Wh@ else?
Peter made French toast
and bacon. It was all
good, including the hot
nightmares. Of
nature,
horseback riding through
the Fort Chaffee brambles,
a bistro in Le Marais, and
postcards from Stephanie.
Sure, I am enjoying the book
and READING. There
are
such lost arts. The
dog’s
barking is more distant
than usual. The
barking
is further away. The
noises
in my head are able to talk
to each other this afternoon.
Is it because I am so sober
today? If so,
theories will
evaporate. The orange
sofa
cover is so filthy. I
keep
scrutinizing it. For
some-
thing to remember.
