—Kit Robinson
You, the alternatively literate. You there.
Do you have your big comfy chairs at the
ready. Do you read me?
Work seemed hung. Half the space wanted to
go very crowded, with gray suits, chatting
about love and relationships. Then we
parted. I walked up the hill, chatting on the
phone, looking for conversation. Company
did not arrive. It had been over six months.
Smelling like a cigar, I had a real bacon burger.
Well into another round, I wanted to go on about
the drink. But the mood had shifted. It took a
well-thought-out note and forty dollars to con-
nect. We remain close? My friendships are too
closed. Stagnant, trying to shake things up
with our hands, starting to feel much better,
making too much noise, and measuring the
lightbulb that only one manufacturer provides,
I am optimistic about direction. I look toward
the conductor who owns a talented baton. It
is a kind of follow-up. The haze dissipates.
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