novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- slow sour milk the words are spilling over but it is impossible to move my arms very much in all of this heat. at midnight i walked down the block for a milkshake in flip flops, men fanning themselves with the fronts of their wifebeaters nodding to me as i passed. there are beads of sweat on my forehead that rose out of my scalp and slipped on my skin, halting just before my eyebrows. i would wipe them off but it is too hot to do more than one thing at once. reading. walking. driving. typing is one thing. the cat is lying on his side, panting. i am going to eat five otter pops in fast succession and then write a story about a girl who hates apples because of the memories the fruits trigger. 4:16 pm - 06.27.03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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