Ruminations

[THURSDAY, OCTOBER 16] seven am sunlight seeps through eyelids closed to tint pink flesh inward. strangers sleep together for the first time, folded Tribunes in lap. shadows cast from vacancies in the landscape like dancing latticed light shows on pavement. art form: dodging heybabystares. #60 opens doors students crowd jamming each other to board in hordes of threes. "The nights can get so lonely, someone to hold, if only." (Who is Amelia, anyway?) picked up a power bar and a gold machine. at that moment turning to the scent that is yours, discord. cursing the stranger under my breath, I missed you. rotating doors spin me outward. weaving through labyrinth of drones who can't walk: stopping-turning-pausing-texting-bending-tripping people. I hate crowds. "Hair," I say. (precisely the answer he anticipated.) thank you for catching my glasses that began to fall off of our table. I admired the unspoken dialogue we had today. blue hat constricts thoughts building into migraines, need to leave, cannot breathe. shelley's west winds blow the summer way. summer is overrated anyway: a four month joie de vivre that starts too slowly and ends too soon, at least I have my scarf.