what if you hold open a parachute with every intention of catching whomever needs it? and what if, once they're mid-fall, you realize that they totally don't fucking deserve that gentle landing, your strained arms, that charitable reentry? what then? who's the asshole now?
"the nurse hung the blood up next to the saline solution and adjusted the tubes and stoppers, and one tube turned bright crimson as it fed her own blood, minus plasma, back into her. 'new memories is what's inside that bag' the man announced calmly.
"'great' she said. 'I was sick of the old ones.'"
Denis Johnson
-a moment of peace, Volunteer Park.
-pulls.
-bench.
-rye, ginger liqueur, Fernet Branco, bitters, a fresh stark-white orchid.
-flowers jammed into brick. thank you, 11th and Pine: you remind me of who I always wanted to be.
Interesting shapes and curves. Me likey.
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