journals left unfinished, stacks of old books ready to be altered, unbound artists books (hi molly) and a wealth of snapshots. one of the girls in the building is having a housewarming. her windows glow red and people are milling around the front stoop, slurring. giggles are floating up through my window. footsteps and fading voices. i walked to merritt diner to get a hamburger and chatted with random people waiting for late night nourishment. apparently i'm not the only one who automatically turns tail at the first sign of social function. 2:05 am - 03.03.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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