dear phil lam,
my eyes don't want to work any longer. i have read all i can read for one night. henry james can wait. i have always been patient with him, it is time for a little bit of reciprocation. and by that i mean...
2 drunk men climbed up on the roof to join rachel and i tonight as we were sitting, eating popsicles and watching other drunk men stumble out of the bars. the less drunk one called me sweetheart and kept leaning on my shoulder. the drunker one pulled a shingle off the roof and hurled it at a passing car. i just finished my popsicle and tried to listen politely to their rambling until they finally left. the drunker one kissed our hands before jumping back down. the less drunk one hit his face on the air conditioning box on his way to the ground.
i suppose that maybe i should be a bit worried, as it is now blatantly obvious that strange, unwanted visitors could easily make their way into our home at their leisure and cause whatever potential harm it is that breakers-and-enterers cause, but i'm not too concerned. my room is the second of three in a row. choosing door number 2 is far too obvious; creatures of the night are not in the business of being obvious. it seems lately that the only things that are actually able to make me worry are vague abstract concepts that i can hardly pin down, let alone articulate, but that seem to boil down to a fear of the finite. that is dumb. i should really drink more, think about dumb stuff less, and not resort to talking to my computer when i am lonely.
2 drunk men climbed up on the roof to join rachel and i tonight as we were sitting, eating popsicles and watching other drunk men stumble out of the bars. the less drunk one called me sweetheart and kept leaning on my shoulder. the drunker one pulled a shingle off the roof and hurled it at a passing car. i just finished my popsicle and tried to listen politely to their rambling until they finally left. the drunker one kissed our hands before jumping back down. the less drunk one hit his face on the air conditioning box on his way to the ground.
i suppose that maybe i should be a bit worried, as it is now blatantly obvious that strange, unwanted visitors could easily make their way into our home at their leisure and cause whatever potential harm it is that breakers-and-enterers cause, but i'm not too concerned. my room is the second of three in a row. choosing door number 2 is far too obvious; creatures of the night are not in the business of being obvious. it seems lately that the only things that are actually able to make me worry are vague abstract concepts that i can hardly pin down, let alone articulate, but that seem to boil down to a fear of the finite. that is dumb. i should really drink more, think about dumb stuff less, and not resort to talking to my computer when i am lonely.