“I’ll take you anywhere” she sang, quietly dancing. The room was dripping blind with sunlight on the blank white walls and she felt like a stolen housewife, supplanted but still the same flowering plant. A new town with all the same faceless people. Outside a UPS truck jolted into a startled reverse, the driver having caught a glimpse of the cat shaped see-thru patch on her underwear as he was pulling out of the driveway across the street. She didn’t notice, too busy moving with her anxious body. Her time of month is creeping up and making her pay attention to the flesh changes what accompany it. She gets heavier for three days and she wonders at the physics of it while re-setting the straps on her bra.
The weather here is clear, crisp with an underly of heat. The angles and the shapes of the neighboring buildings all look the same, rows of balconies all facing the ocean. There’s some workmen on one farther up the steep hill, looking like warm blooded insects to my new eyes. We’re at the bottom of the ridiculous slope, directly behind a motel, two houses up from a highway. I’m here alone but for my internet, my blessed textual home, I love it. Every day I realize who peoples my world are the best I’ve ever had with me. I send my love across the globe, interpersonal treatise of friendship. I get dreams back, little pieces of brilliance to look at. Beautiful Jessica is sending cookies from New York and Warren’s tossed up something for Christmas.
Later she looks out the bay windows at the dirty pumpkin sunset. Everyone tells her the sunsets are spectacular, but she hasn’t seen one yet that’s really meant anything. They look messy, as if the window of the sky has been covered more with grime the farther south one travels. Hours pass and she thinks about why she came back here. She thinks like Susan Vega lyrics, short descriptive sentences that reference the world to music. She got on a plane, she walked down a tiled hallway, she pulled tight her gloves as she pushed through the doorway, she saw him and smiled.