I need a blunt object to pry me open and scoop something out of me that can be preserved. It’s only ephemeral but it shouldn’t lie. What I want to be is the banter things let out in the background, what makes a scene better. Though your eyes are restless, I like their banter, their intense alertness to what’s in you. Maybe I wish mine could turn inward too but I’m stuck somewhere outside myself that I can’t describe. I can’t bring you there but I remain; and in those remnants of me there is still a lonely worker I’ve assigned to you who’s sole purpose is to try as best he can to let you know that I am still the little that exists and not the time that measures it. The little I am and the little I can say of it – through this, and you, just an attempt, nothing at all.
The evening was the smell of greasy Chinese food and spit.
August 25, 2026
est. reading time: 2 minutesThe evening was the smell of greasy Chinese food and spit. A series of continuous beeps kept us alert during the intervals.We tried to get
