Lazy white fish
2001 07 03
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I feel like a piece of white fish, sweating in the pan on the stovetop. A fine, thin, sweat; just tasting of salt.
If I turn my head, my hair is the scent of driving quickly past a field of flowers; that momentary nasal sensation that's gone quicker than it came.
I still haven't turned the sound on; so it's still a day with no soundtrack but the noises of living that filter through my window.
It's a lazy day. Lazy and good.