Late, for me, a bit medicated. Today was a crunchy day; joints made crunchy noises when I moved them. I had thought of other entries, they withered on the vine like bad grapes or suicidal roses.
I’m ok. Yes I’m lying, but I’m close to Ok, so it’s not a complete lie. I’m not a good liar so I try my hardest to tell the truth. I don’t recommend that. Perhaps a vow of silence would work.
I have this image of a double wide trailer acrid and cloying with the smell of cat piss and rotten fruit. Arbys wrappers are on the floor and pots crusted with chef boy r dee ravioli, the sinks stained iron from the minerals in the water. I didn’t have a plot or people so I let the idea float away, though it’s sharp in my mind; I’ve been there, I’m sure.
When I drive around I see places where other things used to be. It’s like haunting my own life though I’m not scared of me. I thought I should write something as I had meant to write something, not this, but something like it.
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