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2002-02-19 || 11:39 a.m. || the search for free samples at zupan's || there is always the lengthy decompressing process. clicking fingernails on the metal of arm rests while riding out turbulence, riding out the equalization of cabin pressure. unfolding clothes, noticing the way the smells are caught in the creases: damp attic bedrooms, smoking in the bathroom, clean rain, hot coffee bought at corner cafes. my hair clippings flew up and drifted down when i pulled sweaters out of my suitcase this morning; i can only imagine what your bathroom must look like (i caught you pulling pieces off my shoulder and depositing them into the inside cover of a paperback book). the fireplace and hemming your pants and the small congregation on the front porch. hot coffee and shivering inside coats and all the parks and hydrangeas. parades in the crosswalk. our reflection in store windows. your hands, trying to remember what they look like. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |