novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- on being filled the days are like little worlds in and of themselves. has anything ever felt this long? partial list of scenes in a twenty-four-hour epic a circle of middle-aged businesswomen in pastel suits clasping hands and praying. one makes eye contact with you as you fish for your keys. the BART coming to a stop, lurching you forward in your seat, pocketing sweet space between you and the guy sitting next to you, staring down your shirt. you are sitting on a bench in the sun and three consecutive people wearing two-toned boat shoes pass by. you cringe, and then laugh [flashback] as you remember your grandfather in the 1980s, when he was rich. he went through a boat shoes-phase because he was so proud of his new boat. he never even drove the boat but sometimes your father would swipe it for the day and splutter your small intoxicated family to circle nearby islands. you never docked there, just surrounded them, staring into the deep water, watching the sixty-foot strings of kelp sway beneath you in the rhythmic tide. sometimes dolphins.[/flashback] the supervisor gathering a gaggle of office girls in the large conference room, instructing you to lay on the floor and practice things like push ups. your legs are in the air. vulnerable, laughing and aching. an army of toned bellies in high heels. (you are wearing sneakers and you feel like you're in the reserves.) a telephone with ghostly volume. sometimes it shouts in your ear and you jump. a boy with tattoos running the length of his arms following you down the street. he is asking your name, you see him mouth the words, but you are wearing headphones. a small cat with wide eyes looking up at you from the bathroom tile, bending on his back and pawing at the air. he loves you regardless. 11:13 am - 03.12.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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