novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- cautious and giggling ruth welcomed another girl two fridays ago. her name is lara and she can gut a fish with one hand. she is small and quiet and drinks gallon after gallon of water. she leaves messages for me on the answering machine, her tiny voice all thoughtful and appreciative and i am thinking i have a roommate again. i hope she'll let me paint racing stripes on the refrigerator. i hope davey likes her, i hope she likes me. first thing after bringing her duffel bags upstairs, i gave her a tour, pointing out the space under the bathtub where davey naps, the hidden ironing board, the drawers built into the maroon hallway, the little windows in the giant closets. i opened the warped back door and two of the eight downstairs cats waltzed in, sniffing her new feet, questioning her appearance here. cats take change gradually, but they welcome it after you vividly and outlandishly shower love on them. i think i am a cat. and lara, i think you are one too. 4:52 pm - 09.14.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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