Anne sent me an account of herself having sex with another white dude.
She applied my fantasy she read about in my writing to herself.
Anne has been mirroring me in her writing. I am in her maze.
Anne like myself has complicated feelings about money and love.
Anne has brown skin and sometimes it looks whiter than my white skin. I wonder if I ever look brown to her.

L has a 22 rifle. It can’t hurt anyone. She has it to shoot cans.
I’d like to get lost with her in the city park. She thinks it’s impossible to get
lost in nature in our modern day.

L  talks about covering herself with gore and guts to foil zombies from
eating her. I agree with her that nowadays it is not easy to tell who the zombies are.
You can’t be too careful who you let into your life.
I want to know what it is like to eat human flesh L said.
I heard it tastes like chicken I said.
Do you think you become the person if you eat them L said.
Yes I do I said.
I have consumed many souls and have become stronger for it.

I struggle with my gaze. It is on L’s  neck, in her mouth and in her nose.
I level it on her brows and hope that she won’t notice that I’m struggling to listen
more than the average person.
I feels that she wants to eat me. I want to be eaten.
I want to go camping with L away from the camping site and the camp fire at the base of a mountain with thick and thin trees and listen to audio books.
L prefers to be alone. The cool good looking boys in their early thirties aren’t interested in her. They actively pursue twenty something girls. She doesn’t want to be considered for sex by a middle aged dude with a Seahawk hat and a gut.
L’s eyes are teary. She looks distressed.
I struggle with anxiety L said. When I saw the doc he looked at my ankle and I started crying. I was upset about my ankle. I didn’t know why. There was nothing wrong with it.
When I see my therapist I cry.
I like your mustard sweater I said. It has black greasy streaks on it.
L has on a very clean whitish gray scarf. It gives me hope for her mental health.
I want to fuck her only if she is mildly compromised by mental illness.
L obsesses for an hour about not wanting to give blood or receiving it and how
receiving it could change who she is. It is the first time that I’m with someone
who makes an effort to make herself uncomfortable before I do and I want to absorb it wholeheartedly. I observe that she has large breasts under her mustard sweater. I think how wonderful it would be to spend time with them while she contemplates her madness.
I examine L’s grey blue eyes.
L rides a 1985 honda motorcycle that a man wanted to buy for nine hundred.
She thinks she can get twelve hundred dollars for it.
L had a dream about a worm digging under her nail. The dream site she was on said it has to do with father and daughter conflict. The explanation troubles her when she looks at it closely, as most everything does when she examines it in obsessively.
Her father is a quiet man who spends his leisure time in the garage.