kind of mythopoesis

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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 thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

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Thank you, Jack

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

hiding from the rain