2001-11-06 || 4:08 p.m.

|| michael banana, can you hear me? ||

it's all hot coffee in thermoses and wind pulling at our hair with you. mobile home caravans and finding the moon's surface along the coast and rolling down hills. stealing each other's argyle socks and your 'is that my shirt?' to my 'what are you gonna do if it is?'

elka complimented me on my red cardigan sweater the other night. i told her about how you used to wear it around our house (i also told her about the time you dressed up in my clothes - black dress red sweater hair to the side with a bobby pin. walking on tiptoes. don't worry. we'll keep it a secret.)

the word vancouver has you stuck inside it. in that tiny room we stayed in downtown, bellies full of exotic canadian candies and squishees measured in metric, watching the news with our feet on the bed and laughing at the way they call regina 'reg-eye-na'.

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