a product of the times.

[___yes_]

i have had asthma attacks here. i don't have asthma, i never have. when i feel it, i hover over a bowl of tea. the tea is prepared of course not by me but by she for whom much if not all credit for greg-itude should be given. i sound like a transistor radio when i breathe. asthma is shitty. since the more dramatic attacks happen in the early morning in hannah's room we wonder if there's a specific allergen in the room causing the harm. we've isolated suspects. the peace lilly, the bedouin rug, the jersey bedsheets. all likely to piss off my throat or send it into a spasm. hannah thinks it may be psychological. her father's best hunch is the plant. if i leave, i tend to get better on the subway ride back. for all the comforts and expeditious transit that the 1 train lacks its good to stand, hold onto a steel rail and breathe. hannah's father set me up with new glasses. she says i look smart in them. my feet are losing a bit of their old spunk with their last few bristles of hair. i'm tired. stretching my feet, they look like little old bald men, bent over, crossing 110th street with their walkers.
peace lillies, bedouin rugs, jersey bedsheets, bald man feet, stigmatism.
peace rugs, jersey lillies, bald man bedsheets and feet stigmatism.
i believe that it may be psychological.