the six year old girl was happy to have some day time left to play. she saw that i saw her and waved her left hand as she walked by with her younger sister and mother.
the not bad looking healthy young woman was living in a tent before she went missing. she has a mother, father, a younger brother, three aunts and a grandmother.
it wasn’t easy for me to accept that the woman was homeless. she didn’t look
confused or mentally ill. a portland sex worker, writer, actor, and performer posted on her facebook page that she is concerned for her.
i read about a writer in the new york times. the writer of the article, who is
writing a memoir, said that the author’s writing has been overlooked. the ny times said the same thing about another woman writer recently. the writer has
strained good looks at fifty. her current work is informed by the author’s use of hearing aids and her take on sound. as an eavesdropper, i’m very interested in how sound travels. i have been reading her first novel. there’s desultory sex, child murder and gary cooper in it. i didn’t know gary cooper had long eye lashes. it hurt me to read the facile novel. i thought i should go get advil. i masturbated to shemale porn on my iphone. the brown man in the video had a massive member. the shemale was a lithe blonde with a small penis. the brown man fucked her in the ass.
when i read the novel later, starting at a random page, it read well and i was grateful.
what are millennials like? i knew a victim of domestic violence who
had an opinion about them.
millennials are lazy, she said.
i remember she had very large breasts. she had an equally large head. it looked like she had put it on like a helmet. she had a philadelphian accent.she worked with millennials at a government job. she didn’t like them because they were needy and lazy. they grew up with the internet and experienced life at a remove.
i think it will socialize me to drive.
it is socially acceptable to stare at a screen.
an old man in black sweats, white sneakers, wide brown sun glasses and a black hat ambles with a coffee. he has a trim white mustache. he looks like he’s shadowing himself. old age is like being an undercover agent. i have seen the old man before. he keeps the sun glasses on indoors. he talks to himself inaudibly. his lips glisten. he gets up from his seat, walks a few feet and walks back to his chair, stands for a minute and sits back down. he looks at his watch, rises, and departs. a young man with buoyant souffle blond hair in tight black jeans and sneaker shoes replaces him.
f walks to the back. he cleans a pan. he puts on music. he bends down.
a woman in a black sweat shirt tells him to get something she wants him to have.
i got up at 3. at five it is dark. i have two hours of daylight. i only need an hour of light.
i think i’m going to cross the burnside bridge to go to mary’s club. i want to see the dancer who calls herself maggie. she likes to confront the patrons with her vagina.
she speaks to them with it. i looked her up on facebook. she went to college to train as a modern dancer. she has a husband. i feel guilty about looking her up on line. it’s almost like she doesn’t exist until i find her on the internet. i feel like it would be easier to communicate with her digitally than when she is naked.
the woman i was apparently seeing, it can be hard to tell if one is in a relationship in this and age of on line dating, said it’s not working. i think you feel the same. i have nothing more to say when someone doesn’t want me. i know not to pursue it. i used to try to save a tenuous relationship with a word, phrase, a question, and a look. not anymore.i’ve learned to take a person at their word and to vanish.
she isn’t overweight. the question is how flabby?
i’m not a time waster, i said. i want to see you, not the decor.
she has a preexisting mental condition, the woman said. i stood up for myself. she had an exit interview.
two women are talking shit about someone.
f stands there in his usual black t-shirt playing with the coffee machine.
he goes to the back where he can’t be seen. he is back at the machine.
he has an english degree. he had to let me know that he has a degree.
he has soft brown eyes that sparkle when he talks to me.
the employee with the red beard disappears to the back where they are making pastries and pod pies. he trains all the employees. they employ his genteel manner.
f is back at it with the coffee machine. he jerks it to make a double expresso. the red beard piles up glasses. he has a way of walking that is not walking. i’d say it is whistling, not walking.
f has an obsession for poetry and philosophy. i saw him dance recently and he really can dance. he was making all these succinct steps to the music.
lately when i meet women. i can’t locate my desire. i stare. they sense i’m lonely or a burn out. they abandon me. they regale me with the womb.
yeah its like the nyquil chemical, the dirty blond said
i have an auspicious feeling in my abdomen.
i’m not a meanie, i said. i’m kind.