it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story
a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinkingabout it. feeling
something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever
but the thinking is useful
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I
decide not to tell her about it.
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
