Against a backdrop of paint and scrubbing bubbles, a thin line of imminent i-netlessness and cardboard boxes, between four nervous felines and a great, yawning, nasty monstrosity of an oven, for love of caulk and clean laundry and living out of dufflebags, for the half-done FAFSA, for blood and toothpaste, there is, still, humor.

Humor and plottage. Paitent men scuffing the tops of their black hats with an elbow. Midnight Radio. Detatched statements.

It has been a disjointed day, full of surrealism and sweat.

But the rain watered the tomatoes for me. A small, good thing.

<<agé chose>>

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