10:24 a.m. - 2002-03-16
thirty-three
Every molecule, every stitch of the fabric of reality, hummed yesterday in acknowledgement of the thirty-third anniversary of our introduction. A pigeon on the crosswalk cocked his neck, and I saw the spark of kinship glint in his dead eye. The clerk in the empty Highland Park post office was reading Hustler when I walked in. The Santa Anna winds blew like crazy curly lines from the lips of a sunglasses wearin' cartoon sun and the palm trees responded in waves of organic static.
I had eighty-seven ten-dollar bills in my pocket and I was going to get a free drink on my birthday.
We're lovers, me and the universe...so kiss me again with that dirty mouth you big whore. You violent bitch.
I knew you couldn't resist my advances forever.
