And yet I disagree. The city
can exist if I work in my
“white shirt” at my small
desk in the dollar mark
of the city. I don’t do
dollars, I just watch them
go by, along with the
city, forming distinct,
curvy S’s up and down
the hills (no matter the
grid). All I ever wanted
was to not be bored. In
the ennui sense, that is.
Here at Gaylord, I’m
sneezing and reading
the second issue of
Pom². Last night, I
met Donovan for
sushi and a really
bad horror movie;
back in mode, loss
of libido, having
a good friend say
he’ll bend over
for me, looking
into my wallet
at a whole lot
of nothing.
