(no subject)
fresh conch. white linen. hand-picked fruit. familiar sounds like elephant six stuff. i missed that windy little road and the pristine trophies men have built and parked along that island. friends new and old trek to the beach to talk about globalism and telecommunication and their stays in europe, respectively. the fillers fade; they never last long once connectivity starts flexing its muscle. the fillers have a keen sense of smell; once they detect that some of us in the room met in high school or that some of us in the room have slept together, they collect their belongings and go home to sleep or do whatever it is fillers do when they aren't congregating in kitchens. i was glad to see them go. i lead the charge to the heart-shaped pool. garments strewn across the lawn and laughter ringing everywhere. i thought it over the next morning, squinting in the sun as i awoke wrapped in monogrammed sheets: so this is summer at twenty three.