Everything is a little
bit mumble.
—Paolo Javier
It’s where I met him.
And I’m all lined up
but not feeling it up to now. People
point at anniversaries all a mess. Well
I wouldn’t look at it that way (airplane
sayonara over San Francisco)—okay,
my mind wandering away.
I want to
call him up right now and tell him so,
the jingle in my head.
The mighty
jingle. Then he’d
probably not
answer or else be distant.
The key is
to cleverly interrupt.
But how? Mean-
while, back at the Crystal Palace, a
long conversation with immediate
family about addiction to painkillers.
Is it hereditary?
I’ve been trying to keep
the apartment cleaner, but of course I had
a hangover. He even
broached the subject
of how it’s basically required in San Fran-
cisco (medicine cabinet ettiquette) and
laundry from what, a week ago? I don’t
say it quite like that, but, now that it’s
Monday it’s all about the plan. It’ll be
weeks now before we finish the issue,
maybe never. I just
left him another
message (part submissive, part hung)
because starting at six o’clock it’ll be
dumbed down irritation and hate.
