summer is double dutch and rain dances
the type of weekend that makes summer the most tangible thing in the world.
buying two dozen books at the library book sale for only 4.00, heat sticking under our necks as we fingered spines. taking turns holding folsom's hand and steering him away from glass objects.
we went to highland park and let chubby boy loose in the wooden fortress playground. laurel sighed and said she missed her childhood, but we climbed on everything with folsom like a weird ménage à trois troupe of mothers.
it was the hottest part of the day, and there were black girls sitting on the water fountain, swinging their legs, baring their scraped knees. the rhythmic swish of swings, children digging into their primitive roots, rustling leaves and big, comforting trunks to rest my head against; knots that hold the curve of my back.
we went grocery shopping and took turns playing peek-a-boo with folsom whilst the others scurried around collecting apples and milk. we made dinner at home-- big, round veggie burgers with cheese and tomatoes and avocados, with spoonfuls of hot corn. after folsom's bedtime, we sat on the porch smelling the yellow pages of our books, pressing our faces into the warm dusty pages. everything was a little bit pink. everything was dusky.
after twilight, we laid in the wet dim light and read feminist literature aloud (women hating by andrea dworkin) until late and then crept to our beds.
sunday, the crêpe shop was closed, so marina and i had lunch at a little sidewalk café table on walnut street next to a chatty group of french people. sometimes, walking in pittsburgh and soaking up the mix of japanese, ukranian, italian, greek, makes me feel like i have my own beautiful hot greasy europe. i bought a japanese journal with clovers as my japanese-learning notebook in kawaii down the street.
we went to flagstaff hill where people take off their clothes and pretend they're metres away from the sea; the horizon is not oceanic, but a jumble of old cathedral spires. marina and i sprawled out in the grass and took our shoes off, curled up with books and talked about having a picnic. we ate cake batter ice cream from cold stone creamery until our teeth hurt.
life lately is reading vice magazine on the bathroom floor, really wanting to finally see paris, je t'aime, wearing pointy-toe heels that make nice clicking sounds, planning a way to sleep in a big bed with stephen fry and hugh laurie, that sort of thing. we adopted a new cat who is terrified most of the time, but he is slowly warming up to me. his name is fenway. the name came from laurel's boyfriend, tommy, who names all the moths that live in his bedroom. one of them was called fenway. we were copycats.
friday night, i am going on a date with a dj who is into making experimental hip hop music.
