Dumpster full of manikins
Shed store in the middle of the desert
Born under a lucky sign
My own version of whatzit cards
Guileless by virtue of lacking the motivation or the very depth of character necessary to guile
That a subway sign could compel you to look at yourself and ask “who’s the fairest pawn shop of them all?” The pawn shop of the soul, of the subway ride, of the walk to work and the lunch you brought, the quiet nothingness of a book, or the face of the woman across the aisle, beautiful features, except for the mouth, twisted down and tasting bitter.
And it smells like yogurt outside.
The begrimed man in the bulging flash dancers vest, handing out cards like a secret. Sexual deviant for 8 hours a day or however long they’re forced to work, undomeciled, unprotected.
I don’t want to be one of those late breaking pregnant women.
23 inside 60+ length
A day with every moment designed to cause you to forget that you’re a human being, with feelings and thoughts that wander outside standing in line and moving en masse to a train car
New York’s outer-est boro
Nursing the hurt that Alex caused me is a way of keeping him in my life.
Walking down Willow St in the morning, I see an Indian woman with two white children, one in a stroller. She’s yelling at the other one: Stop crying!! As he pushes past me on his scooter, fast but leisurely, wailing with tears streaking his cheeks and his mouth wide open. This beautiful act of defiance, with no mask of emotion. I look at the woman like I would cut her eyes out, and I’d like to get the chance if I could.