Pedal creaks. Tone rotten.
—Keith Waldrop
The shadow-shadow accidentally feels a
raindrop. Is it a time warp? Perhaps. Oh,
how the Tenderloin has aged. I wander lost,
one greasy spoon in search of another. Does’
eyes tend to startle cars and freeze fists. I’m
too cold to think sock-footed. But the kitchen
is a mess! Leaving on a jet plane on Thursday,
stressing about the shape of class, calling to
schedule racquetball, no instant messenger.
Cedar confirmed for the 26th. 110 more to go.
